#spend 4 season in georgia

[mariacallous]

Two weeks ago, Hurricane Helene made landfall as a Category 4 hurricane in the Big Bend region of Florida. From there it carved a path through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee, leaving historic wreckage in its path as it flooded the region in 40 trillion gallons of water. The catastrophic damage in mountainous western North Carolina, especially, has garnered some of the most attention. Storms like this aren’t supposed to happen in places like that. Well, at least, they weren’t.

The all-hands-on-deck scramble to survey the extent of the damage, save lives and livelihoods, and restore power, water, and roads understandably still hasn’t been fast enough for those most affected. And just as understandably, the shock and the trauma of the storm have given way to conspiracy theories as a way to make sense of it all. Among those that have circulated either by word of mouth or through social media are the false theories that the government is razing property for lithium mining, that FEMA is bulldozing structures to cover up dead bodies, or that Democratic officials and the federal and state level are purposely ignoring the most Republican areas of the country.

There was also grumbling, especially in the early aftermath of the storm, that the media refused to cover what was happening in western North Carolina, or that the government had no money to help Americans suffering from the storm because it had spent it all on munitions for Ukraine and Israel. Another far-right theory for why the government supposedly hasn’t been devoting resources to disaster relief—which, to be clear, it has—is because it’s spending its budget on housing migrants.

The grandaddy of all the conspiracy theories going around, though, would have to be one most eagerly promoted by Georgia Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene. According to Greene, an undefined “they”—who, if we’re being generous, is meant to be the Democrats, the deep state, or the “establishment”—“can control the weather.” In other words, “they” are actively working to crush communities with historic storms.

Despite backlash from basically every possible corner, she continues, still, to push this idea that the government can enhance and steer hurricanes on a path that does the most destruction to red America, ostensibly to create a mess in swing states that can’t be restored in time for voting. I’ve covered Congress for a while, so I don’t say this lightly: I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a member say something this disassociated with reality. But there are people who will believe it.

Officials at the federal, state, and local levels trying to manage recovery efforts, Democrat and Republican, are at their wits’ end with the overwhelming amount of misinformation that’s impeding their recovery work. They have emphasized that, actually, they’re impressed with the assistance the federal government has offered so far. Unfortunately, that sobriety—from officials actually on the ground—doesn’t extend to certain commanding heights of the Republican Party.

Donald Trump—as of now—hasn’t gone so far as to claim that Democrats control the hurricanes. But he’s given fuel to plenty of other outrageous and dangerous theories. Last week ahead of a visit to North Carolina, he posted on social media that he was getting “reports” about “the Federal Government, and the Democrat Governor of the State, going out of their way to not help people in Republican areas.” At a rally in Michigan this week, Trump said that “Kamala spent all her FEMA money, billions of dollars, on housing for illegal migrants, many of whom should not be in our country,” and that “they stole the FEMA money, just like they stole it from a bank, so they could give it to their illegal immigrants that they want to have vote for them this season.” He said there had been “no helicopters” to relieve people, and that Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp had been unable to get in touch with President Joe Biden.

All of this is blatantly false. It’s also pretty horrifying with another dangerous hurricane moving through the Gulf of Mexico, poised to wreak even more havoc on the region.

Worse yet is that one of the central pillars of social media is owned by an credulous doofus who’s positioned himself as sometimes consigliere, sometimes rally clown, to the Trump campaign. Elon Musk has used his platform seemingly to spread any rumor that’s come his way. Late last week, he posted a note that said that “FEMA is not merely failing to adequately help people in trouble, but is actively blocking citizens who try to help!”

This has been a recurring theme of his, that FEMA is, effectively, working to worsen the situation. Fortunately, he was able to get in touch with Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg eventually, which calmed him down. That would have been a good first step, of course, before posting rumors about how the federal government opposes helping people.

The unfortunate question here, as we barrel toward Election Day, is: Does this pattern sound at all familiar?

Much of the country is in widespread discontent. Along comes Trump to either offer his own stories or inflame those floating around on the fringes, to give people someone to blame. Local and state administrators of both parties insist there’s nothing to these stories, but Trump and his sycophants push them anyway.

In other words, no: The pattern and spread of misinformation that’s emerged following Hurricane Helene does not give me confidence that the aftermath of the 2024 election, in the event of a narrow Kamala Harris victory, will go more smoothly than that of 2020. It almost feels like a dry run ahead of the election to test that the systems of deceit are still operable. They sure seem to be—only this time, Elon Musk owns the social media platform that dictates the pace of “news.”

What’s most disconcerting about the idea that the government can control and direct hurricanes to maximize wreckage, or that FEMA is actively working to block Republican areas from rebuilding, is the assumption of malevolence at the root of it. Most of the fact checks of Greene’s theory focus on how it’s obviously not scientifically possible for “them” to do what she describes. What’s equally important to stress—and it’s a shame it needs stressing—is that “they” wouldn’t want to do that. Joe Biden and the Democratic Party do not want hurricanes to kill, displace, and destroy the lives of American citizens. FEMA does not want Republicans to have trouble getting water. If you’re willing to believe these things, though, you’re more than willing to believe that an election can be stolen—again.

[charizardstolemynickname]

As a doctor who fan and a good omens fan, yes. Yes you should.

oh so we ALL were traumatized by the good omens season 2 finale so brutally that it catapulted us back into our doctor who phases, huh?

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the hornyhead chub!

The hornyhead chub, named for their pronounced tuberacles (bony projections) in spawning males, scientific name Nocomis biguttatus. This fish is a kind of minnow found exclusively in North American freshwater. Living in a range from Wyoming to New York, and as far north as North Dakota to Southern Arkansas, although they can occasionally be found outside of their normal range in the Colorado river and as far South as Georgia. This fish lives primarily along the Ohio, Kentucky, and Mississippi rivers, branching off into smaller creeks. Within these creeks the fish prefers to live along rock beds preferring calm clear waters, with a tolerance for darker waters only if there is a lack of turbidity. Young live exclusively near vegetation, using it as a hiding place from predators, but adult populations are entirely unaffected by its presence or lack thereof.

Despite being a minnow, a family often thought to be some of the lower rungs of the aquatic food-web, this fish has no major predators outside of local large omnivore or carnivore fish in certain areas. Yet, despite this they are reducing from their natural ranges and are practically endangered in Wyoming, Pennsylvania, and Kansas for reasons we aren't fully sure of. These fish are essential in these food webs due to their nesting sites sticking around years after the inhabitants have passed, being used by numerous other animals after them. Conservation efforts have taken place in affected areas, preventing excessive human harvesting for bait. On a global scale however, they are of least concern.

The hornyhead chub's diet is wide, as an opportunistic omnivore. Found foraging in both day and night, they are far more active when the sun is up, as they rely almost entirely on sight, possibly the same reason for their prevalence in clear stiller waters.. The juvenile fish forage for smaller fish, insect larvae, small crustaceans, and freshwater plankton, while the adult hornyhead chub's prey on larger fish, insect larvae, snails, worms, clams, and larger crustaceans. This diet allows them to reach a size of as large as 12 inches, with an average of 8.5 inches, rather large for a minnow species.

The life cycle of the hornyhead chub is similar to that of many others. After hatching from their eggs, these fish will live 6 months as fry, before being a juvenile for the next year. Then, at 2-3 years of age these fish sexually mature. This is when the male will build a large mound of pebbles into a nest, which they will spend the entire breeding season and after guarding. These males guard the nest from other male hornyhead chubs, but do not guard from other fish, leading to several cases of hybridization of species, as these nests are a safe area to lay other species eggs in. Even within their own species, females will lay eggs across multiple nests, ensuring diversity. These fish live only 3-4 years, and so they can live for only 1 or 2 breeding season, but are almost certain assured their legacy will live on, as the predation of hornyhead chubs is small, and fertilized eggs are covered by gravel before guarding, such the predators can not find them before hatching either.

That's the hornyhead chub, everybody! Have a wonderful day and a good week ahead!

[the-dixon-effect]

Sticks and Stones

A/N: dear fic writers, consider this a public service announcement. DO NOT schedule a week of fic writing that coincides with a camping trip, it is hell!!!!

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: Y/N suffers from chronic pain in her feet, but hates to feel vulnerable around others so constantly overworks herself. perhaps a certain archer could be the right kind of medicine... | requested from this ask by @justalexheree :) guys i really did my research for this one so i hope you enjoy ^.^

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of chronic foot pain ig?? lil' time jump

It must be late by now, you thought. You were hesitant to look up to check the position of the sun for fear of getting distracted. You were crouched down, working out in the allotment around the front of the prison. The farm was a brilliant idea, you decided, despite the high amount of labour that was necessary to feed the residents of the prison-turned-camp. God knows you needed the food. Perhaps if the members of your community were aware of your condition, you wouldn't be forced to work out here all day, practically sweating your skin off in the Georgia sun. It didn't matter anyway, 'cause you couldn't let that happen.

So here you were, digging up soil and planting seeds 'til the sun disappeared behind the trees. It was somewhat enjoyable, you convinced yourself, of course you had your thoughts and daydreams to entertain yourself, and back in your old life you would have never found yourself spending so much time outdoors. Even so, a mundane office job might have arguably been a little better for your body. You constantly found yourself having to distract yourself from the persistent ache in your feet, maybe some company would do you good, you thought.

"Hey, we're all eatin' inside, ya can prolly finish up now," you heard the familiar voice of the crossbow-wielding man from several metres away. You knew you needed to stop, but there was still work to be done. If only there was enough food in the first place, then maybe you would let yourself resign to the dining area. Save it for those who needed it, you thought.

"Alright, I'll be inside in a second," That was a lie. It's not like the rest of the group would notice your absence, you figured. You better just stay out here a little longer, making sure the crops were tended to until it was dark. Then maybe you'd get some rest. For now, you didn't need to eat. Truthfully, your feet were killing you and it felt like you could keel over at any second. Get over yourself, you said, over and over in your mind, these people need feeding.

You remembered the look the archer gave you when he called you inside, observing how you were the only person left out in the field. You turned to check if he had left and, to your surprise, he was still stood watching, hands buried in his pockets as he looked straight ahead and met your eyes.

"C'mon," he shouted across the distance between the two of you. You couldn't really say no to him, except he left you wondering why he was so eager for you to join him. You put down your equipment and split from whatever idle job you had yourself occupied with. Something you did appreciate about the humble farmer's life was the reasonable tan you had acquired, which was on display in your little denim shorts as you jogged up to meet him. A part of you wished Daryl would notice.

"Ya' alrigh'? Yer limpin'," he asked, meanwhile you were contemplating on the fact that this might be the most words you'd ever heard the archer speak, to your face anyway. Your lack of association with the man didn't stop you from admiring from afar, though.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Been a long day."

"I bet," he replied, walking side-by-side with you up to the building entrance. You thought it was sweet how he paid attention to you and noticed something like that. Maybe one day you'd open up about your condition, when it felt right.

3 MONTHS LATER

You looked around the room, searching for Daryl's eyes. Today, more than ever, you needed to be with him. After months of breaking down his thick walls, it was safe to say that he'd become one of the most important people in your life. Your feet were hurting like hell today, and the only thing that would make you feel better right now was his presence.

He'd been out on a solo run, which you'd begged Rick to let you join him, ultimately to your disappointment. So you spent your day as you always did, out in the pasture, tending to the crops. After a while you headed back inside in hopes of finding Daryl, perched at one of the rusty tables, waiting for you. To your dismay, you couldn't find him anywhere.

You approached Rick with a worried look shaping your features, "Where's Daryl? Is he back yet?" you asked, your voice laced with concern. "Nah, he's not back yet," sensing your anxiety, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spoke, "Y/N, he's gonna be fine. Anyway, he's scheduled to be back in... about an hour."

So you waited. And waited. It felt like the longest 60 minutes of your life, busying yourself in your cell by reading a book that Carol recommended, not absorbing a single word. By the time you decided that there was nothing else you could do to distract yourself, you headed downstairs and made idle chatter with one of the prison newcomers, Karen.

"I hear your boyfriend Daryl's coming back from a run today," she said.

"Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend," you said with a slight giggle.

"Oh, right! Gosh, it's just that you two are so close, I just figured- you know what, nevermind, ignore me," she said with a chuckle.

You smiled and looked at the floor, and tried to silence your anxious thoughts about whether something might have happened to him, if he's hurt, or anything. At this, the double-doors swung open and in walked the man you'd been waiting for for the last 48 hours. You approached him, suppressing the relief and excitement you felt just from seeing him walk through those doors. His eyes lit up at your welcoming smile, and maybe, just maybe, he would be inclined to embrace you right here if the prison foyer wasn't so crowded.

For now, he had other things on his mind that he needed to clear with you. Just like you, he spent the last 48 hours worrying more about your safety than he did his own. He regretted not being able to stay with you, or at least bring you along with him. He was the only person who knew about your condition and how badly you were affected by it, which meant he felt an immense responsibility to take care of you and offer you acts of service. Not to mention, you were also the only person who Daryl felt totally comfortable around, comfortable enough to share some of his childhood trauma and emotion with. You liked to think the two of you had a special bond, but despite your healthy friendship, you couldn't help wanting more. Either way, all he wanted right now was to be with you and to not have to deal with anyone else in this damn place.

Maggie shot you a mischievous look from across the room as you tugged on the archer's sleeve. You rolled you eyes at her following Daryl up the steel staircase and entered his cell. You sat down next to him on the mattress and he copied you by rolling his head back against the cool brick wall. You sighed in contentment, still in somewhat pain in your feet.

"So, how'd it go?" you asked, turning to face him.

"Was fine. Are ya' alrigh'?" you noticed how he changed the subject, sensing his concern.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just a little relentless, you know," you felt a little guilt for immediately beginning to talk about yourself, even when you knew you needed his comfort. His closeness was good enough for you.

"Mm, I know. Ya' gotta stop overworkin' yerself, ya know," he drawled. His pretty eyes were staring deeply at you now.

"Uh-huh. It's just, it's kind of relentless, you know. Like nothing I do makes it better. There's no distraction that works," it felt undeniably good to talk to someone about it, someone who understands. Someone who doesn't subject you to the same stereotypes or think that you're making it up. He wrapped an arm around you and you instinctively rested your head in the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious, like the outdoors, mixed with the distinct notes of Marlboro cigarettes and stormy weather. This was a pretty good distraction, you thought.

"Hey, I'll always make a run into some pharmacy to get ya yer meds, or anythin' like tha'," he spoke softly with his lips resting on the top of your head, occasionally brushing against your silky hair. "Jus' tell me what ya' need." It was this. You needed this.

