#Even if there won’t be context for a little longer

[nomsfaultau]

Chapter five doodles for Mandatory Family Reunion! Plus a sneak peak for chapter 6. Love how scraggly Techno’s burnt hair turned out.

#Oooof physical coloring is so hard #Sbi #sbi fanart #sbi fanfic #dark sbi #sleepy boys inc #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #technoblade #mcyt fic #Also drunk Philza experiencing Emotions was a lot of fun #Even if there won’t be context for a little longer #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois family #mandatory family reunion #something to nom on

[dyaz-stories]

stars around my scars || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings & tags: so soft, fluff, angst because it's sweet home, hurt/comfort, kissing, touch-starved!hyun-su, a little suggestive but it's not too bad, hyun-su needs a hug and he gets that and more eheh

previous one-shot · next part

A/N: this can be read on its own or read as a part of the little hyun-su x reader series i've got going on at the moment! no particular context needed for this one, but i wrote it in like two hours so i hope you'll enjoy it.

Hyun-Su sits at your table like he’s not sure he has the right to be there. He’s been less cautious around you lately, less distant, now that he knows that you accept him wholeheartedly for who he is, all that he is, even the dark, ugly parts that he tried to keep from you. But sometimes, when he is in the space that is so clearly yours, he still makes himself small, as if he thinks you’d kick him out if you remembered he was there.

It doesn’t matter that you invited him in and insisted he stayed. The fear that you could change your mind at any point, that the longer he’s around, the more he risks showing you a part of him you won’t like, that’s what sticks.

When you sit down across from him, he notices your eyes landing on his bruised knuckles, sees your brow furrows. Sheepishly, he removes his hand from the table.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you ask.

You ask that a lot. Worry a lot. Selfishly, he likes that you do.

“It’s fine,” he replies, voice quiet. “It will heal.”

The wounds won’t get infected, they won’t kill him, and they’ll go away eventually. So, sure, it stings as long as they’re open, but he’s long stopped bothering with cleaning or treating them. Who cares about his pain anyway?

“That’s not the point,” you say, reaching out for his hand. He doesn’t resist when you take it in yours. How could he? Your fingers are soft, gentle, your skin is warm. It’s like he melts into your touch, like his muscles turn into lead.

It also makes him greedy, makes him want to know what it would do if you touched him more, in different ways. Inside him, the monster stirs, and Hyun-Su forces it back down.

You lift his hand and blow on the wounds that mar his knuckles. The gesture is childish, and despite himself, a smile breaks on his face.

“That’s not going to change much.”

He notices belatedly how fond his voice sounds. He’s usually so careful not to let it be so obvious, but you just surprised it out of him. If you notice, you don’t let it show. Instead, you roll your eyes at him — until you get another idea.

He looks at you in bemused interest as you lower your face towards his hand. And then he realizes what you’re doing, and his heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, a silent request for his approval, before you go any further. He doesn’t know how to give it to you, doesn’t know if he should, if it’s safe.

He also doesn’t take his hand away.

Your lips press gently against his knuckles, and it sends a jolt through him that ignites his whole body. He can’t see himself, but he’s sure he’s blushing. When you meet his eyes again, he averts his immediately, swallows, clears his throat. But then he feels you open your fingers, letting his hand slip from your grasp, and he tightens his hold on you at the last second. He cannot bear the thought of losing your touch, not just yet.

“That—” His voice cracks. “That does help.”

“Oh,” you say, and then your thumb runs over his hand in a soft caress. He exhales, long and slow. He’d do anything for you not to let go of him.

When you stand up, his head shoots up, eyes following you like a puppy — only for you to get closer to him. You roll your lips together, still searching his expression for approval. You trace a wound on his shoulder, one he doesn’t even remember getting, if he’s being honest.

“Would it help here?” you ask.

Hyun-Su’s whole body is buzzing with the absolute, desperate need to be touched again.

All he can do is nod.

You lean in, kiss his shoulder, and he closes his eyes. He wants to drown in you. He wants you to run your hands over his body, he wants to touch you so bad, and he hates himself for remaining so still. But then you touch his cheek, trace his jaw, and he’s so infinitely thankful that you do what he can’t.

You’re the one who’s not meeting his eyes this time, as your index finger brushes against his bottom lip. There’s no wound there, they’re just chapped, and yet…

“How about here?”

He’s almost shaking in anticipation by now. He thinks he’d kill to be kissed by you — he knows the monster would. But again, he just nods.

So, standing in front of him, between his legs, you cup his cheek in the gentlest of ways, like he’s precious, and you kiss him again. It’s soft, gentle, just lips against lips.  You make a delicate sound when you part from him, and he regrets the loss of it immediately. It must be why he blurts out, before you can move any further “It still hurts.”

Your eyes go wide for a second, before a smile stretches your lips. He only gets a second to ask himself if he asked for too much, if you’re going to be disgusted with him for daring to ask, if—

You kiss him again, a little harder this time, nose pressing against his cheek. Your hands move to the back of his neck to support yourself better. Hyun-Su feels you part your lips, feels your tongue against his mouth, and that is when he loses it.

He’s happy that you have your eyes closed because, even though he feels fully in control of himself at the moment, he’s not sure which color you’d see in his just now.

He pulls you into his lap, hands on your hips at first before he moves one of them, just a little, to the small of your back. You’re all over him now, body against his, scent overwhelming, your taste on his tongue. The apartment would be quiet, if it wasn’t for the sound of your mouths together, and for the rush of his blood in his ears.

You gasp quietly into him, your teeth catch against his bottom lip and it makes him shiver. He dares then, caught in the euphoria of it all perhaps, to reach up to touch your face, long fingers stroking your cheek. His skin is on fire everywhere you touch it, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world, and he finds itself praying it never ends.

Yet it does, fairly abruptly, when he realizes, suddenly, that he’s falling. On instinct, he wraps his arms around you to protect you, and then the two of you hit the floor. The chair had to have tipped backwards at some point, without the two of you noticing.

There’s a moment of stunned silence afterwards, before you let out a quiet laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Much to his surprise, he hears himself laugh as well. It just feels easy to do, when you’re in his arms. His heart is still pounding, his lips are tingling, and his breathing is shallow, but he’s feeling emotions he hasn’t felt in years.

He’s happy.

Deep inside of him, the monster takes a step back, satiated.

For now, anyway.

i've really loved writing this and i'm quite happy with the end result, especially for something i wrote so quickly, so i hope you liked it too! please let me know your thoughts either on here, in tags, in an ask or reblog the fic, it means the world to me and it lets me know you want to see more, so it keeps me motivated!

next part

#hyunsu x reader #cha hyun su x reader #sweet home #sweet home netflix #cha hyun su #sweet home x reader #sweet home season 2 #hyun su x reader #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyunsoo x reader #my writing

[notjustjavierpena]

Five Minutes

A/N: As promised, y’all. Thanks to @strang3lov3 and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always helping me improve my work ❤️💖 Just to put it out there: The translations aren’t always literal but paraphrased to maintain context.

Summary: Lucien kisses you outside during your house party and puts his hand under your dress.

Pairing: Lucien Flores x reader (no y/n)

Tags: Teasing/banter, pet names, passionate kisses, groping, dirty talk, over panty clit stim, degradation, slight verbal humiliation, overstimulation, bit of exhibitionism

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54514960

Five Minutes

Your head is swimming with how close Lucien is. His breath tickles your skin when he talks, ghosts over your ear as he noses along the side of your head. In the smoke-filled room where the floor shakes from the music playing, you can smell his cologne on him. He is velvety soft when he speaks, enchanting you, “Let’s get out of here, just for a second.”

“We can’t,” you turn your head a little and look up at him through your lashes, “It’s my party, baby.”

“I don’t care,” he nods towards the open screen door in your living room, “When everyone is distracted, we could slip out. Nobody will notice.”

“That their host is gone?” You tut in disbelief, “Luce…”

“Corazón (honey),” he mimics your tone of voice, “They’re too busy to notice us leaving for a few minutes.”

“Oh, it’s a few minutes now? It was getting out of here a second ago,” you tease him playfully. In reality, you have already decided to give in and all he has to do is drag you away from the crowds. You won’t protest.

“I feel like we’re throwing out a lot of terms about time on the table here,” he grins against your forehead, having moved slightly to hold you close. His arms rest along the small of your back.

“I’ll give you, hmm,” you pretend to think, “Five minutes. Is that satisfactory?”

“I’ll give you satisfactory,” he unwraps himself from you to grab your wrist. You giggle as he drags you through the loud house, slipping the both of you out of the half-open door to your backyard.

The air inside was oppressive; smoke-filled, hot, and with a distinct smell of alcohol. The air outside however is filled with mischief and adventure, your garden smelling of freshly-cut grass and blooming lilacs. Lucien’s hand slips down your wrist so he can entwine your fingers, his hand sure in its grip when he guides you past a group of people who are talking loudly. He hadn’t been wrong; no one seems to notice you passing by as they are all too invested in their conversations. Lucien would probably phrase it that they have their heads too far up their asses.

He leads you to the wall of your house that is enshrouded in darkness now that the sun is no longer shining. The chatter from your guests fades into background noise, replaced by the cicadas singing in the night breeze and a gentle rustling of the leaves on the trees.

As soon as you become your only witnesses, Lucien backs you up against the rough exterior of your house. He cups your face with gentle, calloused hands, and then suddenly, he kisses you deeply and forces you to do a sharp intake of air through your nose. It is like he tries to be soft and sweet but there’s something more behind the way his lips meet yours, and he easily slides his tongue into your mouth because you cannot help but moan at the taste of him.

His thumb goes down your cheek, settles on your chin to pull your mouth open so he can lick hotly into it. You place your hands on his shoulders to dig your fingers into the muscles there, then tilt your head to meet him even more while desire pools in your belly.

The hand that isn’t holding your mouth open for him slides down to rest on your shoulder. However, it moves quickly to grope obscenely at your chest over the fabric of your dress and you let him as his thumb brushes over a nipple. It stiffens immediately despite the indirect touch.

The moan you let out turns into a snicker that interrupts you. Lucien’s fingers have slipped under the dress strap on your shoulder and he tries pulling it off. You shake your head while laughing quietly, “No, Luce, c’mon.”

“But you have such pretty tits,” he argues with almost a raspy whine whilst you pull the strap back in place, “Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).”

“That’s very nice and all but I don’t need the whole party to see my breasts,” you bump your head slightly against the wall when Lucien’s head descends to kiss your neck, “You’re gonna have to get creative, I’m not going to strip in my garden like I’m in my teens.”

As he noses along your pulse point, both his palms skim down your sides and eventually cup your ass with lewd hands. You think that might be it, but suddenly his fingers bunch up the fabric of your skirt only to pull it upwards so he can slide his hand underneath it. You gasp as he drapes his palm over your whole mound on top of your underwear.

“You’re certainly determined,” you say breathlessly as he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. More blood goes south. You reach for his hair to pull his mouth to yours again, moaning as he guides two digits over your clothed slit.

“You’ve put me on the clock here,” he replies between kisses, voice a mere growl, “I don’t think I need much time though, do you? You’re sticky through your pretty panties already.”

He moves his hand to run his knuckle over the damp patch on the fabric, pulling away from the kiss to show off the shiny knuckle between your faces whilst he holds the skirt of your dress in his free hand to keep it from falling down again. He smirks in a self-satisfied manner and your mouth falls open in aroused surprise when he sucks the slick off his digit, “Tienes un coño precioso, mi amor, sabes tan dulce (You’ve got a pretty pussy, my love, you taste so sweet).”

“Lucien,” you breathe.

“That made you say my whole name, huh?” He grins boyishly but he is more filthy than anyone knows.

“Touch me,” you look down between the two of you briefly and then find his gaze again, your eyes becoming heavy as the anticipation settles in the evening air. Without a word, his hand finds its way down between your legs again. You widen your stance slightly, open your legs for him.

Your eyebrows scrunch together when he skims his palm over the soft skin right below your belly button. He teases you for a moment, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear before letting them remain on top once again. He finds your clit easily despite it being covered - it’s so hard that he cannot miss it - and presses his index- and middle finger on it. He rubs your cunt in torturous circles and suddenly, the whole world seems to close in on you.

You spread your legs as wide as this position will allow you. Lucien chuckles quietly at your desperation, covers your mouth with his own as you pant with each little pulse of pleasure that he beckons from you.

His fingers shift between featherlight touches to just the right amount of pressure, sending you through a rollercoaster of arousal. You know the white cotton underneath his ministrations is see-through by now, messy and wet from the way your whole cunt flutters and clenches in the absence of anything he is willing to give you. You gush every now and then, and he groans into your mouth each time he feels his palm soak.

“Put your fingers in me,” you beg when it becomes especially unbearable but he doesn’t.

“I don’t think you need the whole party to see this pretty pussy, it’s mine,” he mocks your argument from earlier and pecks your lips impossibly soft compared to how he is treating your clit, “You’ll have to make do with what I give you, mi flor (my flower). I don’t care if you start begging me like a wanton little whore.”

“That’s so unfair,” you whimper as the first tells of your orgasm approaches. Lucien notices immediately and pulls his head back a little to watch your blissed-out expression. He circles in on your clit even further to make you cry softly, biting down on your bottom lip so you won’t alert anyone nearby.

“Shut up and come for me,” he is too pleased with himself. He can probably feel your cunt throbbing against his fingers when you finally do, doing a sharp intake of air as pleasure starts flowing through your lower body. You let it wash over yourself, clenching walls pushing more slick out to wet the thin fabric. If you had time, you would have told him to have a peek.

“You are so fucking cheap and easy,” he reminds you with a sleazy grin but you are too lost to coming from his fingers that you fumble for the right retort and decide to say nothing. Instead, you try not to lose your balance as he keeps stroking your oversensitive pussy until you have to grab at his wrist.

He bites at your jaw, stronger than you ever will be, and keeps up his torture over your panties. You are forced to come again less than thirty seconds later, and now, you start to actually cry out to the point where he has to kiss you quiet again.

You cling to him when he finally stops. He is your anchor in this state of mind-altering dopamine rush.