“I just need you.”

[joansiesbeloved]

Happy Thanksgiving! Wishing you all a wonderful holiday. Spend time with your loved ones and take care of yourselves. Much love and God bless. 🧡🙏🏻

On Nov. 4, 1963, President John F. Kennedy signed this Thanksgiving proclamation. Little more than two weeks later, on Nov. 22, 1963, he lost his life to an assassin’s bullet during a trip to Dallas, Texas. America is as divided as it has been lately and Kennedy’s wish that the nation unite around its shared ideals seems more important than ever.

We hope you take time this season to give thanks for all that’s around you, and offer a hand up to those who need it. From all of us at the Georgia Recorder a very Happy Thanksgiving.

Over three centuries ago, our forefathers in Virginia and in Massachusetts, far from home in a lonely wilderness, set aside a time of thanksgiving. On the appointed day, they gave reverent thanks for their safety, for the health of their children, for the fertility of their fields, for the love which bound them together and for the faith which united them with their God.

So too when the colonies achieved their independence, our first President in the first year of his first Administration proclaimed November 26, 1789, as “a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God” and called upon the people of the new republic to “beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions… to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue . . . and generally to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.”

And so too, in the midst of America’s tragic civil war, President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday of November 1863 as a day to renew our gratitude for America’s “fruitful fields,” for our “national strength and vigor,” and for all our “singular deliverances and blessings.”

Much time has passed since the first colonists came to rocky shores and dark forests of an unknown continent, much time since President Washington led a young people into the experience of nationhood, much time since President Lincoln saw the American nation through the ordeal of fraternal war–and in these years our population, our plenty and our power have all grown apace. Today we are a nation of nearly two hundred million souls, stretching from coast to coast, on into the Pacific and north toward the Arctic, a nation enjoying the fruits of an ever-expanding agriculture and industry and achieving standards of living unknown in previous history. We give our humble thanks for this.

Yet, as our power has grown, so has our peril. Today we give our thanks, most of all, for the ideals of honor and faith we inherit from our forefathers–for the decency of purpose, steadfastness of resolve and strength of will, for the courage and the humility, which they possessed and which we must seek every day to emulate. As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words but to live by them.

Let us therefore proclaim our gratitude to Providence for manifold blessings–let us be humbly thankful for inherited ideals–and let us resolve to share those blessings and those ideals with our fellow human beings throughout the world.

Now, Therefore, I, John F. Kennedy, President of the United States of America, in consonance with the joint resolution of the Congress approved December 26, 1941, 55 Stat. 862 (5 U.S.C. 87b), designating the fourth Thursday of November in each year as Thanksgiving Day, do hereby proclaim Thursday, November 28, 1963, as a day of national thanksgiving.

On that day let us gather in sanctuaries dedicated to worship and in homes blessed by family affection to express our gratitude for the glorious gifts of God; and let us earnestly and humbly pray that He will continue to guide and sustain us in the great unfinished tasks of achieving peace, justice, and understanding among all men and nations and of ending misery and suffering wherever they exist.

In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States of America to be affixed.

DONE at the City of Washington this fourth day of November, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States of America the one hundred and eighty-eighth.

[lucy4242564]

Masterlist

Most of these are all going to be fanfictions moved from my ao3! My ao3 is usually more updated with fics, but I’m trying to adjust to tumblr formatting as well!

I’m open to x reader requests and am willing to explore most topics, as long as you’re patient with me!

When I fixate on a character I tend to only write for that character as my writing flourishes better that way!

Currently only writing for Daryl Dixon.

🌶️ smut 🤎heavy topics

Daryl Dixon

x original female character

.cowboy like me. Complete

twd prequel circa 2004

~forever is the sweetest con~

Lilah Cabot was excited to spend the summer in Georgia with her best friend before she started college in the fall. Becoming familiar with a new area before it became a semi-permanent home.

In any other circumstance she would’ve never paid a second glance at him. Meeting a man that undeniably read her better than she read herself was nothing she was expecting though. Then again..

~takes one to know one~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3🌶️

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6🌶️

Chapter 7

Chapter 8🌶️

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11🤎

Chapter 12

Chapter 13🌶️

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

And they were roommates one shot sequel to .CLM.

Lilah Cabbot had all but deserted her past life and started anew as an unofficial member of the Grimes family. She had the intentions of becoming best friends with Lori and explore the female companionship she craved. Just like fate had taken control of her last relationship though, it conquered her new one as well.

One shot

damn shawty…we both not okay

.CLM./atwr sequel/seasons 1-3

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

[be-my-ally]

Crash Landing

(aka Big Bunny 4)

Wheeew, only 6 months later than I intended! it's 4am and somehow, despite spending forever on this, I fear the grammar may be janky - so apologies for that. This follows directly from The Lisa-Marie, and the masterlist for the series is linked here!

This is the last of the planned ‘main’ chapters, but there are some time jumps in this and the last chapter, so if anyone has any requests for any bunny/elvis one shots pop them into my inbox and I’ll see what I can do. I have a few little plans to fill out some of the gaps, but no promises on when they might appear. 

warnings: 18+, some mild sexism, p in v, oral (v receiving), afab!reader, skiing, allusions to poor health, Elvis is swearing like… a lot in this chapter. Make of that what you will. References to drug use. THIS ENDS IN JULY 1977 - AUGUST IS IMPLIED. wc: 14k I don’t know what to say - there was meant to be a brief skiing interlude and then all of a sudden I’m 10k in and they’re still in Colorado. 

Early 1977  

Linda is gone for good, finally some of the guys would say, and you couldn’t totally say that you disagreed. It had been stressful - the ups and downs of their relationship, being caught in the crossfires. You had enough experience to know it wasn’t really specific to her but nonetheless it had still been somewhat difficult to witness. It had been hard to face her on the jet, knowing what Elvis was saying behind her back; how adamant he was for them to be over. On the way between stops in the October tour he’d sat on the couch on the plane, glistening with the sweat from the show and still dressed in his white jumpsuit with red flames jumping up his chest, he’d tugged you over, uncaring of the others in the room. Telling you that you were the only girl he could trust to have his back, that he didn’t even know why he kept her around. He didn’t seem to remember, and you didn’t care to remind him that he’d told you the same thing back in June too. Every time she’d suddenly reappear - his desperation to be looked after superseding any desire he may have had to say goodbye to her. Why you couldn’t be enough for him you didn’t know. 

Then, almost immediately after Linda’s gone - and, admittedly, briefly before she was too - you’re meeting this new girl, Ginger, albeit rarely. Elvis for some reason putting her on the Jetstar with her family more than with him. In some ways it helps - the fact that she’s not there all the time, in others it makes you feel awful — his rush fiancee and her family seemingly not even willing or wanting to travel with him. It’s mostly a slow season over the winter though and for some reason Georgia is getting more hours than you and so, you’re forced to say goodbye to your examination of the inner workings of his private life until after the New Year break. It ends up being early February before you get a call to come in for one of his vacation whims.  

It feels like it’s been an age since you last saw Elvis even though it had barely been a six weeks, and you felt guilty that it had felt so nice to relax a little. It was hard when you spoke to your friends, and all their careers or mothering sounded so stressful all the time, they were all jealous of your ‘easy’ job, the extra benefits sounding all too impressive.  Where else would you get a new wardrobe paid for? A shiny new car sat outside for you, or an apartment rented? But it was hard to explain without giving away too much, how it was impossible for you to ever really turn off; how you thought about him all the time, worried about him all the time, even when you were at home.  

He hadn’t been difficult to manage the last couple of months of the year, at least, not as bad as the middle and start of the year, but his moods had turned almost overwhelmingly blue, and it had been tricky to level your tone and actions to appropriately comfort him. You’d started feeling on edge every flight, worried and insecure. So, the break had been nice. It had given you a chance to re-evaluate, take a breather and consider what was best for you to do.  

Elvis himself called to wish you a Merry Christmas, he’d been sweet and kind and promised you a gift even as he made small talk that you knew he disliked, even if he was good at it in that southern way, and it had made you hate him just a little. Your chest aching with the feel that he was treating you like a total stranger. It hadn’t improved when you’d returned to your Memphis apartment from your parent’s house and discovered a card had been delivered in your absence. “Season's Greetings, Elvis and the Colonel and Friends.” You’d allowed yourself the briefest of cries staring at yourself in the mirror while the blotchiness crawled up your neck. You were still an ugly crier despite your best efforts. It’s the final straw, you thought to yourself as you stared at your wild eyes and messy hair where you’d tugged your hands through it. You’ll see it through the summer. Then you’re done. That’ll be just enough time to work out what to do next - maybe you’d go back to school. You dried your eyes, patting yourself on the cheeks. That’s it. Decision made. You refused to give it any more thought. Especially, about why you didn’t just quit immediately if you were planning on it later anyway, not willing to admit to yourself you wanted to give him another chance more than anything else. It was just altogether too much, being the girl on the side of the girl on the side, having to balance being his friend, employee and lover. But you’d had your moment, and you were using your trusty technique of just not. thinking. about. it. anymore.  

You were nervous as you tied your little necktie and pulled at your hem from where you were sure your dress had shrunk over the past month, preparing to greet the men loading onto the plane. It was informal, as it normally was, and you looked back somewhat fondly to your days on Big Bunny, where everything was written and handbooked out with the proper procedure for every situation. Now it was just up to you to decide what to do for every eventuality. In this situation you made the brave decision to hide. So, you tuck yourself away in the galley on the other side of the little half wall, waiting until enough of them have boarded that you’ll be forced to peek out and say hello. There were more people loading on than during the last tour, and despite the extra numbers you knew you were handling this mostly alone - Georgia had been unable to come in under such short notice; something about a grandmother. So not only were your nerves shot worrying about when you should tell Elvis you were quitting and how it felt like you were harbouring some awful secret, you were also having to steel yourself to be overworked and run down by the time you were able to get off the plane. When you peek out around the partition you get the first glance of him and you’re a little embarrassed at how you can feel a flush start to rise just from that look.  

He looks not dissimilar to how he did that first day on Big Bunny - open collared shirt and jogging jacket on - this time a navy blue with a baby blue stripe down the shoulder and arm. He looks good - like you could just burrow into him, and you’re relieved that the sudden demand for your appearance isn’t for something panic-inducing from the way he’s smiling and chatting - laughing with Charlie and Joe. You’d been a little concerned that the rapidity of the request was hiding a more sinister origin after a similar call had preceded a rush to the hospital last summer. But he was looking good, really good actually. Somehow his face had lost some of its puffiness it’d been holding onto and he was a far better colour than you’d gotten used to - perhaps a high from the success of his New Year’s concert as he’d been pleased with the reaction and reviews or maybe even just high off the excitement of his, apparently, serious relationship with Ginger. Although, evidently not altogether that serious since she wasn’t joining them; you’d already decided you’d keep your thoughts about that to yourself. You shyly watch him from across the plane where he’s already sat himself down, comfortable in his own space and leaning against the back - his legs spread wide, retelling some story you’ve already heard once before. You take a deep breath before heading around the little partition, fully intending on acting as if you had an important job to do by the door. You managed to keep the ruse up long enough to shut the door and let Ron know you were all set to go, long enough to hand out drinks and cigars and let them all settle in,  but you couldn’t pass directly by him again without him noticing you, and his arm shoots out, grabbing your wrist as you go to walk past. You barely have a chance to notice his hold on you before he’s pulling you in, forcing you to bend over in order to accept a kiss on the cheek in greeting. You can’t explain why you’re so nervous, but you find your tummy flipping at the close proximity to him. With anxiety or excitement, you can’t quite tell. In some ways it’s slightly more forward than you’d expected from him for having not seen him in a month, but perhaps you had just gotten used to him ignoring you in the months prior.  

“Good evening, Elvis.” It’s a fine line between polite and aloof, and you can already tell you’ll be reliving this interaction all night. His eyes are bright with amusement at your formality when he gazes back at you, his thumb still gently stroking over your wrist.   

“Well, it is now.” He grins as you visibly cringe at his cheesiness, “Good evening to you too, honey.” He looks you over as he lets go of your hand, allowing you to stand back up, and eyeing your hemline, “‘re you ready for the cold?”  

“Hopefully it’s not gonna be too cold on the plane,” You stumble over your words in nerves, “but I can always turn the heat up a little - “Elvis shakes his head, 

“Nah, I’ll keep you toasty, hon, snug as a, as a bug.” You struggle to regain your composure as your mind flickers with images of just how he could be keeping you warm.  

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll have to since someone makes me wear this. But I’m pretty well covered anyway.” You grin in response to his smirk when you gesture down at your stockinged legs.  

“Well, that’s real good doll,” He runs a hand through his thick hair, letting a hint of the grey around his temples show as he pushes it back, and you find yourself missing the steadying warmth of his grip, “but you know - we’re stopping in Vail.”  

You pause, unsure how to put it politely, “Mmhmm, that’s what Elwood tells me.” He frowns, leaning back and settling even further into the seat, arm spreading across the back rest and he shifts so his thighs are encasing you.  

“Alright then miss know-it-all, tell me what I was gonna say next.” He stares at you, and it makes your insides twist even as you can feel heat pooling in your stomach.  

“Uhhh,” You struggle, to try and think of what to say that will maintain the teasing playful tone, feeling like you’ve been called on daydreaming in the middle of class with everyone’s eyes on you and simultaneously totally distracted by the feel of his legs against yours. He smirks as you flounder, “Well, perhaps, that you uh,”  

“You can say you don’t know.” He sing-songs it, “Silly little girl like you can’t know everything, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the frustration rise at his teasing,  

“No. I suppose not.” He smiles crookedly, pleased he gets to tell you the next part, even as he explains it like you’re a little slow.  

“I was goin’ to say that I hope you’ve got a coat somewhere…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “since you’re comin’ with us.” Your brain goes blank.  

“Me?”  

“Why not?” He straightens a leg, it, perhaps inadvertently, knocks against yours and you immediately feel your gaze pulled to it, the heat of his thigh against your knee making your head go fuzzy. “Been a while since we’ve been off this plane together.” He’s looking at you hopefully, eyes wide behind his shades and you can feel your insides fizzing with excitement - even as you feel the need to protest,  

“Oh well that’s very kind but -”  

“C’mooon, honey - it’ll be fun! Hot cocoa, and, and skis, and playin’ in the snow.” His leg moves again, the soft cotton blend of his jogging suit catching on your nylons, “Dashin’ through the snow…” Your mouth opens, about to make a Paul Anka joke but one look at his encouraging smile puts you off,  

“Oh, well, like I said, that’s very kind - but I don’t, I don’t have any clothes or coats or boots or -” He cuts you off with a tut, rolling his eyes and shaking his head like you were being particularly stupid.  