“You don’t even know how hard you make me,” he whispers against your lips, “Should drag you to the bathroom and fuck you stu—“

In the aftermath, two guests, much younger than him, round the corner. They are deep in drunken conversation, all giggly and eager, and appear to be searching for a quiet spot to do the same thing as you have just done. With a rush of adrenaline that clears your mind, you push Lucien away and yank your dress back down, smoothing out the fabric to remove any evidence that it has been crumpled by desperate hands, something that Lucien points out is only visible to your eyes before the intruders are within earshot.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them says as the other kisses their neck. They try to bat the other away with an embarrassed smile, “We didn’t know you were out here.”

Lucien wraps his arm around your waist and leads you away with his cock shamelessly straining against the front of his slacks. He smiles at the couple and they offer their bottle of wine to him as an apology. He takes a swig from it but doesn’t give it back.

“That’s okay, how could you have known?” He begins the lie, “We’ve only been gone for five minutes.”

.

.

.

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#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #the uninvited #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores smut #my writing #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

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

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

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

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

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

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

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

Divorce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-So Damn Much.

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

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

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

The little house is empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Elvis."

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

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

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

Still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s his wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

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

_______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

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

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

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

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

To see him in her home. Her true home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead: "You look terrible."

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

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

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

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

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

#with love. a person diagnosed with bpd <3 #this turned much longer than i originally intended it to be (aka less of a reply and more of a character study) #by now you know that i am incapable of cutting myself short. i’m so sorry #i debated if i should put this in the tag at first #but i personally think that this is a very interesting discussion #also to reiterate: this is by NO MEANS a slight at the original poster #i just thought it more respectful to make my own post instead of invading theirs with my ranting #fandom is all about fun and escapism. #if you interpret characters in a certain way that i personally disagree with that is a-okay #BUT i’m also gonna have my own specific brand of fun by pointing out why you’re wrong (affectionately) #also i quickly want to add that if you're interested in a very accurate and respectful portrayal of bpd: watch crazy ex-girlfriend!! #its on netflix and genuinely such a funny and unapologetically weird show. the writers have really done their homework #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 meta #character analysis #it speaks #long post #suicide mention

[scekrex]

Love your writing!!

Can I request an Adam x Lucifer’s Ex! reader? Reader is basically the same rank as Lucifer was (so he’s the same strength as him too) Basically, they split up after he and Lilith got together and gave Eve the Apple. Reader is extremely depressed about it but then he meets one of the humans from Eden, Adam . And they find solidarity and comfort in going through the same/similar situation.

Lowkey giving that one scene from Steven Universe (No idea if you’ve watched/like SU so, if you’re not sure what I’m talking about, I’ll link it here. (If you want, you can probably just skip to the time stamps or watch all of it, either’s fine, but it starts at 2:33 and ends around 3:11

Spoilers for Steven Universe, if you even care.

https://youtu.be/PnlRR0rX_Q0?feature=shared

(The context for the SU scene is ofc different, but just the overall vibe of it is what I mean.) but just 2 people abandoned by someone who was supposed to be their soulmate (Twice for Adam) and them finding love in each other in the end.

(Like, imagine both the fluff AND angst potential.)

Also!! If/After you write this one, I might request a Part 2 of this with angst for the aftermath of EP.8. (ONLY if you’re ok with it OFC! If not, just tell me in your A/N for this one and I won’t send it!!)

I hope you have a great day!!!! 💙💙

Okay first of all: gimme that EP 8 request right now, I need it soooo badly °^° I haven't seen SU but I've watched the scene you linked and it helped to get the vibe right so much, this is a lil short but dragging it out just to make it appear longer felt wrong. I hope you like it though. Also friendly reminder: this is set in Eden before Adam became a douchebag.

Part 2

I'm a jester and I'm yours, call me your fool

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt (with comfort)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Eden had always been the place for you to ge whenever you felt sad or upset, it calmed you down, eased your mind, made your thoughts shut up for only a couple moments. Lucifer had betrayed you, you knew that, you also knew that it had been for the best to end things with him before he would take it too far with his wish for free will and with the things that were going on between him and Lilith. And before you even realized how sad that made you feel, to be betrayed, to be replaced by a mortal soul that would never be as pure as you were, you started crying - it wasn’t loud and if someone wouldn’t have paid attention it was also not visible but Adam did pay attention. Lucifer and Lilith had given Eve the apple, the forbidden fruit, how much further would heaven allow them to go? You weren’t sure. What you were sure about though, was the fact that you missed Lucifer, you missed his warmth, his chaotic yet gentle way of handling things, no matter what it was. You missed his creative mind, his joyful character, the love he had held for you that he had never been able to hide. You missed your clumsy blonde little angel - you shook your head, no, he was no longer yours.

And while you tried to sort your emotions out, the brunette human carefully creeped closer, he noticed your sadness and despite the fact that he didn’t know why you were crying, he felt like he understood without knowing the true reason - he had heard them whispering about it. About how Lucifer had left his boyfriend in order to get together with the first woman, his ex wife, Lilith. And while one loss alone had been seemingly impossible to carry, Adam had not only lost Lilith to his former best friend, he had also lost Eve. Eve, who had tried to talk him into eating the apple as well, he had refused to though, he wanted to remain pure, if she decided that wasn’t for her though, then that was her deal and not Adam’s.

Once he had reached you, he quietly sat down next to you, he wanted to take the sadness away from you, a creature as gorgeous and heavenly as yours should not sit in Eden and cry. He wanted to ask you why you were crying, who caused all those tears but he felt like it wasn’t his place to do so - you were an angel after all. Was he even allowed to sit next to you? The first man didn’t know, but he was sure that if he wouldn’t be allowed near you, you would tell him so. Lucifer might be disobeying heaven’s rules, but you? You looked too pure to do so.

You quickly wiped your tears away as soon as you noticed the presence next to you, when you turned your head to look at the person that had decided to take their place by your side, you were quite surprised to see the face of the first man there. “You look so sad,” the brunette hummed as he reached out to gently touch your cheek. Your golden, broken looking eyes met equally broken brown ones and you somehow found comfort in them, even though they belonged to a total stranger. “Yeah,” you softly chuckled at his words, a small smile forced itself onto your lips, “I guess that’s normal when you get dumped, though.” So the rumors had been true, Lucifer had left his boyfriend for Adam’s former wife. He inhaled deeply, “That’s what love brings.” And yeah, he had a point. Love was able to bring joy and happiness, but it could also take those feelings away from you within seconds. Carefully you leaned into Adam’s touch and closed your eyes as you breathed in the scent of the brunette. “A creature as beautiful as you shouldn’t be sad over losing someone like Lucifer though,” the first man continued and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away all remains of your tears. “That’s so easy to say, Adam,” your voice cracked when you said his name and you opened your eyes again, “He was everything.” Adam nodded, he understood, “So was Eve. And Lilith. But sometimes they choose a different path than you do and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

And looking at it that way made you realize that Adam was in the same situation as you were, a situation that tore apart everything just because Lucifer had made a reckless decision. You had lost everything and so had Adam, you were sitting in the same boat, sailing the same ocean of sadness. But now you had found each other, so at least you weren’t sailing alone anymore. “Adam?” you asked quietly as you looked at the first man, making sure you’d get nothing but honesty when your eyes met his, “Can you stay?” And without hesitation the first man nodded, this would not only bring you comfort and take a little bit of the sadness away from you, no, the brunette would also find comfort in this, you would keep his mind busy and that he was very thankful for.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

[gay-dorito-dust]

You looked left, then looked right before then hobbling down the hallway, safely making it to the dimly kitchen of your apartment without so much as a peep but just when you thought you were in the clear. The lights turn on and in the doorway, you could clearly see the disappointment upon Adam’s face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Fuck.’ You hissed under your breath.

‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, resting.’ You grimaced, knowing you’ve tested his patience one too many times with your constant escapades that were birthed from your boredom of being bed bound.

To provide a little bit of context: The most recent mission you and the guardians had partaken in turned out well enough to be considered a success…had you weren’t then later on ambushed by what you had originally thought was the corpse of your slain enemy; leaving you in a state of injury and on bed rest until all sustaining wounds were properly healed over.

During this, Adam had appointed himself your caregiver and would often catch you in the act of attempting one of your many grandiose plans of retrieving a snack from the fridge when your hunger could no longer be ignored or your comfort plushie, before ushering your back to your room and getting what it was that you needed for you. Oftentimes you’d think to yourself that Adam was doing this out of a sense of guilt in not being able to react fast enough but he -as much as the rest of you- couldn��t have known that amongst the dead there would be one still clinging to their last embers of life whilst scheming the ultimate revenge plot.

‘This is the fourth time this week.’ Adam began his chastising.

‘I know…’ you muttered.

‘Your wounds will never properly heal at the rate that you’re going.’ He continues and it feels as though you’ve heard this same rant more then you’d like, but then again you guessed it was kind of your own fault for not actively doing your part in allowing your wounds the time to heal; Even now you felt them scream at you in agreement from beneath the thick gauze as they throbbed in anguish, causing you to wince and bite down your groans of pain as to not alert Adam.

However Adam was more observant then you or anyone gave him credit for and had saw the way your hand instinctually reached for your heavily bandaged side and how the muscles in your face contorts into one of pain and discomfort. His posture relaxed, arms limp at his side, as his face softened; All he wanted to do was make sure your healing went accordingly but he failed to take into account of how restless you’d become from the inactivity, which had lead to your current situation becoming a common occurrence.

‘Your wounds are flaring up again.’ Adam said softly as he made his way to your uninjured side. ‘Let me help you back into bed at the very least.’ You mulled it over but ultimately decided that you should stop making Adam’s job as your caretaker harder then it should be and actually allow your wounds their time to heal because what you were doing wasn’t helping anyone and it certainly wasn’t helping your healing process, only proving in hindering it even more then necessary.

‘Fine.’ You said, accepting that you were loosing this battle, allowing Adam to escort you back to your room and helping you find a comfortable position without irritating your wounds even further then you already have. Before Adam left your room, you find yourself calling out to him. ‘Adam.’ The golden boy looks over his shoulder, ‘I’m sorry for being a pain in the ass. I know you were just trying to help and all I’ve been doing is make it harder on the both of us. I just wanted to say thank you for putting up with me.’

‘You could never be trouble for me.’ Adam admits. ‘I find your inability to stay situated an admirable trait as it only tells me that you have a restless spirit that won’t go quietly into the night. So don’t apologise for I’ll always be here whenever you should need me.’ He finishes with a soft smile before closing the door behind him and you found yourself smiling when drifting to sleep.

#adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock imagines #adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x you #adam warlock fluff #adam warlock fic #adam warlock x reader #mcu imagines #mcu fic #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n #mcu x you #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel imagines #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel x reader

[skoulsons]

Talking about the sniper section bc it’s. My heart feels like that house.

First, BEAUTIFULLY DONE. absolutely perfect, every part of it. But rewatching, Joel never stops watching Ellie. Not for a second. He’s watching where she’s going and he’s watching behind her for infected. When she’s knocked to the ground after Joel shoots the one clicker, she spots an open window in a van. Joel is watching her and sees where she’s looking and knows exactly where she’s trying to go. You see his eyes move to the left to see the van. And she knows he’ll kill all of the infected in her way. Because she trusts him. And because he won’t let her die.

And once Ellie’s in the van, Joel’s fire ceases except for killing the ones behind it. He is only looking out for her. Anything gets close to that van, he’s there immediately. There’s a shot of him after the bloater surfaces of him just watching. Not firing, just observing the van. Watching for infected. Keeping her safe.

And then one comes up, a young girl in a BLUES CLUES SHIRT, and you see the panic immediately on his face. He goes from completely still to shaking. He fires and he misses. His reload even feels rushed. His breath is shaky, hitching even. His entire face is trembling. And then the clicker is in the car and he can’t see it anymore. He can’t protect her anymore. And it cuts again to him taking two quick, rushed, and paralyzing breaths. He adjusts his grip on the gun because his hands are sweating. And now he, much like she had to minutes prior, has to trust that she can and will get out of this, as much as he wants to be the one to save her from it

Then it cuts to Joel again when she’s outside the van.

This is panic. Fear. This is not knowing what’s coming out of that van. If that clicker ate a hole in her neck and it’s the one escaping. The fear of not knowing her fate and if he just lost her again. Of not being able to protect her because he can’t see her through the windows of the van. The fear of so many uncertainties.

And this is relief. His shoulders have even fallen back slightly, relaxing. When he sees she’s out and closed the door on the clicker. That she’s, in a weird, twisted way, safe again. Because he can protect her again. Because he can, and will, kill every infected in her path.

And then she’s on the ground and they can see each other again. Ellie looks over to Henry and Sam and sees them struggling under the car. She can’t leave them. She reaches for her shiv and she looks to Joel in the house.

She’s determined. And he knows it. He can’t see them under the car, but he can guess what she’s saying. What she wants to do. What she’s asking him to do. To continue to protect her (like he’d ever stop), as dangerous and heart attack inducing as it will be for him to see her do this. And he makes a face that Pedro seems to make in every role he plays.

This face. This face, to me, means a plethora of different things depending on his role. But in this context, it’s more of a ‘fine, I’ll do it. I’ve got you’ one. He even nods slightly. Really slightly. Deep down, he wants them safe, too. It’s dangerous down there. It’s full of infected. And he’d like nothing more than to get out of there with her in one piece. But Ellie has a big heart. She cares about Henry and Sam. And Joel knows that. He’s seen how she’s been with Sam. Laughing with him, reading with him, signing with him, playing soccer with him. How long has it been since she’s been able to do this with another kid? But Ellie’s asks him just a little more. I need to get to them. Protect me.

And he does, of course he does. He kills five(?) clickers that touch her or get in her path. And he’s no longer shaking. He’s as stable as ever in firing. He nails every single shot, killing every clicker in her way. Ellie gets to Henry and Sam, killing the clicker on Henry and stabbing the one on Sam while Joel finishes it off. And he watches for any more that come their way. And once he sees they’re in the clear, he leaves and meets up with them immediately

Main point being - protective dad Joel <3

#those two Joel screenshots? the ones of panic and fear? those are like a second apart. maybe less. #it’s all in his eyebrows and forehead. his forehead is creased and there’s lines at the beginning of that shot #but when he relaxes they immediately soften #I hope this is coherent because it is very late and my thoughts are RACING #I made a list of six things I want to write about-so expect those this week if they all end up happening :) #this came out very long but don’t expect any future ones to get any shorter #the last of us hbo #tlou spoilers #joel miller #ellie williams

[b4b3tte]

“ I WOULD APPRECIATE IT…IF YOU’D STAY WITH ME “

Summary: After a Friday night studying you and Wednesday decided to sleep together. When it’s 8:00 AM and you have to get ready to meet up with your friends, Wednesday decides she wants you to lay down with her for a bit longer. Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader. Warning: None. Genre: Fluff | One shot | pretty short | !!!