“I was only kidding before.” He sounds a little petulant at the suggestion, “You don’t needta worry ‘bout that - we’ll get you sorted out.” He nods, as if you’d already given him your agreement.  

“That’s very generous Elvis, but I don’t know how to ski.”  

“Don’t worry I’ll teach ya!” He seems overwhelmingly confident considering you and he both know he doesn’t know how to ski, “You can just be - hey!” He sits himself back upright in his excitement, knocking against you enough that you shift on your feet, “You can just be my little snow bunny, can’t ya?” He laughs as he says it, and his laughter is infectious - you find yourself giggling along with him,  

“I suppose that would be fitting.��� 

“ ‘Sides what else were you gonna do while we were out?”  

“Well…what I normally do - fly home or stay in whatever hotel I’ve had booked for me.” He looks curious for a second, “Sometimes I visit people if we’re close to someone I know.”  

“Do I book ‘em?”  

“Uh. Well. I think maybe your daddy does? Or, whoever’s organising everyone on your behalf yeah, sure.”  

“Oh…” He looks contemplative, before with a frown, “Are they nice?”  

“They’re fine El - it’s normally the same place the band is.” It’s sometimes a shithole but you’re not about to tell Elvis that.  

“Would you - why… did you not wanna come with me?” He half-whispers it and your brain stutters to a halt,  

“What? That’s not, that wasn’t ever an option Elvis.”  

“Well. It is today. Come with us.” He holds out a hand, serious for the first time in the conversation and with his eyes looking at you like that even if you’d wanted to refuse you couldn’t. You nod in agreement, acquiescing to his demand. 

 “C’mere then.” He tugs you down against him and you wriggle into place on his lap, the fabric of his trousers catching on your nylons as you settle against his sturdy thighs. He rubs gently at your calf, his thumb and forefinger encircling your ankle and you feel yourself relax out of your self-consciousness to enjoy the closeness.  

You laugh at a terrible joke at Joe’s expense and Elvis’ legs shake underneath you as you collapse against him in a fit of giggles. Your giggles taper off as you feel him twitch against your thigh. You school your face but can’t stop yourself turning to look at him in surprise, and more than a little excitement. His expression is unchanged, and you wiggle almost imperceptibly, come out, come out and play. It twitches again, and Elvis shifts as if in discomfort, you glance around but no one else seems to be paying you any attention - already distracted by something or someone else so you feel comfortable you’re not about to get caught as you try to wriggle your hand down to him. He immediately clamps an arm around your waist, holding you tight in place - your arm caught between you both. He looks down at you amused and you bite your lip - a pretty pitiful attempt at seduction,  

“Shh.”  

You indicate to the bedroom, more than a little disappointed when he shakes his head. “Later baby.”  

He keeps you trapped on his lap, making it impossible for you to go and do anything, making the boys make their own drinks even when they try and ask you. Even when you try to whisper that you need to get up, he holds you there, gently soothing you back into compliance with a press of his lips, a whispered promise, a stroke of his fingers.  

“Elvis I really hafta get up - we’ll be comin’ down soon and I’ve gotta make sure - “ 

“It’ll be fine baby, don’t worry ‘bout it.”  

“Well, we can’t just sit here forever - at the very least I’ll have to go and open the doors.”  

“Shit baby, Ron or Jim or God, I’m sure even fucking Elwood can manage that. No offense doll but I think they might even be more qualified at it than you. Besides I ain’t payin you to open doors.”  

You push off his chest, turning to face him and interjecting before he can even continue that thought,  

“You sure as hell aren’t paying me to keep you ‘company’ either.” He rolls his eyes,  

“We’ve been through this, I don’t give a fuck about the plane or anything else. Your job is to care for me.” His eyes burn behind his shades, and the intensity of his frown takes you a little by surprise. You stroke the wrinkle on his brow,  

“‘m sorry but look - I have a couple of things I have to do and anyway you’re gonna have to put a seatbelt on in a second, because it’ll get bumpy - and if you hit your head, I’m not being responsible for it.” You wag one of the heavy gold seatbelts at him and he sighs,  

“Well, fine, but you’re mine soon as we land. No excuses then.” His hand strokes your thigh, and your tummy flips,  

“No excuses. I’ll be yours as long as you want me.” There’s a hum, and you both suddenly realise Larry has come a lot closer than before, “Your hostess I mean.”  

——————————— 

Ron patted your arm as you disembarked with the others. “Remember we’ll be there soon too,” He looks at you, “We’re staying at Betty’s aunt’s place, but I’m sure we’ll be invited round.” You nod, reading between the lines and you smile, 

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

“You do that. Have fun.” He winks, disappearing back into the cockpit and you take a breath before rejoining the group dispersing into a collection of cars.  

“What’s she doin’?” The whisper travels as you climb into the car, Larry and Joe start to reply but Elvis jumps in before either could get their words out too.  

“Goddamnit,” He kicks the seat in front although it certainly wasn’t Joe who had piped up, “She’s coming too - so shut yer fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”  He shouts out the open door and slamming it shut. He slides across the bench seat to be pressed close against you, his hand curling over your thigh.  

You smile shyly, pleased when Shirley turns around to smile at you, you weren’t her biggest fan - she’d never been overly friendly, but at least she was now acknowledging you.  

A whirlwind shopping excursion ensued while Elvis sent the other car to scout out where he wanted to stay. You were a little taken aback, but not altogether surprised, that he’d demanded the trip on such a whim that he hadn’t even secured proper accommodation, but he did a fairly good job of explaining himself while you were being sent back and forth from different stores for the appropriate clothing.  

“The thing is …” You kind of zone out while he talks, the story leading from one to another, before returning to the actual point he was trying to get to, but you appreciate the rumble of his voice and the gossipy tone that makes you feel a part of his exclusive little group. You manage to capture the gist though; that he was pretty sure they could stay at the same lodge as last time, because it was a friends but he hadn’t actually asked - since the decision to go away hadn’t been made until yesterday, and that he couldn’t see any reason why not - but if they had problem with it there was surely other, bigger better lodges to stay that would be overjoyed to host him.  

You were tired by the time he decreed that you finally had a suitable wardrobe and he looked over the collection of bags with satisfaction, although - despite the three other coats he bought you, he still felt the need to lament that it was a; 

“Damn near trav’sty,  none of these backwater stores have white fur. Can’t be a proper little snow bunny,” He sighs, “Joe - make sure we order her one for next time.”  

Your chest glows at the nonchalant way he says it - like he just expects you to be there again. Like it’s no big deal. The other car returns with good news, and they all filter up to the same lodge as the year before. 

“I reckon Ron and Bob’ll regret being such fucking, well, they’ll regret it anyhow now - once they see this and know they could’ve been here too.” You don’t know what to say, so you stick with saying nothing and Elvis tuts and shakes his head, shifting to stare out of the window, although he doesn’t pull his hand away from where you’re making little circles on his palm.  

It’s dark and late outside, and yet Elvis demands everyone get suited up to go and play in the snow, and everyone is in high enough spirits not to protest. You’ve not yet had a lesson though, and as you pull on your brand-new ski suit you playfully refuse to even entertain the prospect of heading anywhere on actual skis - Elvis doesn’t seem to be disappointed, grinning at you under his mask and gesturing for you to clamber onto the back of his snowmobile.  

Despite his promises on the plane, things never did, that first night, progress past heavy petting in the bedroom - but it was something just to have his thick weight next to you in the bed, laughing and joking as he pressed kisses down your face and throat. His little huffs of laughter as you returned the favour tickling his chest made you feel the same pleasurable contentment as if he’d decided to fuck you for hours.  

It was rare, recently, for him to be in such high spirits and still lucid - and you couldn’t help but wonder whether Dr Nick had managed to work out the exact right combination of drugs to keep him perfectly stable, or if he was contributing more placebos. Either way, you weren’t privy to their intimate conversations, nor allowed to witness his daily dosing. The most you saw was the little pills he put into his palm, twice as many as he tipped into yours, before bed and in the morning alongside the occasional couple that he nonchalantly explained them away simply as “Jus’ a little painkiller.” Shrugging his shoulders.  But either he was being a lot sneakier - and you weren’t sure you should be viewing that as a good thing - or he was finally listening to concern and easing himself off a little.  

It felt like it had in those first few weeks after you’d met him - carefree and fun. And somehow you felt yourself relaxing from the tense feeling you’d had since the start of last year. The worries falling off of your shoulders. You spent the first two days joined at the hip - not even really partaking in the snow sports on offer; snuggling up on the snowmobile and then taking yourselves off to curl up in the lodge instead.  

The third day, or really night - since as always with Elvis you soon found your days and nights flipped around - he was ecstatic about the fresh, perfect snow and clear weather and you’d all been sent out to play.  

It felt like a long night by the time Elvis was happy to let everyone return to the house. He hadn’t even joined you on the slopes properly, instead choosing to order everyone about from the comfort of his snowmobile.   

“C’mon fellas - get into a line! Go on! I’ll chase ya!”  

“For god’s sake Billy, move it along! You nearly made me take your whole damn leg off!” A pause, before raucous laughter ensued, “Again!”  

Still, you hadn’t minded this turn of events since it meant you hadn’t had to try and remember your rushed and hurried lesson on the nursery slopes that afternoon. Instead, you’d given it one go accompanied by his shouts of laughter at your falling,  

“How’d a dancer get to be so goddamn clumsy?”  

“I wasn’t a dancer!” You’d protested from your position flat on your back in the snow.  

“You danced real pretty for me though doll.” You rolled your eyes, scrambling back to your feet, trying not to pout as you brushed yourself off, he shook his head laughing once more before shouting back at you.  

“Aw now darlin’, that ain’t a pretty sight. C’mon, better hop onto the back of here, it’ll be a bit safer for you.” He’d said it through giggles, and you felt the determination to get down by yourself rise up again,  

“That won’t be necessary!” You attempted to take off again, and just as you were attempting to straighten your skis, about 12 feet from where you had last fallen, you were on your side again in the snow. Elvis didn’t give you a choice this time, angrily killing the engine completely and storming over as best he could through the thick snow, yanking you up by your arm and dusting you off himself.  

“‘S not the time to be stubborn, C’mon now.” You can’t see his facial expression, obscured by his layers and the dark but you can hear that his annoyed words would be accompanied by tightly knitted eyebrows and a frown. 

“I can do it.” You angrily pulled your arm out of his grasp, the momentum immediately making you start to lose your balance again, and Elvis catches you before you could fall for a third time. 

“For heaven’s sake,” You can practically hear his eyes roll, accompanied by a sigh as he tries to change tact, “I’m sure you can, but it’s dark, and you’ve already tripped twice.” You frown, and he placates, a soothing hand rubbing down your arm, “I just, I just worry about you baby, c’mon, let me look after you - you’re liable to break - no no no, don’t look at me like that,” His hand comes up to cup your face, “I just care about you s’all, don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it so honestly and affectionately that you find yourself nodding in agreement, and truthfully, despite your obstinance, you couldn’t have agreed more - you probably would break a leg if he’d let you go on. He grins at you, “There we are, you know it makes sense, don’t you - there’s my good little bunny. C’mon then, hop to it,” He pats your ass encouragingly, although the padding makes the action redundant, and you slowly make your way over to the snowmobile. 

You climbed onto the back slightly awkwardly, almost reluctant to be too close in front of all the guys, despite your cuddling the days before - they’d always been a little more distracted by their own activities to spend much time assessing yours. But Elvis yanked your arm around at the first possible chance, patting your hand where it lay against his padded stomach and tugging you to press yourself against him. You were getting a little bored, and nervous, of all the commotion so you found yourself totally content to curl against his body for warmth and tuck your chin into his shoulder. Despite your brand-new base layers, and soft down ski suit, there had still been enough of a chill in the night air, and from laying in the cold snow, that you were eager to be as close as possible. Elvis’ figure was more padded than you were used to feeling him, his coat also puffy and filled with down. You took immense pleasure in squeezing him tightly enough that you felt the padding compress, eager hands trying to find his body underneath. You found yourself considering, as one hand came to play with the little hairs escaping his mask and goggles at the base of his neck, that it was a damn shame you were both so covered up, since you couldn’t smell him. If you’d been less love-drunk on him you’d have been amazed at yourself; at thinking it was a damn shame, you were unable to smell an undoubtedly sweaty man.  

You have no idea how long you spent on the back of the snowmobile, hands roving all over him; only that you quickly lost all sense of self-consciousness and instead felt a rising feeling of possession. A dangerous feeling if ever there was one, but enough that you felt your manicured hands staking their claim, rubbing over his arms and back. Elvis seemed to be enjoying it, shifting to be closer to you whenever you moved away, and patting at your arm.  

When he finally, at speeds far too reckless for the early morning night sky, drove you back to the lodge he barely said a word to the rest of the group grabbing your hand and pulling you straight to the master bedroom. It was exciting and, whilst you were almost reluctant to get your hopes up too high, your thighs had been clenching of their own accord for the past hour and you could feel the dampness of your underwear against your warm delicate skin - it was impossible not to; you’d been on edge for hours.  

He’s sweaty from his layers, his red face revealed when he pulls his ski mask and goggles off, there’s a hint of stubble coming through and his face looks alive, cheeks plump with his grin. You were happy to be back in the comfort of the wood-panelled bedroom, although its cozy feel belied the chill that seemed to remain in the air of the wintry cabin. Elvis doesn’t say anything as he concentrates on taking off layer after layer until he’s mostly down to his bare, pinkened skin. You smile when it’s revealed he hadn’t backed down from his childlike refusal to wear proper base layers, silk shirt coming into view but at least you can tell from the sweat patches and his damp skin that he’d certainly been warm enough. You feel like you’re melting from the inside out from the sheer fondness overtaking you until he tugs it over his head, an unusual lack of care shown to it.  You meet his eyes in pleased surprise, and you’re further taken aback at how he manages to make his eyes twinkle so much, playfully glittering in the low light of the room. You can see his smirk growing as your eyes travel down his bare chest, an involuntary noise spilling out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you had the chance to stare at him like this. Elvis gestures at you, disrupting your intense focus, and you suddenly realise you’ve been standing still staring at him for almost too long, so you rapidly start to unboot yourself. You don’t get any further than kicking your shoes off before Elvis is suddenly in front of you. He brushes your hands off of yourself, fingering at your zipper himself. He twirls it between his fingers, ever so gently with one hand - the other coming to distract you from the anticipation by cupping your face, drawing you around to look into your eyes.  

Elvis’ hair has always been long enough for you to run your fingers through, but it seems to have grown almost thicker, and you inch even closer to stroke his cheeks, pushing back his hair - frizzy from its woollen containment. Despite Larry’s accompaniment on the trip when you brush back the hair at his temples you can see the same hint of grey starting to show through as before, and you can’t resist stroking the strands there.   

He smiles at you, pulling you into him to kiss you, making you breathless. As soon as you were distracted, he was unzipping the jacket of your snowsuit, shoving it off your shoulders and down to your waist. It falls to your feet by itself and you immediately pull off your under layers. It simultaneously feels frenzied but also slower than before; like both of you couldn’t wait even though you knew you had the chance to take your time. You lean back so he can tug your undershirt over your head, barely breaking contact with his lips. He pulls back, grinning, after fiddling with your bra clasp, the straps falling from your shoulders. Soon you’re practically nude, your naked chest pressed against his.  

He feels solid against you; it’s been a long time since you both had the opportunity to take your time like this, and his body feels slightly different than before. He still had that uniquely Elvis feel but he was sturdier, and though you doubted it could possibly be true, it felt as if his soft carpet of chest and stomach hair had grown larger, trailing down into the swell of his stomach like a tantalising arrow. He’s surer of himself than he was the last time you found yourself naked with him, reminding you of how he was back on Big Bunny, his broad yet slender hands firmly spanning your sides. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were finding him so attractive because it had been a while, or if it really was just that he always looks good. Any thought was swept from your mind though when he recaptures your mouth, his lips soft and firm against yours, and his tongue insistently presses past yours in a way that could only be described as eager.  

The movement of your chests against each other is enough for you to gasp against him - desperately moving to be closer, trying to practically become one with him. You can feel him smile at your desperate noises, before he moves a little. One of his hands slide down to rest at your waist, the other encircling your wrist. He holds it at your side, your other arm is trapped between you, and you whine at him between gasping breaths that it’s not fair, “C’mon El, that’s unfair, let me touch you,” He grins against your cheek, his spare hand moving to palm up at you.  

Elvis presses a kiss against the side of your mouth, and as you start to voice your protests at his movement he mutters, “I just need - let me light the fire, hon.” against your skin, the vibration of his voice causing you to shiver. He pulls away with a final tug to your bottom lip, and you find yourself pouting at the loss of his heat. You fold your arms across your chest, a little self-conscious now he’s moved away and besides it was slightly chilly, but you couldn’t bear to let him leave you - besides weren’t you about to warm each other up? Although, maybe you were more ready than he was; as he was soft still, and the thought of him tending to the fire - the domesticity of the combination made your stomach clench perhaps more than if he’d been hard and ready to go. But still, you were reluctant to allow him to move away.  

“I’m sure I’m hot enough,” He shakes his head, kissing your hand as he lets go of you entirely, “Honestly - we-we’ll be under the covers in a moment anyway, and I’m, I’m already burning babe.” But he’s already wandered over to the fireplace; thankfully it had been left pretty well set-up, and all that really has to be done is the physical lighting of the kindling already in place and you console yourself with the knowledge that it should only take a few seconds.   

“Not gonna let my bitty baby bunny get cold, hims gotta take care of herses.” He mutters seemingly mostly to himself although he was more than loud enough for you to hear. It does the job he intended it to, and you can feel yourself start to melt in response. He glances back at you as he crouches by the fireplace.  

“Hadta do this in the army baby,” You start to laugh at his tangent, “Yeah I did!” He ardently refutes your chuckle, “- with none of these fancy tools,” He’s holding up a box of firelighters, “No siree, just two sticks and a rock and I could light anything up.” You giggle, finding the situation all the more amusing when you notice he seems to be struggling to light it now. He keeps trying with the book of matches from the side, but for some reason they just won’t seem to take and he huffs, swearing, standing himself back up from his kneeling position to storm over to his jacket, fumbling in his pocket for one of his lighters. Your jaw drops as you watch him reach inside the fire to hold one of the crumbling firelighters in his hand, and he lights it to the accompaniments of your shrieks and admonishments;  

“Elvis! Oh god put that down! You’ll set your - oh lord, you’ll set your chest on fire doing that!” He turns to grin at you, before swearing as the fire licks his fingers, throwing the flaming chunk into the fire, and finally - finally watching as the kindling starts to flicker.  

“Told you, honey, no problem at all.” He shrugs his shoulders, but your heart rate hasn’t yet levelled back out and you can’t help but continue to scold him.  

“Jesus, what would I have told everyone! I swear -” He stands up, away from the fire now crackling to life, holding his hands out placatingly,  

“No, no, no,” He grins, “No sweat, baby, I knew what I was doin’.” He’s got that boyish glint in his eyes, happy as only a man who has achieved a stupidly primal action like lighting a fire or setting off a firework can be, and when you continue to scold him he suddenly rushes at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you tumbling together onto the bed. His broad arms come around you, holding you like a movie starlet swooning in his arms.  

“Shhhh…. honey, bunny, I knew what I was doin’ ok? You see, I was just foolin’ around, pretendin’ I couldn’t light it - you know, just messin’ with you a little, just - just for fun.” You snort in disbelief, although you’re quickly distracted as he kisses the crook of your neck, following an invisible line down to your shoulder and back up to your neck, one of his hands coming to hold the back of your neck while the other traces circle on your stomach. You gasp, and you can feel his grin against you.  

“El—vis, oh - god, you can, let me get these off - please,” and you wriggle out of your panties, shoving them to your knees and kicking them off, when you manage to flick them off of your ankle  your legs return to the bed, slightly more parted than before, desperately inviting Elvis to do more.  

“You believe me don’t you honey?” His fingertips dance over you,  

“Wha-” He repeats the question, 

“You believe me, right, bunny? Y’know I could’ve lit it in seconds?”  his fingers trace below your belly button.  

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course - who needs firelighters! Not Elvis!” He grins at you, and the sight of it makes you tease further, “Boy, you could, you could,” You giggle breathlessly, “You could make it a part of your show, you know - what can’t Elvis set on fire?!” You do a jazz hands gesture for emphasis. Elvis throws his head back in laughter, his head hitting the pillows and you wriggle in pleased amusement next to him for a moment before he sits back up,  

“Oh ho - you take that back, little girl,” His fingers prod into you, tickling your sides and you scrunch up as you giggle more,  

“I take it - oh! I take it back! You did, you did an excellent job.” He nods in self-satisfaction,  

“Now,” his hands soothe the pinkened skin from where he’d jabbed into you, “Let me make you feel good, baby.” Elvis leans up and over you, cupping your face to pull you into another, deep, kiss while his hand finally travels down past your navel, brushing over your inner thighs. Your hips jerk up, as if offering yourself up to him. You can feel his arousal growing against your thigh, twitching like the little bunny nose he claimed you had. 

“Lord, bunny, you’re so soft, can barely feel ya, s’like silk down here I swear to god.” Your eyes slip closed, your back arching at the feel of his soft pads sliding through the silky wetness of your folds, and your legs opening a little wider of their own accord in invitation, begging him to go lower or higher or something. When all of a sudden you feel a chill at the loss of his presence as he moves away. Your eyes flutter back open to see him, bare ass on show, bent over and poking at the fire - adding an additional log that immediately crackles and spits, onto the top.  

“El-Elvis.” The situation catches you by surprise; to be abandoned in favour of fiddling with a fire could be seen as a little offensive in some ways, but it tickles you and the giggles overcome you before you can ask what exactly he was playing at.  

“Ah, sorry honey, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging’ there but it was in danger of goin’ out.” He runs his hand through his hair as he stands back up, his hands falling to just below his hips for a second while he surveys the fire - making doubly sure he’d gotten it set up.  He stretches, and you admire the muscles in his back as they move with his arms for a moment. He turns and stalks back over to the bed - immediately jumping beside you, bouncing you up before he gathers you back into his arms. His hand reaching across you to cling you to him, arm over your waist, finger barely brushing a nipple.  

“You should worry about me going out at this rate -” He laughs at you, rubbing his thick fingers down your sides.  

“Ohh-ho, but baby, bunny, I thought you were burnin’ for me? “He does his famous lip movement, somewhat self-deprecatingly, “just a...” He moves his hips next to you, “burnin’ love. Uh-huh? Bunny love?” You bite your lip at him - it was funny, but more than anything you can feel the arousal growing again in the pit of your stomach. He smiles at you, not expecting a response before he shakes his head, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before flopping back to stretch out on his back. You roll with him, lazily kissing his chest. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt with him in months, maybe even in the past year.  

He slides his hand back down, one of his long, thicker but still fundamentally slender, fingers preceding the others. You’re more than ready for him, and while your hips move in response to him pressing it past your entrance it’s not enough for the desire burning inside you.  

“’S no good - can I - are you, are you ready for me?” He looks at you a little surprised,  

“Yeah, sure, just - how d’you want the pillows.” He makes as if to get up and move himself off of his back, but you stop him with a hand to his chest. Your fingertips tweak his nipple, just the tiniest bit and you take pleasure in his open-mouthed reaction; perhaps a little surprised at your initiative and he looks wide-eyed when you tell him,  

“Well, maybe I could…uhh..y’know,” You gesture vaguely towards his cock, he blinks at you, “Climb on?” His mouth stays open for a moment before he seems to remember himself, remember that such an offer shouldn’t seem a surprise to him. If you had the brain power to think you would consider it a little sad; the confidence he’d had on Big Bunny in comparison to now. He shakes his head, even as he settles back against the headboard, seeming to recollect himself, smirking.  

“Sure thing, honey, I just thought women didn’t like doin’ any of the work.” You roll your eyes, not bothering to mention that this wasn’t even the first time you’d ridden him, but still, you swing your leg over him and with a helping hand from him to position himself you settle down, your thighs straining over the breadth of his lap. You immediately regret your decision to face him when you realise it means he’s watching your face almost too closely, and you say a silent prayer of thanks that you had had enough experience with him that you weren’t overly intimidated.  He holds himself steady, letting you sink yourself down onto the sturdy length of him. His own face screws up, falling back onto the pillow behind him at the feel of the warmth of your wet heat pressing down onto him. You struggle for balance for a second, before your hands find their way onto his shoulders for a moment while you adjust to him. It’s been a while, a fact Elvis points out as he gasps at you that,  

“Oh - lord, Jesus, honey, you been waitin’ for me? Ain’t - God, takin’ me so goddamn perfectly; feels just right for little Elvie, such a good little bunny, all for me.” Your hands scramble down his chest to his, admittedly thicker and softer middle, to push back and hold yourself up.  

“Elvis - you feel, oh, I, I’ve missed this,” You shudder around him,  

“Can tell,” He huffs as you start to lift up on your knees, “Can tell you’ve been so good for me, huh baby,” He grips your hipbones, “just a itty bitty baby bun bein’ good for me, holdin’ on jus for me.” You moan at the feel of the different angle he hits inside of you from this position, and as you find your momentum rising up and rocking yourself back down you feel your confidence growing.  

“Oh, uh-huuh, good girl, oh lord that’s sexy…” You moan in response as you lean backwards a little, encouraging him to come up to play with your breasts. It amuses you how he still tweaks and pulls like a teen in the back of his daddy’s car, yet somehow, he manages to get the pressure just right, grinning at you knowingly as he licks his fingertips before bringing them back to your nipples twisting them just enough that the combination sends a rush of wetness. It’s a distraction for a second, but mere moments later and your thighs are screaming at you. Unlike on Big Bunny though this time you’re determined to see it through, and you blink through half-closed eyes at him, his own sweaty face staring back at you, mouth-open. Your hands paw at his chest, struggling to find something to grip to get the leverage you need, fingertips scratching at his chest hair, and Elvis eventually puts his hands back to your waist, his own hips moving to help you bounce on him.  

You can no longer bring yourself to care about how you look - entirely lost in the sensations - groaning a little in annoyance as your hair falls over your face and into your eyes. You struggle to try and brush it away while still keeping your balance and momentum but quickly you feel Elvis’ hands move from your waist, one large sweaty paw coming up to push your hair off your face, his thumb stroking down your cheek after it’s tucked back. You let him slip it past your mouth as you rock onto him, moaning against his soft skin. His mouth stays open watching you with heated eyes,   

“C’mon now, mama, finish the job.” You nod rapidly, his thumb tumbling out of your mouth, and he trails the spit-soaked digit down to rub along your thigh, letting his hips jerk into you, rolling with the movement. His hand sinks down, and your hands come to his shoulders as he starts to roll his thumb against your clit, his hand resting on the joint of your thigh and his other coming to back down to clutch at your hipbone. You’re almost there when you feel his hand suddenly pause as his hips thrust up more aggressively than before - more like how he used to perform and you’re about to shriek in protest, tell him off for stopping you right at the precipice, until you see his face screwed up, perfect lips open.  

“Oh - Oh, fuck, fu-fu-uck.” He stutters the word, relief palpable, as if releasing after an immeasurable time. His hand moves back to play with you, his thumb moving rapidly, rubbing exactly over the right spot and it’s almost too much, the overstimulation making you lose your words as he slips and slides it back and forth. You’re begging him for something, although you’re not sure what and he praises you as you grind against him.  

“That’s it, that’s it,” Elvis is breathless still as he encourages you, “C’mon bunny, you can give it to me baby, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He’s growling in your ear and you fall forward, his softening cock rubbing wetly against your folds as you land against his chest. His voice is enough to tip you over the edge, and you find yourself rutting against him, gasping into his collarbone before going stiff, stomach muscles and thighs convulsing as you twitchingly hurtle through an orgasm.  “Shit.” He swipes his thumb over you again and you flinch away, but he pulls it away himself, shushing you before he pats his other hand onto your back and you jolt at what amounted to a an unintentionally heavy thump, his thumb stroking and soothing you back to quiet. His lips press against your shoulder blade, I love you it feels like he whispers against your skin, and you shout it back to him in your mind.  

The next day you think to get ahead of Elvis, sending him to go and play with the guys while you rush back into the house, claiming a headache and a desire for an early night. You’ve lit the fire by the time he gets in and while you’d debated waiting for him naked and ready, you’d grown too self-conscious in his absence, so you were tucked under the covers; supposedly reading his book he’d left on the nightstand although you’d done more listening out for their return than actual reading.  