A/N : A master list and introduction list is coming soon btw!!

Oh my god last night was just a big pain in the ass, all those classes all those hours of end less studying and for what? Just for us to probably spend the rest of our lives rotting in prison for murder? This is pointless but to stay in nevermore academy having good grades Is a must especially to Wednesday. She values intelligence, little too much someone would say, But even Wednesday was a bit stressed out. What’s more better than peacefully sleeping with your girlfriend with no trouble on the world.

Shit shit shit. It’s 8:15 I’m supposed to be at the cafe by 8:35! I slowly move Wednesdays hand from mine and get up and quickly head to the bathroom. Of course Wednesday is a light sleeper and she sensed you got up, her eyes shot open and quickly got up at the sight of you not being next to her she looks around and sees the bathroom light on she somewhat relaxes knowing you are still here but she wonders why you are out of bed so early. Usually Wednesday wakes up around 6:15 but when she is cuddling or sleeping next to you she can’t help but relax in your arms and sleep much longer than she usually does. I finished brushing my teeth,hair and doing my skin care I just need to put on my clothes and some makeup products in my bag I’ll do my makeup in the car or something, I open the door and see Wednesday staring at me, at the sudden person awake I do freak out at first glance.

“ JESUS..my god you scared the shit out of me at least give me a warning damn “ “ You know that use of vocabulary was unnecessary, and at first you startled me when you weren’t next to me..what’s the rush anyway “ “ Remember I have to meet up with my friends at the cafe, I thought I told you last night “ “ oh yeah..I forgot I apologize.. “

Huh…Wednesday seems little upset at the fact I’m leaving, I probably shouldn’t pay any mind like she says I’m being dramatic I just really need to find my blush compact and change, But then suddenly Wednesday speaks up again.

“ Y/n. “

“ yes? “

“ um..I absolutely hate having this sentence come out of my mouth but I would appreciate it if you’d stay with me…at least for a little bit “

You look over to Wednesday and soften at how honest and vulnerable she is being, she struggles and hates showing affection through words and physically so she just gives gifts but this is the first she is actually asking which caught you by surprise and herself too, she never thought she would have the courage to or even have the right person to even say that “ disgusting “ sentence. You just nodded and quickly send a text message to your group-chat saying you won’t be able to make it with no context whatsoever, Wednesday moves a little bit the the side for you to have enough room and lay down next to her. You sit on the bed and lift your legs on the mattress covered with sheets that are black since Wednesday would refuse to sleep on anything bright. You lay down next to her and she just scoots closer to you and turns on her side ( with her hands still criss cross on her shoulders) and nuzzles her head into the side of your chest while you just have your hand on her back ( if that makes any sense at all) as you get even more relaxed Wednesday just mouths the words “ I love you “ as she drifts back to sleep.

EXTRA🤗!!! :

This would be Wednesday when she feels that you aren’t next to her and wakes up and waits for you to come back so she can either yell at you or ask you to come back and lay down with her

“ y/n I feel hurt, It feels like the coldest nights of the year and you left me to freeze didn’t you, usually it’s a relaxing feeling but coming from you it doesn’t feel so relaxing so would you care to explain why did you leave? “

Or

“ you’re finally back, this is horrifying to say but do you mind joining me back into bed..I would appreciate it more then you’d know so would that be a yes or no y/n? If you say no I will rip out each of your organs, yes? Okay great “

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #netflix #wednesday netflix #jenna ortega #fanfic #writing #fluff #cuddling #female reader #Wednesday Addams x female reader #wednesday x reader

[judysxnd]

can you please do an imagine where your nervous about telling pedro your pregnant then maybe where you guys tell bella?

The subject of pregnancy.. I don’t really relate to that one, as I don’t like children in general. I also don’t really relate to it towards Pedro as he doesn’t have children and won’t have any, but it’s also cool to think about it! I somehow like what I wrote. I know I started with the pregnancy as bad news before making it good. This is how I see it, and it’s hard to change my mind, but I’m trying my best!! And also, it’s not always good news! Especially in this context as I really like when what I think and what I wrote about relate and corresponds as much as possible to Pedro’s real life.

I Hope you like it ! I did turn the nervous part into something more, but I think it’s accurate.

——————————————————————————————

Pregnancy has never really been on the table. Pedro being in his late forties, extremely focused on his acting career, he was never really interested in it. Even if most of his roles implied being a father. It was enough for him. Interacting with his nephews since they were born, and friends’ kids was clearly enough for him. As for you? Well, you never really thought about it, you never questioned if you actually wanted at least one child. It wasn’t a part missing, you were enjoying your life as it was.

But here you are, pacing in the bathroom, trying to convince yourself to do the test. That one time where you both felt wild and had unprotected sex was catching up. It’s been almost a two months. Yeah. That’s how much busy both of your lives are. You actually had you period last month, but you read somewhere that it was possible during the first trimester to still have your period or losing a little blood, and you’ve been having pregnancy symptoms, therefore you got paranoid.

I mean, morning sickness, nausea, bloated, it kind of matches. Not to forget some weird cravings. Pedro hasn’t been here for two weeks since he is on set on the last of us, so he doesn’t know about you being sick.

“Okay, you can do it. It’s just a test, it might not-” you got cut

“Y/n!” You heard a male voice calling you. It could only be Pedro. With the music blaring in the background, you didn’t really recognized the voice, but it could only be him. You panicked and opened the first drawer and put the test in it before leaving the bathroom. As you opened the door, Pedro was standing there, ready to open the door.

“Hey!” You got scared. He had a big smile

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s okay. But, what are you doing here? You were supposed to come back only tonight!” You slowly closed the door, not breaking eye contact with Pedro.

“Well, as we are extremely professional actors, we did a great job and we got to finish early this week, so here I am”

“Professional actors huh?” You both laughed

“I missed you mama” ouch, mama, the nickname brought you back to reality, remembering what was about to happen in the bathroom as you forgot for a few seconds. Pedro pulled you into his chest, hugging you tight.

“I missed you more” you closed your eyes, your arms holding him as tight as he was holding you.

“What’s with the basin by the bed?” You suddenly opened your eyes, moving your head to look at it.

“Hum- I got sick this week, it was.. in case I didn’t feel I could make it on time to the bathroom”

“You got sick? When? You didn’t tell me” you parted. He was looking at you, worried.

“I didn’t want to make you worry for nothing, I think I just ate something bad”

“Probably the sushi’s you dared to order Wednesday night without me” you smiled

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait any longer!” You both laughed “but karma got me back”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, it as two days ago, I’m fine”

“Good. Because I want to take you out tonight. Find a cute dress, maybe the red one from our first date, I’m taking a shower and we’re out, okay?”

“Oh okay” you were surprised, but good. It could only help you change your mind, and you really needed it. Pedro kissed your forehead and went in the bathroom, as you anxiously watched him move. You hoped he wouldn’t find the test.

And now you were out, at your favorite dinner, with your favorite person. You were having a wonderful night. As the weather was nice, you had the chance to eat outside, just like your first date.