You can hear him shouting to the boys on his way through, no regard for the idea that you might be asleep. He comes bounding through the door, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of you. The door falling closed behind him with a clunk.  

“You waitin’ up for me, bunny?” You swallow, trying your best at seduction, shoving the covers off to unveil your lingerie clad body,  

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “Waiting and waiting just for you.” He grins, unzipping his jacket and starting to stalk towards you. The fire crackles and he pauses, his head turning to look at it.  

“Oh. You lit it without me?” Your mind runs in circles as you try to work out his tone,  

“Um, yeah - it was cold, so…” He frowns, looking back at you, huffing as he shoves off his jacket entirely, you come to the realisation that he’s actually a little annoyed, “I, I, just thought it would save you a job - you know, it would all be done, and you could just…” You gesture down yourself. He doesn’t respond, finishing stripping himself off and collecting up his pyjamas to take them into the bathroom with him. 

“Elvis? You’re not, don’t be mad at me - I really was just trying to be helpful.” He shakes his head,  

“I’m not mad, baby.” Elvis disappears into the bathroom leaving you to squirm on the bed, your tummy in knots. You’ve put his book back on his nightstand and have tucked yourself back under the sheets, feeling too exposed to stay as you were, by the time he comes back out clearly ready for bed himself. He throws back the sheets, climbing in,  

“I-I like doin’ it honey, honest -” He opens up his arms for you to curl into, “I know the place has proper heat and all, but it just feels more, uh, atmospheric, doesn’t it?”  

“I know El, that’s, that’s why I lit it?” He hums against the top of your head,  

“I know sweetheart, uh, thank you, but I like taking care of you.” You nod in understanding, trying not to be too disappointed that your attempt at doing something nice seemed to have derailed your night. “So, what did you think?” He nods towards his book, 

“Oh, I- I barely got a chapter in, I didn’t wanna lose your place,” You settle against his chest, 

“Oh no, honey, I’ve - I’ve read it over and over, not got a place to lose - you go right ahead.” You mumble a thank you, but make no attempt to move, “Or I could read it to you?” His hand strokes your back, and you nod your head against his chest,  

“That would be nice - yes, thank you.”  

“Did you like it?”  

“Mmhmm…. what, what do you like about it?” He never picks the book back up and you happily drift off to the sounds of his deep voice rumbling on about his spiritual conclusions from the text.  

——————————— 

The next morning you find yourself waking up much earlier than everyone else, and you end up unable to fall back to sleep. You eye the bottle of pills on Elvis’ nightstand, but you would be too nervous to take something without waking him up and he looks so peaceful, gently snuffling beside you. Instead, you end up pottering about in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and curling up onto the couch in the living room with his book. An hour or so later Billy stumbles across you on his own hunt for a cup of coffee, and it’s almost awkwardly silent for a second as he stares at you from across the room. You’re just about to ask if there was something he wanted you to do when he breaks the silence first,  

“You know…he’s really going for Ginger.” He looks you up and down, “But, you could - well, what I mean to say is that the boys like you.” You’re taken aback, unsure what he even means by that, and you stumble over your response,  

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t wanna step on anyone’s toes or anything, you know I’m just - I’ve never been skiing so Elvis asked and -” He cuts you off mid-sentence,  

“Look I’m not saying you’ve gotta go around acting like you’re off the streets, but just you know. If you wanted,” He gestures in the general direction of the hallway and Elvis’ bedroom. “I’m sure… well I know I wouldn’t protest.” You swallow hard as you try to consider the correct response.  

“That’s very kind of you to say. I appreciate it.” You’re a little nervous this is a test and while part of you wants to bombard him with questions about what the issue is with Ginger - and does he really think you have a chance with Elvis? Like his girlfriend? You’re not sure how much will get back to Elvis and you’d rather be painted as cold than desperately vying for Ginger’s spot.  Part of you cringes at the implication that all the guys were out discussing his relationships; that they all thought they knew best, on the other hand the little you’d seen of Ginger did little to change your perception from the same as theirs. She seemed nice enough, but Elvis certainly seemed a lot more hot and heavy than her. Even if there hadn’t been a lot of hot and heavy lately - except, apparently with you.  

Later, when everyone but Elvis was up and despite everyone else’s protestations (and Billy’s attempts) you stayed firm in your resolve not to let them light the fire in even the main room. If Elvis wanted to do it and liked doing it, you were going to be damn sure it was there for him to do. It was storming quite heavily outside, and while you waited for Elvis to wake up, you’d all decided it was best to hang around inside.  

You settled down on the floor by the coffee table to set up some cards, pretending to be nonchalant about where you’d placed yourself even as you hoped your position would put you exactly by his legs, and the perfect distance for optimum warmth from the, soon to be lit, fire. Elvis chooses that moment to walk in from the bedroom, in yet another strange silk shirt and tracksuit combination.  

“Hi doll,” He bends over to press a kiss the top of your head, and you lean up into it. He rubs his hands together in an exaggerated motion as if for warmth when he stands back up.  

 “Shit. It’s fucking freezing in here.” He looks around, “Why’d no-one light the fire?” They all turn to glare at you, and you start to explain, stumbling over your words.  

“Yesterday! Yesterday - you, you were offended, when I - I just thought you’d enjoy it!” You protest, and Elvis stares at you, eyes narrowing as if you were the white witch putting the cabin into permanent winter. 

“Offended! Lord, the whole goddamn world will be fuckin’ offended when I can’t sing for shit b’cause I’ve caught pneu-neu-monia and my throat’s scratched to all hell!”  

“Oh, I didn’t - I mean, the main heat is on - I didn’t think…” He ignores you to plop himself down opposite to where you were sitting, miles away from where you’d been planning and anticipating for him to sit. Elvis angrily gestures towards the fire and both Ed and Dick rush towards it, making sure it was lit quickly. You can feel the other girls look at you sympathetically, even as you desperately try to avoid everyone else’s eye, annoyed and upset at being publicly scolded. It’s bad enough for Elvis to be pissed off with you in public, you didn’t need their pity too. It felt like you were being judged for not knowing how to deal with him like this, you can feel some of them - Joe and Shirley for sure - rolling their eyes at you, but you didn’t know better; every time he’d been annoyed in the past you could escape with the excuse of needing to get something from the galley or you were alone in the bedroom together - and you could use other methods to soothe him. But to be in this situation in public was completely unchartered territory, and though you knew everyone there had to be aware of your relationship and situation, it still made you uncomfortable to be having an argument out in the open. At the first opportunity you have you excuse yourself, claiming another headache and shaking your head at Dr Nick’s offers of painkillers you head off to the bedroom. 

Elvis comes barging in an hour or so later, and you flinch at the bang of the door against the wall, already bracing yourself to be accused of sulking or some other continuation of the argument but you remain where you lay in bed, on your side facing away from the doorway and try to concentrate on the words on the page of his book again. He sighs, and just as loudly as he’d opened it he slams the door closed. He makes his way over to you, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking over at you.  

“My little bunny isn’t mad at me is she?” His tone is almost contrite, and you immediately roll yourself over to look at him. He’s got a boyish look on his face and you can feel yourself starting to melt, but you’re not entirely ready to forgive him yet.  

“I’m not mad at you Elvis.” He frowns, titling his head like a confused golden retriever. He lets his head flop into his shoulder as he peers at you.  

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” You hum back at him, trying hard not to be swayed by his expressive blue eyes. He clambers up onto the bed, to cuddle into the side of you, running a finger down your arm, “Oh you can’t be mad at me, bunny can’t be mad at him - not when he yuvs her so so much,” He curls his arm around you to tug you closer to him, and you struggle not to smile as he continues baby-talking you, “not his bitty bunny,” He presses a kiss into your arm, shifting himself to place several leading up the back of your neck, and then leaning over to press them against your shoulder, he murmurs against your skin, “she wouldn’t ever be mad at him, his bitty, baby, bunny who he yuvs…” Your heart clenches. You know he’s manipulating you, and you’re still embarrassed, but he sounds so sincere. Even if he’s only saying it so he doesn’t have to outright apologise Elvis suggesting he loves you in any way is enough to make you forgive him.  

“I’m not mad at you, I promise.” You roll around to look at him, staring into his eyes, “I swear Elvis - I’m not. I’m sorry for trying to control the situation.”  

“Nah, nah you were just, you were just tryin’ to take care of me - I see that, let me, let me make it up to you baby,” His fingers glide over your stomach and sides, toying with the waistband of the corduroy trousers you were wearing. He looks deep into your eyes, searching for something, and he smiles a moment later, “C’mon bunny, lemme make you feel good. Let hims make it up to hers.” His fingers wriggle under the waistband while the other pops the buttons and you lift your hips to allow him to take them off.   

He presses his lips to yours, ever so briefly, and you try to chase him even as he pulls away, his palm holding you down while he moves his mouth down your neck. He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone, and you shift in his grip, rubbing your thighs together as he laps at the little maroon mark. He sits up, settling himself between your legs but keeps his hand on your stomach, its wide span pinning you against the bed. No rings this time to dig into your skin, just the intimate feel of his fingers flexing against your abdomen. He brings his other to pat your legs apart. You flop onto your back, unable to stay in a crunch staring at him, the look on his face as he stares at your pussy too much to take.  

You’ve been tense waiting for him, and though you feel yourself automatically relax into his thick hands you still worry momentarily that it’s going to be hard to get you to finish. You don’t want to disappoint him, and you open your mouth to tell him as much when his rough tongue laps at your soft folds, twirling around your clit. His tongue has lost none of its finesse, and he has no difficulty, with the help of two of his fingers to bring you to the brink within a few minutes.  He laps against you, sideburns tickling your inner thighs, for what feels like forever and you’re struggling to keep your legs open and not wrap your thighs around his head, contenting yourself with tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him into place with the little strength you could muster. He’s not quiet when he does this - Elvis never is, uttering his own pleased little hums that seem to harmonise with your own, much louder moans and curses, the vibrations rebounding around your core. It’s not long before he sits up, mouth glistening - clearly ever so pleased with himself while you pant away the white spots behind your eyes.  

“There’s a good girl now.” He pats at you, “C’mon back out now - ‘s no good sulking in here.” And though you never were sulking you find yourself tiredly nodding at his instruction, more than willing to do whatever he asks of you, boneless and biddable.  

——————————— 

It’s strange when you get back home - It felt like you’d been away for months, wrapped up in your little Elvis vacation bubble, and yet it had scarcely been two weeks. It’s absurd that it’s such a struggle to adjust again. You’d let yourself get so close during the trip that it was painful to have to force yourself to watch and listen as he calls Ginger before you take off on the way home, or to be totally ignored as they all clamber out of the plane when you hit the ground in Tennessee. The trouble with Elvis, you thought to yourself as you finally sunk back into your own bed, was that he was everything. More than everything - everything revolved around him, like planets orbiting the sun and it felt near impossible to escape his gravitational pull. You knew your mother would say, “Baby, finish on a high; keep the memories.”  The issue with that is that now you’ve had a little you want more. There’s no way in hell you can quit now. Not before you’ve had just a little taste more, just one more fumble, one more heated look from him, one more whispered I love you into your neck. But you have no idea if the desire is reciprocal; it’s hard not to read too much into it when your presence is conspicuously absent in March. You didn’t even know they were going to Hawaii, or that they had gone until Georgia told you about it while mentioning their rushed return home. Did he think you’d have a problem flying him and Ginger somewhere? Or did he think you wouldn’t be able to be discrete; a laughable idea since you’d been proving yourself in that department for the past three years. Elvis doesn’t mention it to you, so you keep quiet too, and almost immediately after regular service seems to resume.  

You weren’t pleased for long, when it became clear that while he hadn’t looked much worse for wear after the apparent ordeal in Hawaii, and his voice sounded as good as before - none of this was to last. The monotony of the road, the easy habits of most of a decade immediately flooding back to him.  

Despite having spent as much, if not more, time with him than a girlfriend would have done in the past three or four years, the long days and nights spent together you can feel him drifting. You had been there when other girls were there, there when they weren’t - watched over him awake and asleep. But you weren’t. You weren’t his girl, you were, at your core, essentially an addition to his jet. An amenity. So, when you get the call that a couple of tour dates were cancelled and that your services weren’t needed, before an almost immediate redaction and urgent request for your services, to get him ostensibly home, and in reality, quickly to the comfort of a hospital. You were at once concerned - you weren’t allowed to be worried, that was for family and friends - for Ginger and Vernon to pace back and forth in a waiting room. Your job was to remain calm. Professional and calm, even if you knew that had he been more conscious he’d have demanded your presence. He’d said as much after Linda had left - that you were his first choice. Maybe not just an amenity after all. That you would have been the one with his head in your lap, dabbing at his forehead - rather than Ginger’s hesitant pats to his arm. But it’s not you, and you have to simply take a deep breath, hoping that you’d at least get an update. 

There were, by May, so many signs that things are going wrong, even to your untrained eye. Maybe because you saw him less and less, the flights short between tour stops, the requests to see you at the hotels suddenly lacking, that it doesn’t feel like a gradual change in the way the men describe it to be. The paranoia, the fear, and the sheer absurdity of his behaviour all seem to hit you all the more because you were able to directly compare to when he was doing alright, to how, mere weeks ago, you’d been having a grand time in Vail together.  

The guns. The guns had become a symbol of his sheer level of turbulence. He’d threatened you before, at a time where it had seemed so out of the blue it was laughable - now, if he’d done the same thing you’d be more worried - he wasn’t as careful as he had always been. You weren’t a pilot, you didn’t have the same responsibilities, but even so the guns at Binghampton had almost cost you your job and would have certainly cost you your reputation had it all gone south. Had Elvis not somehow, despite his state, been able to effectively charm the officer in charge into forgetting his apparent oversight; although how, considering the guns had tumbled out right in front of them, was anyone’s guess. The ramifications were awful though, you and Ron and Elwood stressed about the ‘cargo’ on the plane, while Elvis shouted to anyone who would listen that he could do what he goddamn liked, waving his narcotics badge at anyone who tried to tactfully protest. You hated it.   

It’s a long flight, at the end of a long week. It’s been trying for all involved, although Elvis has spent a lot of the time that you’ve seen him in a half-asleep state, desperately trying to recover from the strains and stresses of the brutal tour schedule he’s been put on again. You’ve corralled him into the bedroom on the Lisa-Marie, it’s a six-hour flight - not nearly long enough for him to recuperate properly, but enough that you actually have a fighting chance for once. He’d been playful and handsy the day before, the way he was sometimes - likely having taken one too many uppers, but you could tell from the lines and bags under his make-up that, though it’s been ages - to try and tease or play with him now would be borderline cruel. Instead, you focus on making him comfortable, tucking him up with you under the soft covers of the large bed, petting him exactly as he likes it. He’s just starting to calm himself down and you continue to murmur to the top of his head when he suddenly starts talking,  

“I don’t, don’t wanna marry-marry her.” His speech is slurring, and you can’t be sure if it’s from sleep, or the effects of the palmful of pills he’d taken an hour ago, or some combination of it all. Oh, so maybe that’s why he’s gone off the rails?  

“You don’t, - you don’t have to El- if you don’t want to,” You murmur back to him, acknowledging internally that he must be both absolutely exhausted and feeling miserable if his immediate response wasn’t to tell you to mind your own goddamn business.  

“I’ve gotta take care of it - get the boys to take care of it…. Daddy'll do it for me. He should.” He nods to himself, but his eyes stay closed.  

“Elvis, sweetheart,” You whisper to him, “you can’t make your daddy do that for you, you’ve… gotta do it yourself.” You pat his back, and he burrows his head further into your lap, your fingers finding their way into his scalp, curling around and into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you gently stroke his head and back. “She’s, she’s a reasonable girl - I’m sure she’ll understand-”  

“That’s…” There’s a long enough pause as his breathing evens out that you’re fairly sure he’s asleep, but then he mumbles back, “’S not her ‘m worried about…’s her, her folks.”  

You try desperately to reassure him, muttering about how no-one could judge him for making a sensible decision, and better to cool it off now than later, but it’s too late, and the only response you get back is the sound of him snuffling in his sleep, his eyelids and forehead relaxing as he curls his legs into you, snuggling against your warm heat, tucked against the thick gold comforter.  

You try to relax yourself, but your mind is whirring at a thousand thoughts a minute; all too many of which were imagining poor Vernon being gifted with the unfortunate task of breaking up with his son’s girlfriend.  

You feel sorry for him, you never believe when the husbands of your friends make jokes about how they’ve been ‘trapped’ - it’s a man’s world, and it seems absurd to suggest that someone’s womanly wiles were solely the root of their relationship crisis and yet, his description of his relationship is starting to sound less like young fun and more like a calculated entrapment. For perhaps not the first time in his life. You sigh again, and jump when Elvis pats your arm,  

“Shhh, s’ok, s’ok baby, I got you,” He’s fast asleep, eyes twitching being their lids — but still, his hands swipe over your side as he clumsily pats at you, shushing you while he does. The notion makes your eyes fill with tears, how could he still be so utterly sweet and dependent? 

The next morning he made no reference to the night before, or his whispered confession and you dressed and continued on as normal. Your mind though kept floating back to the words Billy had said to you back in early February. Should you attempt to make a move? Or at least, make sure Elvis knew you were totally available? Before you have the chance to act on any of these impulses though there’s a rumour spreading across the group - that Elvis wasn’t coping, that he needed a break, that the tour was going to have to be cancelled. You’d pushed it out of your head, hopeful he’d just need a decent rest that would be enough to rejuvenate him to get through the tour. But tragically, the rumour had turned out to be true and you’d delivered him home to Memphis amidst cancelled shows and runs to the hospital. He’d looked terrible when you’d left him, looking back at you at the top of the plane steps. You want to turn up, check he’s ok, check that he’s sure about Ginger, that if he’s not going to end things then that she knows how to take care of him. That she’s doing the best she can.  

It had been radio silence since that last flight and perhaps you should be assuming that no news is good news, but you find yourself thinking about him most days. Worrying and waiting. You wonder if he would let you in if you went to Graceland to see him, or if that was altogether too presumptuous, hell you’d heard all about how he hated girls that were too forward. But he loved to be taken care of - you supposed it all came down to control, and though you were desperate that he be well looked after, and you wished you could supervise that yourself, you were otherwise happy to let him take the lead – it was just altogether too scary to do anything else.  

——————————— 

Finally, in the middle of the third week of July you get a call reminding you of the upcoming tour, and then, almost immediately after you agree, an unusual call from Elvis himself. The phone ringing insistently less than 5 minutes after you’d agreed to the tour details.  

“How’re you doing baby?” He’s talking in that slow drawl he does when he’s sleepy, worn out from the day - from rehearsals maybe, or just life in general. “My bitty baby doin’ ok, huh?” 

“I’m just fine,” You’re impossibly hungry for details, but reluctant to sound too eager, 

“My yittle bun-bun lookin’ after herself?” You’d basically already told him this, but the wording makes you blush, and you don’t mind repeating yourself for him, “Of course. I’m ‘cited to see you.”  

“That’s good, well, that’s reeeall good honey, because, uh, you see,” His voice takes on the explanatory tone he so enjoys, both didactic and gossiping, “I don’t know if you’ve heard… or I suppose you wouldn’t have yet, but uh, Ginger’s not, she’s not coming on this tour with me, we’re, uh, we’re well…” He trails off, and there’s little breathy noises down the phone to you, which lets you picture the way he would have just taken off his glasses, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose.  

“Oh,” What else is there to say? ‘Oh Elvis, I’m glad you’ve ditched your fiancee?’ Hardly.  

“She was just, just a lil too young, jus’ a baby, not, she just - it wouldn’t be right to make her settle down with me right now. Not, not when I don’t know if she really…well you know.” You don’t know what to say, and Elvis waits only for a brief second before filling the silence himself,  

“The thing is - I wasn’t sure, I don’t know if you’d heard, I’ve uh, I’ve been, well, I’ve been real sick to tell you the truth. Weren’t sure I were gonna make it out to this tour and we thought for sure we were gonna have to cancel but well, here we are.”  

“You’re not… you’re feeling better?”  

“Yes ma’am.” At least that sounds confident, “Got myself a new doctor, and ‘m, uh, on some new, uh, treatments and uh stuff.” He pauses, “Playin’ a lot of racquetball.”   He sounds slightly sheepish, and while you’re endlessly curious you don’t press the point.  

“Were you just ringing to confirm I’d be around?”  

“Well, here’s the thing, the thing is, honey, the thing is - I know you’ve already had a call, but you see, I was sorta hoping maybe you’d be happy to cancel them plans?”  

“Oh. You don’t want me on the plane?” There’s a moment of silence before he swears to himself, muttering down the phone that he’d learn to have some balls one of these days.  

“No, No, you misunnerstand - I want you on the plane, and off the plane - I just want you to come with me.”  

“Oh.”  

“If you can’t, well, I understand.” He sounds resigned, and your heart breaks a little, “But, I want company baby, and I want yours.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, breathless in your excited agreement, 

“I want yours too! I’ve been - Billy said, well I’ve been hopin’ for months El, I miss you so much when we’re at home, and oh, I’d love to.” Somehow you can hear him shaking his head through the phone,  

“That meddlin’ shit.” You giggle back at him, and he laughs in response before he keeps talking, “So - pack your bags, honey, and I’ll send a car to get you at the usual time?”  

“So, am I - like working?” He huffs at you, 

“No - no, not workin’ for me no more - just being there for me. Want you to be my girl baby - be good just for me - not chasing down the other guys to make ‘em drinks.” You shake your head, brain skipping over the important part of the statement to the last part for a moment.  

“I don’t believe I’ve ever ‘chased’ the other guys,” He huffs down the phone,  

“Well lemme tell you they’ve been chasin’ you, wolves chasin’ their lil bunny,”  

“Hmm, there’s only one wolf I want to eat me though Elvis.”  

“S’that right?” 

“That’s right.”  

“Well then, I’ll have it all ready for you, s’probably easier, y’know this late notice and all,” You read between the lines that Ginger’s still at Graceland, “that I’ll uh, you’ll be waitin’ for me on the Lisa-Marie?” You cringe, but he does sound more like himself than he has in weeks, and hopefully - unlike with Linda and Ginger he’ll keep to his promise and actually get rid of her before you get on board.  

“Mmhmm, that should be fine.” You hear him move away from the phone for a second, talking to someone else for a moment,  

“Right, honey, I’ve - I’ve, I’m bein’ told I’ve gotta go now - got a meeting in a minute, but don’t be afraid to call - anytime, you’re to be put straight through to me, y’hear?”  

“Yep, Elvis, I hear,”  

“Alright then, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then - you take care of yourself baby,”  

“You too El,” You’re about to say something stupid, like I love you, but with one last,  

“Ok - buh-bye.” The line’s gone dead.  

——————————— 

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last three chapters -

@lookingforrainbows @ooihcnoiwlerh @ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @literally-just-elvis-fics

[myocsfanfictions]

Safe Heaven - TWD Season 3

The Walking Dead Fanfiction

They had to leave the farm, and this time, they had to be on the road for seven months. Sarah and Nicki can not help but wonder and pray to find a new place. A place where they and their new family could start a life, maybe in peace, maybe forever. Does a safe heaven really exist in a world like the one they are facing?

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 4

NICOLETTE

After eight months, the group was finally able to spend more than two nights in the same place. T-Dog had been searching for supplies with Carol when they stumbled upon a little village in the middle of nowhere in Georgia. They had found an abandoned school where they could finally rest.

Rick had kept them safe throughout the winter, and Nicki was well aware of that, but he had made them move around constantly. Whenever he wasn’t sure about the safety of a location, he preferred to find a better one. But now everyone was feeling fatigued, and Lori, even though she kept up the pace as if she weren’t about to deliver a baby in a few weeks, was starting to tire more easily. So, when Rick agreed to stay at the school for a few days,

"The school wasn’t big; it was a kindergarten with only three classrooms. They had cleared it of the walkers that had been inside, and Sarah had set up her traps at the doors to alert them if any walkers managed to get in. This way, they could escape through the window of the classroom they were using for sleep.

"Glenn," Rick said, making the guy look towards him. Take the map; I wanna see where the closer creek is. Tomorrow, we might need more water." Glenn got up from where he was sitting next to Maggie and then followed Rick and Daryl to the other side of the classroom.

"You think we can stay here?" Nicki heard Carol ask Hershel. The man's beard and hair had grown, but Nicolette had to admit that the new look suited the old man. It made him look kind of badass.

"I don't know," he answered with the usual gentle tone. "The herd is far from here, but it's going to catch up sooner than later. " Then his eyes went to Lori, who was talking with Sarah.

The day before they found the school, they had stumbled across a herd of walkers. They were in the cars, so they were all safe. But it was a pretty big herd—too big for that place to keep them safe.

Nicki chuckled with annoyance. She was too used to not feeling safe, not even inside four walls. It felt like a mockery. Nicolette had never believed in God, but if there was one, he surely had a strange sense of humor.

"Dad," she turned when she heard Shorty's voice, "I've seen a store just at the end of the road. I thought I could go take a look." Rick looked down at his son. He didn't like when Carl wanted to go alone on runs, but it had happened, and Nicki was sure that under the worry, he was proud of him. She had to be honest about that. Shorty was difficult to scare, and he had learned pretty quickly how to handle himself out there.

"Rick..." Lori spoke, clearly not agreeing with Carl going.

"I can do it!" Carl exclaimed, glaring at his mother before turning back to his father. Nicki could see the uncertainty in Rick's eyes, but she knew that not letting Carl go would only make him more angry at Lori. So she got up from the desk she was sitting on, grabbed her quiver, and slung it across her shoulders.

"I can go with him," she said, taking the bow in her hand. Her suggestion didn’t seem to sit well with Shorty, but she ignored him, waiting for Rick's response.

The sheriff had come to trust Nicki's skills with the bow; she had proven herself more than once. But what held everyone back was her age. They often said she was too young, but in those months, she had done whatever it took to survive, just like the rest of them. They couldn’t deny that. So, even though she noticed the glance shared between Daryl and Sarah, as well as Rick’s uncertainty, she was confident he would eventually let them go.

"Alright," he said finally, nodding. "Come back in two hours, no more than that."

"Alright," she answered, then looked at Carl. "Come on, Shorty."

The boy rolled his eyes before heading toward the door, followed by Nicki. But just as she was about to walk out, Sarah stopped her, a gun in her hand.

"Bring this, too," her sister said.

"I'm okay with the arrows," Nicki replied, but Sarah insisted.

"And I'm okay with this only if you bring a gun, too." Sarah was terrified by the idea of Nicki running out of arrows. It wasn't easy to find them; even Daryl had shown her how to make more. Her sister always wanted Nicki to be prepared with more than one weapon.

"Alright," Nicki agreed, at last, taking the gun and tucking it into the back of her jeans. Then she followed Carl out.

"You didn’t have to come with me," Carl grumbled, marching ahead. His sheriff hat perched confidently on his head, a backpack slung over his shoulders, and the gun firmly in hand.

"It’s true," she replied coolly, nodding. "But then you’d just sulk all day."

She caught his glare at her, "What's into you?"

Nicki knew that Carl had taken in the whole Lori and Shane situation very badly. He adored his father, and he loved Shane, too. He surely felt like his mother had betraid their family in more than one sense. But she also knew that Lori regretted what she had done.

"Do you know the meaning of cohabitation?" she asked, and she saw him look briefly in her direction.

"Yeah," he shot back, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "It means I’m stuck with you."

That made her chuckle, "And I'm with you," Nicki said with a shrug of her shoulders, "And you are a pain when you are angry."

"So you’re doing this for yourself?" he countered, his skepticism evident. He scoffed when she didn’t respond.

They walked in silence for several meters before Carl stopped in his tracks. Something had caught his attention. Nicki frowned as she looked in the same direction.

It was a house.

The girl wondered what had interested him so much. They had seen many houses like that one, and they had even found shelter in some of them. But she had no time to ask because he had already started making his way toward the house.

Nicolette took a breath. "I thought we were going to the store," she said, hands on her hips.

"You go," he replied. "You don't have to come with me."

Nicki rolled her eyes and caught up with him, taking him by the shoulder to turn him around. "I promised your father I would accompany you. And you should be thankful," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know that..." he admitted, looking down. She observed him, his gaze fixed on the ground as he kicked the dirt softly with his foot.

"I don't want your 'thank you,'" Nicki said, making him look up. "But tell me what you want to do." He frowned, looking up at her.

"Why did you want to come with me?" Nicki cocked her head to the side.

"Why did you want to go to that house?" she asked, moving toward it. She chuckled when she heard him groan.

"It was not a stupid question," he muttered to himself as he caught up with her.

"So?" she pressed again.

"I hate when you don’t answer," he replied, making her chuckle again. But he continued, "My house was very similar." Nicki looked between him and the house.