“It brings so many memories to be here tonight” you said staring at Pedro. “I’m wearing the same dress, we’re outside just like it” you both smiled

“Yeah, so many things change since that first date” you nodded, laughing “and it’s about to change again” he started at you, not really showing his emotions. You were confused

“Again? What do you mean?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” You furrowed your eyebrows

“What? I’m going to need you to elaborate please”

“Well you’re pregnant so-”

“You saw the test”

“Yeah”

“But I didn’t do it” now Pedro was confused

“What?”

“Yeah, I was about to when you arrived. I had been pacing for 5 minutes trying to do it, and you arrived”

“Oh”

“I know we never really talked about it, and I know you don’t want kids b-”

“No I never- it’s not that I don’t want kids- it’s just- yeah okay, it wasn’t something I really needed, I agree. But, it is also because I’ve never been in a long term relationship like we are, and-”

“So you would be opened to it? Because I don’t really think I am. It’s a lot you know, body changing, life changing”

“And if you don’t want to, I will respect that, you know that right?”

“I know” you both smiled. You both went silent for some time. “Can we go home so I can actually do the test?”

“Yes please” you both hurried outside to the car, going back home. You couldn’t really tell if it was anxiety or excitement that got you back home so fast, but here you were, in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, ready to do the test. Pedro was waiting in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about the future. In a matter of minutes everything could change. 5 minutes later, you got out of the bathroom and sat next to Pedro, leaning on his shoulder.

“Now we wait.. 3minutes” you read on the box. Pedro held your hand tight.

Suddenly, your timer on your phone rang, making your heart skip a beat. You looked at Pedro, and got up, going to take the test that you left in the bathroom. You took it, and looked at it. Positive. You slowly walked out, staring at the test.

“What is it?” Your eyes connected with Pedro’s.

“Positive”

“How are you feeling?”

“I-I don’t know. I was really hoping I wasn’t, I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, It’s okay” he looked at you. “Come here” you walked in front of him, still looking at the test. “It can still be a false positive, those things, we don’t even know if they’re reliable”

“False negative are common, but not false positive”

“Hm- well, you know what, let’s not be sure until we see the doctor, okay?” You couldn’t stop looking at the test. “Y/n, baby, look at me” which you did. “It’s going to be okay. You can still abort if you want to”

“Yeah but aborting it’s still something big”

“I know, and I’ll be here. Whatever you choose, I’ll never leave you alone” his eyes were wondering on your face. He was really trying to calm you down, make you feel better. But it was still a lot. We’re talking about having a child.

[two days later]

You were anxiously sitting in the waiting room. You were at your gynecologist. You needed real proof that you were pregnant (or not). You’ve been thinking about it non stop since you found out. Finding reasons, good and bad, to either keep it or not. Unfortunately, you had to go at the appointment alone. Pedro was on the set of The Last of Us, and couldn’t leave. He did try to take a day off, or at least a couple hours, but couldn’t. And after thinking about it, maybe it was for the best. You needed to make your own mind about it, and even if he would support you whatever you chose, you needed to be alone.

After your appointment, you somehow felt relieved. You were indeed pregnant. Almost two months. And your instinct was right. Even if you got your period you were pregnant. You got a small picture, even if it looks like a bean, you wanted a real proof to show Pedro. This relief you felt when you knew you really were pregnant was the last reason you needed to make up your mind.

You’ve been with Pedro for almost three years and he is the love of your life. You want to give this child the love you give and receive from Pedro. You’ve always seen him being a father figure to someone, and now, you really want to see him being the father to your kid. Yes maybe the age gap can make it a little difficult, but he has the soul of a child, he will be the best father ever. And you wanted to be the best mother too. Your childhood scared you enough to avoid children in general until today, but it wasn’t going to define you. You will be better. And you had the best partner with you.

So you decided to drive to the set to surprise Pedro with the good news. When you arrived on set, you saw him doing a scene with Bella. They were walking next to each other and Bella was telling jokes. When the scene was cut, you made yourself known to Pedro, who immediately came to hug you, ignoring everything around you.

“Mi amor, how was the appointment?” You looked around you, then took Pedro’s hand and went in a quieter side of the room.

“I have a little bean in my stomach”

“And how are we feeling about it?” He was trying to see if it was good or bad news

“And I can’t wait to see it growing” his eyes widened

“Does this mean-”

“Yes” you took out the picture

“Oh my god!” He jumped then he hugged you very tight

“You’re going to be a real daddy” you whispered in his ear

You were suddenly interrupted by a voice calling Pedro. It was Bella

“Oh hi Bella!” You said happily

“Hi y/n, what’s going on?” They were looking at you confused. Pedro looked at you very excited.

“Can we tell them?” He whispered in your ear. You stared at him, smiling.

“Sure”

“I’m going to be a dad!” He hold Bella’s hands, they were shocked. He was laughing, so happy.

“Whaaaaat? No way!! Congrats!” Bella hugged you

“Thank you!”

“Is that a picture of the baby?”

“You mean a bean? Yeah” you laughed, showing them the picture

“How far are you?”

“It’s only two months”

“Yeah only” Bella joked

“Seven to go!”

You knew it was going be seven long and challenging months. But with Pedro, it was worth it. Right now you might feel happy, but tomorrow you might panic just thinking about it. It’s not always good or bad. But you’re in the right path, and you really want it to happen. This is the proof of the true love between Pedro and you. It can only bring you happiness. In a house full of love.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #oneshot #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal preferences #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x pregnant!reader

[shotorozu]

pretend boyfriend

(i use guardian because idk there was this one time i used “mom” in a though unrelated n old draft and i showed it to someone and they replied with “i don’t have a mom” 😧)

note(s): also this totally wasn’t inspired by something that happened to me some time ago 😭 and this upload is late so IGNORE that it’s no longer february (actually, for 10 days now) and focus on how i’m early for white day— basically a day in japan in which guys give chocolate to their crush or partner instead of girls giving chocolates to guys (which happens on valentines day) white day is on march 14 btw

»»————-　♡　————-««

you realize your sad plan for your single, partner-less white day— an extension of valentines day, backfired on you when your guardian asks you about a boyfriend upon your usual visit from school.

“what?” you question, sounding unbelieving of the question, like it was a collection of meaningless words. “i don’t have a boyfriend—”

“the chocolates say otherwise,” they point out, interested in the heart shaped box of sweets. “can i see a picture? i need to know if they’re good for you!”

what an… interesting way to determine who’s good for you. “there’s no boy— no one, trust me.” you insist, sounding a little more panicked than you would’ve liked— and this only fueled her suspicion.

“there has to be someone, you’re beautiful!” they insist. you would’ve felt complimented if it weren’t for the context of it all, and also the fact that they’re just talking about physicality “really, who gave it to you?”

you’re hesitant to say that you actually bought them yourself, not just to replicate the experience of having a significant other, (now that you’ve realized how hard you’ve been pining over someone incredibly unattainable)

but also because you couldn’t resist the contents of the box.

sure, you were given other pieces of chocolate and sweets from your classmates even some of the girls! (which wasn’t common to see on white day of all days) and a suspiciously expensive looking cupcake box landed on your table too.