"Is that so?" she asked, but he shrugged.

"We don’t have to go," he said dismissively. "Let’s just go to the store."

"Don’t be embarrassed," she called out when he was about to walk back to where they had come from. Carl shot her a small frown. "Come on," she said, gesturing toward the house with her head. "Let’s take a look."

The girl took one of her arrows, placing it against her bow as Carl gripped his gun. Nicki pressed one ear against the door to ensure there was no noise inside. The two of them shared a look before Carl reached for the doorknob and turned it open.

As they entered, the air was thick with dust, and an unsettling silence hung over everything. The walls were painted a faded peach, their once cheerful hue now dull and peeling. Wooden trim, chipped and weathered, outlined the windows, allowing faint rays of sunlight to filter through and illuminate the remnants of a life once lived.

The two of them nodded at each other, ready to separate to see if any walkers were inside. Carl headed toward the kitchen while Nicki stepped into the living room. There was a worn leather sofa that sat crookedly, flanked by mismatched chairs that had seen better days. A patterned rug lay askew on the hardwood floor, which creaked underfoot, echoing the absence of life. On a glass coffee table, a stack of magazines lay untouched. It didn’t seem there were any walkers in that room.

She walked out into the corridor, where she noticed framed photos of smiling families hanging crookedly on the walls. Their faces were dust-covered, whispering stories of joy now overshadowed by the stark reality of abandonment.

Then she saw Carl walking out of the kitchen, and as he turned to look at her, Nicki suddenly heard a growling sound. It was louder than usual, and then, from around the corner, a walker appeared.

"Behind you!" they both shouted at the same moment. Nicki quickly shot her arrow at the walker behind Carl as he fired in her direction. When she turned, she saw the walker behind her now lying on the ground, Carl's bullet in its skull.

"The bastard was in the closet," she whispered to herself, realizing she hadn’t noticed it there. Then she turned to Carl, sharing a nod of gratitude with him.

Then Nicki glanced back at the walker behind her. It was a woman, and as she looked at the photos on the wall, she realized it was the same woman who had once lived there. When she turned to follow Carl up the stairs, she noticed that the man from the photos was also present. She took a deep breath, hoping that at least one of them hadn’t killed the other.

Shaking off those thoughts, she made her way upstairs. The floor seemed clear as she looked around for Carl. She didn’t have to try hard to find him; he was looking at more pictures in a drawer in the corridor.

"It’s a pretty house," she said, leaning her back against the wall next to Carl, who looked at her with curiosity.

"I’ve never asked you," he reflected, "Did you live in a house like this one?"

Nicki shook her head, looking down. "No, an apartment," she answered. Her mind drifted back to her parents. She really hoped that one day she would see them again—or at least find out what had happened to them. And their grandmother.

"It must be hard for you," he said, keeping his blue eyes on her. "Not knowing." Tears welled up in Nicki's eyes as she thought about her parents.

"It’s alright," he said again, but his tone made her frown. He was speaking almost softly to her. "You don’t have to say anything. I’ll keep your secret, though."

She looked at him, confused. "What secret?" she asked, her voice devoid of harshness.

"What makes you cry," he answered.

She shook her head, drying her tears. "It’s not exactly a secret."

Then he smiled at her, a genuine smile. "I’ll keep it anyway," he said before walking toward the bedroom. Nicki watched him with wide eyes, then a little chuckle escaped her lips as she took another arrow and followed him.

Lucky for them, there was no walker inside, so they started to look around. Nicki walked toward the drawer and opened it. There were many shirts. They could use some.

For an instant, she felt a pang of sympathy for the couple lying dead downstairs, but once again, she pushed that thought aside. Gesturing to Carl to hand her his backpack, she opened it to put some clothes inside.

"Cool!" she heard him exclaim as he walked to a shelf. "Is this a pair of binoculars?" Nicki chuckled as he pointed them at her.

"Does it work?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, turning to look outside. "We could use them to..." Nicki frowned as he suddenly stopped talking and walked back toward her. "We gotta go," he said, his face pale.

"What?" she asked, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along with him.

"A herd," he said, making her eyes widen. Was the herd already there? It couldn’t be. That herd was heading in another direction. How did they get so far so quickly?

"Where are they?" Nicki asked as they sprinted toward the door of the house.

"They're coming from the east," he answered, glancing at the street in that direction. Nicki followed his gaze. They would be there any minute now.

"We gotta tell the others," she said, nudging him to run toward the school.

The two of them raced side by side, adrenaline fueling their speed as Nicki glanced back over her shoulder to ensure no walkers were in pursuit. They weren’t far from the school, and with their urgency, they burst through the doors and into the classroom.

"Dad!" Carl cried, his voice a mix of fear and urgency.

"Carl!" Nicki heard Rick call as he sprinted toward his son. "What’s going on?"

"We gotta go now!" Carl exclaimed, his eyes wide with panic.

"A herd is coming," Nicki panted, trying to catch her breath. "Carl saw them coming from the east."

Rick's eyes widened in alarm. "Daryl!" he shouted, turning on his heel and leading them back into the classroom. "We gotta move! Everyone, get up!"

Nicki met Sarah's gaze for a brief moment, then rushed over to her sister to help gather their sleeping bags, their earlier calm shattered by the looming threat.

"Lori, let me help!" Carol called out as she ran to assist Lori. In the chaos, Hershel and Beth quickly packed away their food while Rick, Daryl, and Maggie stood guard by the door, eyes scanning for any signs of danger. Glenn and T-Dog had already jumped out of the window to get the cars running.

"Come on! Come on!" Glenn urged, running back to help pass bags through the window. One by one, they scrambled out, each person moving with a sense of urgency. Glenn, Maggie, Beth, and Hershel piled into one car, while Nicki climbed into another with Carol and T-Dog. Rick, Lori, and Carl took their own vehicle, and Daryl sped off on his bike with Sarah.

As they left the town, Nicki turned around and caught sight of at least forty walkers roaming the streets, their grotesque figures stumbling aimlessly. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she sank back in her seat, feeling the weight of despair settle over her. Once again, they were back on the road, a relentless journey through a nightmare that seemed never-ending. When would this horror finally stop? When would they find a safe place?

[cryptidsurveys]

Saturday, August 31st, 2024.

1 - Surveys aside, do you use Tumblr for any other reason? I have another blog for autumn-themed content (ephemeral-autumn), but I haven't updated it in a while. However, now that the season is swiftly approaching, I might feel more motivated.

2 - Do you have a lot of social media accounts? Do you update them all regularly? I have this survey account, the one I mentioned above (which comes with a bunch of neglected/unused side-blogs), and an IG account. I update my survey and IG accounts fairly regularly.

3 - Does it bother you when your socks don’t match? What about your underwear? It's not a big deal if they're some variety of gray + white, but unless I'm hanging around home, I wouldn't wear one gray + white sock and one black sock. I don't care if my underwear matches anything else I'm wearing.

4 - How many times a year do you go on vacation? Do you tend to go to the same places each time? My family doesn't go on regular vacations. The last time I went somewhere that wasn't a camping or backpacking trip was in 2011 when I traveled to Georgia to spend a couple of days with a past partner.

5 - How many times did it take you to pass your driving test? Once. It was actually a ridiculously easy test. I didn't have to parallel park or anything.

6 - When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? No.

7 - Which family member do you look like the most? Which one do you resemble the most in terms of personality? I haven't seen my sibling in ages, but based on how I recall their appearance, I would say I most resemble them. As for personality-wise, that would be my dad.

8 - Have you ever been arrested? No.

9 - Do you prefer Apple or Android? I don't think I've ever owned an Apple product, so my use of Android isn't really a preference but a familiarity.

10 - Does getting sweaty or dirty bother you at all? If so, has it ever put you off doing exercise? It's low-grade bothersome, but when it comes to the animal shelter, I don't really care. Lmao it's one of the only places you can go around smelling like cat p*ss and no one will raise an eyebrow.

11 - Have you ever broken a bone? What were the circumstances that led to this happening? I messed up my right big toe back in 2009, but I don't know whether I broke it or not because I never went to the doctor to get it checked out. I just suffered until I healed. :')

12 - If you could change one thing about your appearance, what would it be? Either remove old stupid tattoos or certain scars.

13 - When was the last time your computer crashed or froze? is this something that happens often? I'm not sure. My current computer typically works like a dream. As someone who has dealt with slow/glitchy computers for most of my life, I'm super happy with it.

14 - Do you ever have problems with your sleep? Nothing major. I wouldn't say I suffer from insomnia, but it does take me quite some time to fall asleep and I hardly ever feel completely rested.

15 - What was the last thing you ate for breakfast? Is this a normal breakfast meal for you? A bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter, strawberry carnation instant breakfast, fruit, and chocolate syrup. I have it almost every single morning without fail.

16 - Have you ever thought about how you want to spend your retirement? I've wondered about how/if/when I'm going to retire, but I haven't given too much thought to how I would spend it.

17 - When was the last time you got a new tattoo or piercing? Do you have any plans to get either in the future? I got my last tattoo in 2013 and my last piercing sometime around 2008-2009. I don't have any plans to get more.

18 - How would you describe your personality? It changes so much depending on the company that I don't know how to describe it as a whole. Around my dad and my therapist (and my mom to a large extent), I'm talkative, silly, sarcastic, passionate about my interests, etc. Around people I don't know very well or don't feel comfortable with, I'm somewhat reserved and awkward, but I try to give off a friendly vibe even if I'm not saying much.

19 - Have you ever heard of “hygge”? is this something you enjoy or participate in at all? I've heard of it, but I had to look up the exact definition to be sure. It's definitely something I like to participate in.

20 - What colour was the last vehicle you travelled in? Does this vehicle belong to you or someone else? Red. It belongs to me.

21 - Would you describe yourself as healthy? Why or why not? I'd describe myself as generally functional. Not quite healthy, but nowhere near death's door.

22 - Would you describe yourself as messy or organised? Is this something you would like to change? I would like to be more organized.

23 - Do you miss anything about being a teenager? If you are a teenager, what’s your favourite thing about it? I have some fond memories from that time in my life, but I wouldn't say I miss it. It's more like a nostalgia that - deep down - I know I wouldn't want to re-experience.

24 - Are you patriotic at all? Why/why not? I'm kind of like, "The USA is OK!" ;D I don't believe it's the best place on the planet, but I also don't believe it's the worst. It's…home. I don't like our government, but I think patriotism is less about loving your government and more about loving where you come from - the people, the cultures, etc.

25 - Have you ever had to wear a white lab coat before? Was this in school or for a job? Possibly during a high school chemistry lab, but I'm not sure.

26 - Would you ever want to do the same career(s) as your parents? No.

27 - Do you believe in aliens? Is there a reason why (or why not)? This is kind of where I'm at with the whole alien thing. Do I believe aliens exist? Yes. Do I think advanced civilizations are common? No. Do I think simple/microbial life is common? Much more common than advanced life, but as for how common, I don't know. Do I think the government is hiding aliens from us? No. Do I think aliens have visited us? No. Not unless you want to count the aforementioned microbes crash-landing on a meteorite or something. Well, what about all the UFOs? Idk what they are, but I don't think they're little green men (or women…or whatever).

28 - Which animated film would you most like to live in? Princess Mononoke is visually stunning, but probably not a realm in which I would actually wish to reside.

29 - When was the last time you got into an argument? Have you made up with that person yet? It's been a long time.

30 - What are you going to do now this survey is over? Finish up the last little bit of my salad and do some housecleaning.

[allaboutjcb]

I compared the photos of Jamie and Ruby and the photos of Jamie and Jess and I noticed that Jamie was happier with Ruby than Jess now.

Jess strangly appeared in Jamie’s life knowing that he had just suffered a very difficult break with Ruby in 2020 and he separated from his group (Couterfeit) in 2020 and he was sad and vulnerable and Jess took the opportunity to get into his life.

I noticed that since the last year in the photos Jamie seems uncomfortable with her , he doesn’t seem really happy with her and he is probably in a toxic relationship with her, I feel like she has been shady since 2022, when she posed with Jamie for the premiere of Stranger Things season 4, I didn’t feel this when Ruby posed with him.

I think that’s why he spends more time in Georgia than in Los Angeles, he tries and he wants to avoid Jess.

Jess is gone to see Jamie in Georgia but on the photos that Jess published of them in the river, Jamie forced himself to smile compared to the photo of Jamie and Jess of 2021 and 2022 and Jamie went to Los Angeles for the preview of Horizon but she was not with him knowing that she has been to posing everywhere with him for 2 and a half.

My opinion about Ruby is right here:

Adding some stuff:

Jamie wrote a song for Ruby called “Pictures of you”. There’s dozens of footages of this song available on YouTube.

Ruby has never shared a single story about this song and the reason is pretty obvious: it’s not a love song. It’s a supporting song that he could easily write to a friend, or to his mom. The lyric is genuine and cute, but very far away from a romantic love song.

If you pay attention to his posts (specially on Twitter) dedicated to Lily, you will spot the difference , for sure.

He was completely in love for Lily, saying how beautiful she was, showing his passion for her.

I remember a specific Valentine’s Day post of Ruby where she says: “ you may not seen this , but happy Valentine’s Day “.

I think Jamie saw on Ruby a supportive partner, which could follow and support him in every where!

One month after the breakup, he was already liking posts and following Jess on Instagram.

[thornfield13713]

So, why did your Fallout 4 character join the factions she has?

Okay. At this moment, I am only a member of the Minutemen and Railroad. I may end up joining the Brotherhood to get Danse's personal quest, because that sounds like a fun one, but I haven't yet, and I'm still figuring out what the motives are for that one.

But for the factions Georgia is a part of now...

The Minutemen were...she joined for a few reasons. One of them being that being part of a group was safer than being alone. But there's more to it than that. Yes, Georgia wants to get her kid back. But once she has him back, she needs somewhere to take him. She needs a place where she can raise her child in relative safety. And- the thing is, when I think about safety, what I think about is game theory, and the idea which has informed so much of my political praxis and thinking, which is this: nobody is safe, unless everybody is safe. Safety is always and only ever a matter of degree, but the safer everybody is, the safer any individual person is. Sure, she could try and live a quiet life with Shaun in Sanctuary, or in some other settlement since Sanctuary is too raw. But then there are all the ordinary threats of the Wasteland - there's raiders, ferals, Super Mutants, other people just being dicks, there's famines and crop blights and contaminated water. She can't protect him from these things if she keeps thinking small. Which means that, in order for her son to have any kind of life with her, she needs to make sure the world is as safe as it can be, and that means not just safe for her and hers. There's a Pratchett quote that works for this too. It comes from Monstrous Regiment, an underrated favourite of mine, and it comes at the very end of the book:

'The Duchess was smaller than she’d thought. But if you had to protect it by standing in the doorway with a sword, you were too late. Caring for small things had to start with caring for big things, and maybe the world wasn’t big enough.'