(you didn’t eat it, you just couldn’t accept the fact that it wasn’t actually decor, until you went to eat lunch and smelled the thing.)

but those chocolates were obviously obligatory, considering the context of white day. besides, the box you bought was different— it had all your favorite flavors and it was from your favorite sweets brand. you just couldn’t help but tear a small portion of your allowance out of your wallet for this treat alone.

you don’t know what your guardian would say— they’d either insist that you’re lying, or they’d make fun of you, and none of these options sound appealing.

you deflate, not having a good defense. “… a friend.”

they don’t seem convinced. nobody used a friend to refer to their actual friend. you mentally beat yourself over this simple mistake.

this only proves their point, “hmm, okay..”

there’s a beat of silence.

“i’m still expecting a picture.”

your heart rate picks up, and you can feel your veins be filled with anxiety.

and now you’re returning to the dorms, absolutely mortified— and it clearly shows on your face based on how your best friend, todoroki shouto, approaches you at the front door with a concerned look.

“you look.. distressed.” he notes out loud, as he opens the door.

shouto’s quick to help you get your shoes off, letting you lean on him as you undo your shoelaces. he pulls off each shoe afterwards— the action so casual.

“it’s because i am, shouto!” you exclaimed, following him in. “i did something stupid and now i’m paying the consequences of my actions!”

shouto’s two toned brows furrow, there’s a deep look settled on his pretty face— and he draws all his focus on you. “whatever it is, we can fix it.”

“i’m sure but, my ego! my dignity!” you groan, and your hands cover your face as if it’ll burrow you away from the embarrassment and transport you to a place of peace.

“i won’t laugh,” he says, an indirect way of saying that he won’t absolutely clown you for any of your decision making skills.

shouto then holds his pinkie up, waiting for you to take it. it’s a clear show that he’s intent. “promise.”

“sure,” you say as you link pinkies, the warmth of his pinkie making embarrassment creep up your neck instantly. “i trust you.”

you breathe in as preparation. “i bought chocolates for myself and my guardian thinks i have a boyfriend and is asking for a picture, so now i’m screwed because i don’t have a boyfriend in the first place, and i’ve told them that i don’t but they just don’t believe me, so i might have to get a fake boyfriend for a picture!”

all of it just spilled out at once. you aren’t even sure if shouto understood, let alone was able to comprehend all of it due to the lack of reaction.

but when you carefully examine— you realize that a reaction slowly shows on his face, like it just dawned on him the information you’ve dumped.

“fake boyfriend.” he echoes, “for a picture.”

“yes!” you groan, mortified of the other possible solution of the matter being slapped in your face again, “and they need to be tall, handsome, and apparently someone that looks rich— don’t know how a picture can prove that, we don’t even have jobs.”

“anyway, they’ll just criticize me for my choice in people.” you sigh, “i’m lost.”

he folds his arms together, and he unintentionally flexes. your eyes follow the movement for a short second before you realize that you cannot be caught gawking at someone you’ve met when you were both five. “it appears you are quite in a situation.”

“yeah..”

“if only there was someone available to help.”

“yeah—”

“someone close to you.”

“i figured— it’d be awkward to ask someone who i’m not really close with to be my fake…” you trail off, brows furrowing when you realize there might be some insinuation in his words. you can’t tell what he is necessarily eluding to— but,

you take a good look at shouto— an very good look. you size him up, and he allows this as he is basically standing politely. there’s a fixed look of stillness in every aspect of his expression, and he’s calm when he speaks,

“i could play the role.” he suggests like he doesn’t understand the weight of his words, or he doesn’t care that much about it.

you can feel your heart in your throat all of a sudden, and the beat of it is becoming painfully loud.

“shouto,” you somehow manage to get out, “they know who you are.”

your deep rooted history together as close friends would be seen as a plus point, if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve refrained from showing (let alone hinting) any sign of your feelings for him. shouto did the same, except you are absolutely sure he doesn’t want anything more than platonic with you— as he has displayed no such signs.

the sudden shift of events would raise more questions instead of just solving one.

besides, who doesn’t know him nowadays? he’s tall, good looking, strapped with money and a multipurpose and hella useful quirk. heck— his appearance during the sports festival was a huge thing and has definitely made a positive mark on his reputation.

additionally, it was hard for your guardian to miss someone with an alluring presence like shouto’s, and a head full of naturally snow-like, and flaming red hair.

you think carefully before coming up with something easy. “what if i just asked one of the girls to wear an oversized hoodie; and stand on a stool? i’d crop out their face, of course. kyouka or yaomomo could—”

before you were allowed to finish your thought, shouto continued to press on his idea. “i’d be the most preferable, since the backstory makes the most sense.”

you pause. you’ve never thought of an actual backstory for you too, and you couldn’t quite indulge in the self blame— you didn’t think he’d agree at all.

“childhood friends turned best friends, and with a bond that drew us together.” his gaze fleets somewhere below your eyes, and then he draws them back up— a small boyish grin now blessing his face. “besides, you’d be in quite some trouble if they asked for a picture of their face.”

oh, that description sounded way too close to home, so much that you forgot. now that shouto mentioned one, that solution does seem to have its loop holes.

“touché.” the lengths he’d do for you is admirable, and your heart would’ve stuttered if it weren’t for the dull reminder from the back of your mind, of what it’s really like between the two of you.

“so uhm, what now? do you want to take the picture right later or—”

“now would be good.”

“oh uh, okay then…” shouto never wastes time, even when it came to unimportant stuff it seems, and he watches as you shift around to find your phone.

getting your phone is something that never takes any time, but with everything being taken account for, your hands are starting to feel like jelly.

after opening your camera app and switching to selfie mode, you position your phone carefully. not just like a photographer that was about to capture a rare wild animal laying still, but also similarly to how people take pictures with celebrities.

you are cautious of the angle. although you’ve almost seen every single expression that he could make— you’re worried how you could make everything look good, make him look phenomenal. (although it seems impossible to make him look anything but)

you end up snapping a photo that’s majorly of him, and the only show of you being in the same frame was the very top of your head shoved to the corner of the screen.

the two of you stare at the photo, exchanging glances. you might think that this is enough, considering that this photo of shouto is nowhere on the internet. so— plus one for authenticity, sorta.

he’s not your real boyfriend, but your guardian won’t know that from looking at the picture.

“let’s do a retake.”

you nearly stumble, like his words were a gust of strong wind. “huh?”

“this photo.. doesn’t seem authentic. i wouldn’t know what it’d be like to be in a relationship but the couples on television look— different. don’t you think?”

you take another look at the photo. although the couples shouto is referring to are actresses and actors playing roles— he’s right for the most part. the distance between the two of you is hard to miss, nobody would be able to guess that you two were together.

not to mention, it’s more of a picture of him instead of the both of you.

“alright then,” you say in agreement. “any suggestions?”

“if i may.”

“of course you may,” you encourage.

“then…” he shifts, feet moving closer to you. “if you’ll allow me.”

shouto’s hands reach out, and you’re immediately drawn to them. although unsure about his next course of action, you don’t stop him as he pulls you close— hands with contrasting temperatures maneuvering the positions to his liking.

eventually, the two of you were positioned in a way that made you encase shouto in your arms and have you turnt slightly towards the camera.

the side of your faces are pressed against each other’s, and despite trying your best to stop it, the proximity had your heart thumping against your ribcage once again.

making sure you don’t prolong the ordeal more than you need to— you snap the picture and attempt to pick yourself up afterwards.

but shouto makes no effort in detaching himself from you, relaxing in your arms as he leans against you to view the picture. you feel yourself flustering again, and you just know that he could end you one day and be blissfully unaware of how and why.

although you just took a big risk that could possibly have your feelings found out— you were just as curious as he was to see the outcome.

and you two seemed like a couple indeed.