The Minutemen seem like her best shot at that, even if there's only two of them. The best path to safety is a path that allows safety for everyone, because little as anyone likes to admit it, we are all a part of 'everyone', and bad luck can happen to anyone.

The Railroad- she seeks out the Railroad because they're against the Institute, and she figures they'll help her go after Kellogg. I'm having her delay that attack because she's not sure she can win - she's one lawyer with a gun she's not all that great with, going up against a seasoned mercenary. She needs help, and a lot of it, if she's going to face down a threat like that, so she spends most of act one trying to put together a crew that can help her do what she needs to. She doesn't exactly find that at the Railroad, but she finds allies, nonetheless. And also- the best friend she's made in this world is a synth, and she picked up very early on that the things people were saying about synths were often, word-for-word, the same shit people used to say about the Chinese back in her day. And she was sceptical enough about that even before her secretary got dragged off to an internment camp and there was nothing Georgia could do to get her out. Fighting for civil rights has been most of Georgia's life's work, and joining the Railroad felt like getting something back that had been carved out of her the day that her firm was forced to close its doors.

[scheodingers-muppet]

Taylor Time again! Debut album time. Also, I'm so excited about the eras tour! it's gonna be my first time seeing Taylor live and I'm probably never gonna shut up about it

Tim McGraw: Lumax. "He said the way my blue eyes shined put those Georgia stars to shame that night. I said that's a lie." Max wouldn't know what to do with a genuine compliment like that. "I was right there beside him all summer long. And then the time we woke up find that summer gone" The whole chorus too. Max thinks of the dance for her happiness. Being with Lucas. Even if they aren't together, she would hope he thinks of her too. "In a box beneath my bed is a letter that you never read from three summers back"

Picture To Burn: El. This one is all headcannon. But I think Joyce would get scary-angry over a bad breakup like this and I think El would pick that up the longer she's with her. Same from Max. We've seen her get angry already, during season 2 especially. I don't think she'd be like this with Mike, but with whoever she dates after (if it isn't Max). I also love the line "my daddy's gonna show you how sorry you'll be" and the fact that Hopper is overprotective of her

Teardrops On My Guitar: Steddie. I had to. My favorite trope is Steve talking about his crush on Eddie as a way to flirt, but being slightly vague (like, "they've got the best curly hair") and Eddie just not connecting the dots.

A Place in this World: Max. "Even though I'm not the only who feels the way I do, I'm alone on my own and that's all I know" "I'll be strong, I'll be wrong" "I'm just a girl trying to find a place in this world" "I don't know what I want" This song is so Max coded

Cold As You: Stancy. "I start a fight cause I need to feel something" "I'm not what you wanted" "Ain't no use defending words that you will never say" "Every smile you fake is so condescending" "Counted all the scars you made"

The Outside: Steve. "How can I ever try to be better? Nobody ever let's me in" "I've been a lot of lonely places. I've never been on the outside" "I would give it all up to be a part of this"

Tied Together with a Smile: Platonic Stobbin. They are both extremely strong, brave, important characters who put themselves down so much. I also can imagine them saying the chorus to each other. But the first part is about Robbin. She puts herself down a lot in season 4, talking about how she know she can be too much and that she's awkward. Second part is Steve and how he goes above and beyond for all his people. Especially the line "I guess it's true that love was all you wanted, cause you're giving it away like it's extra change"

Stay Beautiful: Ronance. I love the idea of Robin calling Nancy her "beauty." Like "Sorry, I can't pick up another shift, I have to see my beauty" But also, I think Nancy would deal with some impostor syndrome and imagine Robin there to help her through it. "it's hard to make a conversation when (s)he's taking my breath away" Even if they never date, Robin would tell her she's beautiful

Should've Said No: Stancy. Enough said tbh

Mary's Song: Byler. "I looked at you like the stars that shine in the sky" "take me back to the house in the backyard tree" and Castle Byers. "The time we had our very first fight...you stayed outside till the morning light" This whole song is about marrying your childhood best friend

Our Song: (fun fact; this is the first Taylor song I ever heard) Jopper. This one is also all headcannon. I think they dated in high school and had a very similar thing to the Nancy-Steve-Jonathan thing. I can imagine a young Hopper sneaking to Joyce's room and them having quiet conversations like with Steve and Nancy. Then them getting back together now and reminiscing about their high school dates.

I'm Only Me When I'm With You: Platonic Stobbin again. They would so spend their Friday nights off work with each other. "Living in a crazy world, trying to figure out what is and isn't true" "I don't try to hide my tears, the secrets, or my biggest fears" Robin came out to Steve even though she was terrified "Nobody gets me like you do"

Invisible: Pre-Jancy. They likely knew each other kinda well through their brothers and I think Jon had been crushing on her for a bit. He would likely see her with Steve and think they wouldn't be a good fit. I can also really see this being from Barb's point of view

A Perfectly Good Heart: Lumax, from Lucas's point of view. After the first real break up - after Billy - Lucas is hurt. He's confused and angry but he doesn't want to hurt Max. More than anything, he's confused. He understands Max is going through a lot, and doesn't want to add anymore onto her plate, but he thought he could be there for her at least.

[lboogie1906]

Collin Darnell Sexton (January 4, 1999) is a basketball player for the Utah Jazz. He played college basketball for the Alabama Crimson Tide. In January 2017, he was selected as a McDonald’s All-American. Nicknamed the “Young Bull”, he was selected with the 8th pick in the 2018 NBA draft by the Cavaliers. After spending his first 4 seasons with the team, he was traded to the Jazz via sign-and-trade in the 2022 offseason.

He is the son of Darnell and Gia Sexton. He has an older brother and one older sister. He started playing basketball when he was three years old.

He attended Hillgrove High School in Powder Springs, Georgia before transferring to Pebblebrook High School in Mableton, Georgia before his junior year and helped the Falcons to a 2016 Georgia Region 3-6A title and the 2016 Georgia Class 6A state championship game; while averaging 23 points, 7.4 rebounds and 2.9 assists.

He was rated as a five-star recruit and considered one of the best players in the 2017 recruiting class by Scout.com, Rivals.com, and ESPN. He was ranked as the #7 overall recruit and #2 point guard in the 2017 high school class. On November 10, 2016, he committed to the Alabama Crimson Tide, on the same day he signed his letter of intent. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[lacysnail]

Looking back on 2024

1. What did you do in 2024 that you’d never done before?

Went on a ski trip, flew to visit a guy, sang karaoke on a stage, went to a pimp's birthday party, hiked in the snow, went to a baseball game, had a sneaky link, went to a lacrosse game, had sex in a pool in public, got stranded on a lake, had dinner on a train, drove for 10 hours, went to a rodeo, snuck into a concert for free, had a threesome, was a bridesmaid, stayed up for 39 hours straight, won an arcade game, had champagne on a steam train, saw the northern lights, visited Georgia, went to a CFL game, played on a football team, got promoted to manager, went tubing, hosted Christmas.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I didn’t make any resolutions and I barely hit half my goals lol but its was a funnnn year

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Nope

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Yes

5. What countries did you visit?

Canada, USA, UK

6. What would you like to have in 2025 that you lacked in 2024?

More money

7. What dates from 2024 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

26 Jan - work ski trip

10 March - pimp's bday party

5 April - all day drinking with work

24 May - Vegas with Taylor

30 June - Kelowna wineries with Patricia

6 July - Calgary stampede

18 August - Becca's wedding

31 August - ridiculous boat day with shrooms

15 Sept - Panorama ridge hike

23 Oct - Savannah with Maggie

25 Dec - hosting Christmas

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

All the trips and getting promoted

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not taking care of my health

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Had some minor drunken falls, a kidney infection and got smacked in the face with a football

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The money spent on vacations and flying home

12. Where did most of your money go?

Rent, nights out and vacations

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Ski trip, birthday, busy season being over, Vegas, BC and Alberta road trip, going home, getting promoted, getting PR, Christmas holidays

14. What songs will always remind you of 2024?

Espresso, You're still the one, I had some help, A bar song

15. Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? © richer or poorer?

a) happier b) fatter c) same

16:What do you wish you’d done more of

Exercise

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Scrolling and eating out

18. How did you spend Christmas?

A few days with Taylor and her family in Vernon and then hosting dinner at ours with our international friends

19. Did you fall in love in 2024?

With myself

20. What was your favourite TV program?

heartbreak high, love island, love is blind

21. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Nope

22. What was your favourite film of this year?

Anyone but you

23. What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

my friends in Vancouver

24. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Quinn Hughes

25. Who did you miss?

My friends and family back home and friends that move away from Van

26. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2024

taking time to rest is good for you and you won't miss anything

[satgurutravelae]

5 Best Places to Visit in Georgia in Winter

Winter in Georgia is nothing short of magical, with its blend of stunning natural landscapes, rich culture, and unique winter activities. If you’re planning a trip, consider Georgia holiday packages from Dubai to make your journey seamless and unforgettable. Here are the top 5 must-visit places in Georgia during the winter months:

1. Tbilisi

Tbilisi, the capital city of Georgia, becomes even more enchanting during the winter season. The city’s streets come alive with festive decorations, cultural events, and cozy cafes perfect for warming up. Winter in Tbilisi offers something special for everyone—from traditional dance performances to opera and ballet shows.

Explore the Old Town with its cobbled streets, stunning cathedrals, and historical landmarks. Don’t miss indulging in Georgian dumplings and savoring some of the world-famous Georgian wine to truly embrace the local culture.

2. Kazbegi

Kazbegi is a winter wonderland nestled in the Caucasus Mountains. Known for its breathtaking landscapes, this picturesque destination is ideal for nature lovers and mountain enthusiasts. With its snow-capped peaks glistening under the winter sun, Kazbegi feels like something straight out of a postcard.

One of the highlights of Kazbegi is the iconic Gergeti Trinity Church, perched atop a hill with jaw-dropping views of Mount Kazbek. Its proximity to Tbilisi makes it easy to visit as part of your itinerary.

3. Gudauri

For ski enthusiasts, Gudauri is the ultimate winter destination in Georgia. Located in the Greater Caucasus Mountains, Gudauri boasts perfect conditions for winter sports, including skiing, snowboarding, and snowshoeing. With its sunny weather and powdery snow, the resort is ideal for both beginners and advanced skiers.

Other thrilling activities in Gudauri include paragliding, ice skating, and winter hiking. The combination of adventure, scenic views, and local Georgian cuisine makes Gudauri a must-visit during the winter season.

4. Borjomi

Borjomi is a charming resort town famous for its therapeutic mineral waters and serene landscapes. It’s the perfect spot for relaxation and rejuvenation, even in the cold winter months. Visitors can unwind in open-air thermal baths or stroll through the beautiful Borjomi-Kharagauli National Park.

The town’s rich history and cultural attractions, paired with its natural beauty, offer a peaceful escape for travelers. Whether you visit in summer or winter, Borjomi promises an unforgettable experience.

5. Kakheti

Kakheti, Georgia’s famous wine region, is an impressive winter destination for travelers looking to explore the country���s rich winemaking heritage. During winter, Kakheti offers a peaceful atmosphere with fewer crowds, making it an ideal spot for a tranquil getaway.

Things to do in Kakheti include:

Touring large wineries and wine-producing monasteries.

Hiking the ancient walls of Sighnaghi.

Spending a night in cozy vineyards.

Exploring the bustling Telavi Bazaar.

With its stunning landscapes and delicious wines, Kakheti offers a unique combination of culture and relaxation.

Conclusion

Georgia in winter is a treasure trove of experiences, offering a perfect mix of adventure, history, and relaxation. Whether it’s exploring the vibrant streets of Tbilisi, marveling at the snowy peaks of Kazbegi, skiing in Gudauri, or unwinding in the soothing thermal baths of Borjomi, there’s something for everyone.

Add Kakheti’s vineyards and wineries to your itinerary for a well-rounded trip full of unforgettable moments. Winter in Georgia is a journey of charm, culture, and natural beauty that will leave you with lasting memories.

If you're planning your next adventure, consider Georgia holiday packages from Dubai for a seamless and unforgettable trip.

[kuroshika]

let's see the charges

like eleven dogs

cannibal

murderer

cop

manipulator

seizure-ridden guy

covered in blood more often than not

covered in sweat literally the whole show

like guy is wetter in the first two seasons than when he actually falls into the ocean

target for 3 confirmed killers

4 if you count mason kinda

encephalitis

imprisoned for a while

four failed love interests

accidentally adopted a girl after he killed her dad

ate her ear (but it was forced)

had to deal with a press campaign against him

im gonna count freddie lounds and frederick chilton as detrimental to his mental health

got one of his friends killed and just ran away with her murderer

feuds with a cannibal's press-wife

a lot of medical malpractice

got gutted by the love of his life and left to die in his kitchen (with his dying daughter, boss, and ex-girlfriend)

small coma

has weird prophetic visions

did i mention seizures

killed a guy with his bare hands

like, four confirmed kills but probably more

nearly killed himself multiple times

sleepwalking that nearly got him killed three times and counting

lost all his dogs

lost his wife and stepkid

threw himself and his gay lover off a cliff

ladder scene

lesbian hooked up with him just to get pregnant then got with his ex girlfriend

psuedodaughter threw said ex girlfriend out a window

watched his lover slit their daughter's throat

spent a year worsening his mental state to manipulate his lover

fell in love with his therapist

literally spends the first episode covered in blood

his psuedodaughter almost gets kidnapped by a serial killer to turn her into a living mushroom

lies to the fbi for years because his daughter killed a man

oh also he spent years trying to clear his daughters name when she ended up killing a bunch of guys with her dad

had hallucinations for half of the show

"please don't lie to me"

was haunted by visions of his lover but in stag form

had his head sawed open by his therapist

cannot make eye contact

trembles and drowns in sweat in social situations

doctors didn't tell him about his encephalitis and it ended up progressing so badly that the poor dude was always on fire

saved victims lives just for them to get killed ( georgia :((( )

lost his gun

lost his badge

lost his place on the police force

got dragged into the fbi against his therapists wishes

has nightmares about the man he killed to protect abigail

drugged by this therapist

made to believe he killed his daughter for months

literally threw up his daughters ear

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