“thoughts?” you ask in place of allowing yourself to slowly pass away on the inside. your skin feeling increasingly hot all of a sudden, and you’re confident the boy beside you has nothing to do with it this time.

“just as i suspected.” a small smile pulls at his lips, “we look good together.”

your brain buffers, “huh?—”

and then, he’s pressing his soft lips onto your cheek— pulling back as quickly as he pressed his lips onto you.

you choke on practically nothing, and you stare at him with eyes so wide they rival saucers.

and then it started to make sense, “what— are you playing me?— you’re doing all of this for a picture i didn’t even take!”

he tilts his head, confused for a moment before letting out a disapproving noise. “i… was teasing at some point, but i would never play you. i even pinkie swore.” he said, holding the same pinkie he linked with yours earlier to prove his memory.

“so why… after all this time?”

his gaze sharpens, “why not?” he states simply, “i figured just recently that.. the feelings are mutual, and that you’re interested in the way i’m interested in you.”

he clutches you, shoving himself deeper in your embrace, “besides, there was no way i’d let you ask anyone else to be your pretend boyfriend when i’m right here.”

“it would be just for a picture though.” you note, slightly amused that todoroki shouto was jealous at the idea of having a pretend boyfriend for a picture— even if said pretend boyfriend were to be one of the girls from your class.

a specific blank expression is pinned onto his face. “still.” he replies, quite dryly.

though the expression immediately melts away as he says these next words, “now then,” gorgeous, gorgeous heterochromatic eyes meeting yours in a gaze. shouto holds it, and it seems that he’s taking advantage of his effect on you. he’s quick, not to mention— observant too.

“we should take another picture, one that’s much real.”

#this might be my last post before my midterms start bc its currently hell week and i dont want to rob yall of anything #so here have this 🤩 #early for white day at least 😭 #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha fluff #bnha x y/n #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki imagines #shouto imagines #shouto headcanons #bnha scenarios #mha fluff #shouto fluff #todoroki fluff #todoroki x y/n #shouto x y/n #todoroki shouto x y/n #todoroki x you #todoroki shouto headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

[sapphicstacks]

You ever make a shitpost that turns into a full character meta? Anyways: Imogen’s relationship with Pâté De Rolo.

When Laudna first introduces Pâté to the group, Imogen tells Orym that she “never gets used to it.” At first it felt like, this is The Thing. Imogen had already shown that she was down for Laudna’s whole Laudna-ness but it seemed Pâté was the first time Imogen showed a little recognition that something was a little funky. Imogen is down for all of Laudna’s quirks, she doesn’t even bat an eyelash at most of them but Pâté is kind of the one thing Imogen is still tentative about. However, with the added context of later episodes, it seems that Imogen’s relationship to this horny dead rat with a bird skull is actually a reflection of Imogen’s respect for Laudna’s agency.

There’s a blink-and-you-miss-it way that Imogen shows her love to Laudna. You could notice it in small moments but it was hard to put into words until very recently when Laudna’s resurrection ritual made it glaringly obvious. Imogen deeply respects Laudna’s personhood and cares for her agency. Any part of Laudna that she has little to no control over, Imogen won’t be caught dead trepidatious or weirded out by— especially in front of Laudna.

The fact that, of all of Laudna’s Things, Pâté was the only one Imogen gives pause to is important because it’s explicitly not an intrinsic aspect of Laudna. Yes, Laudna created and is controlling him but it’s distinctly Not Laudna. It’s not her body or her spookiness or her ichor or anything else that she can’t control. Pâté is a something Laudna can fully control and that’s why it is okay for Imogen to be hesitant. Her trepidation only is allowed to exist because it doesn’t conflict with her respect for Laudna’s personhood.

And over the span of 30+ episodes, it doesn’t get better. Imogen giggles and engages with Pâté sure, but she is still hesitating, still acknowledging that it’s weird. When Laudna dies and the puppet that gave her pause is tied to Imogen’s belt without a second thought, Imogen protects that horny rat just as Laudna would for a week— its an act of service to Laudna but it doesn’t mean that Imogen doesn’t have hesitation. In fact, it’s still there when Laudna returns and tells Percy about Pâté.

But that changes the moment that Pâté comes to life. There is no more hesitation for Imogen, no side comments or grimaced looks about how weird Pâté is. One minute it is there and then it is gone with one casting of Find Familiar later. She treats the independent Pâté just as she treats Laudna: with a deep and full respect for his personhood.

Under the sun tree? While the entire group is showing even greater confusion about Pâté now that he isn’t puppeted by Laudna, Imogen is giggling and telling Laudna “it’s good, it’s good!”

Imogen doesn’t show any apprehension on her face when Pâté is doing an interpretive dance by the fire. Why? Because Pâté is suddenly an aspect of Laudna that is beyond Laudna’s control. Pâté’s weird comments and mannerisms are no longer active choices made by Laudna and therefore, Imogen’s previous trepidation is no longer allowed to exist. Imogen’s treatment of Pâté is a reflection of the subtle, yet deeply important, ways Imogen cares for Laudna.

It doesn’t really matter whether Imogen’s love for Laudna is platonic or romantic in these moments. Imogen shows Laudna that she deeply loves Laudna by proving with her actions that she deeply respects her personhood. Sure, it is definitely funny that Imogen shows it through her treatment of a horny dead rat with a cockney accent but its also so distinctly them. Those small, silly, almost throwaway moments that have so much more meaning baked in.

#to be honest i really made that as a shitpost with half a thought in my brain about it #but then y’all really wanted it and i actually had to write a meta #this could change and Imogen could be weirded out angina in the future but she’s not right now #and i think the premise still stands #Imogen loves all of Laudna and doesn’t shame her for anything out of her control #the one time she did it during their fight was like her biggest regret at the time #they love each other so well #gAHH #cr meta #critical role #cr3 #cr spoilers #critrole #bells hells #laudna #imodna #imogen temult #critical role spoilers #pate de rolo

[kasuria]

While watching the original Japanese scene of Joshua/Neku at Udugawa, I noticed something interesting that changed the entire tone of the conversation.

Since I can't speak Japanese (I was using a translating app), I went to my friend who actually speaks the language--and not only did she confirm my suspicions, but was also nice enough to translate the entire conversation for me (thank you @hunterxhell!) I also want to just make a quick disclaimer that I don’t entirely blame the localizers for this mistranslation, and I’ll go into why at the end. For now, I’ll post the original Japanese screenshots with their translations in the captions. I won’t be posting the English screenshots.

Joshua: Thank you for your hard work. Neku: The one who forced me into Shinjuku… was it you? Joshua: Don’t say it like that. Joshua: I /evacuated/ you.

Joshua: On that day three years ago, I was worried about letting that Reaper who shot you do as she liked. Neku: Even if you’re telling the truth, that wasn’t your only motive, right? Joshua: Hehe. Did you enjoy solving the mystery?

Joshua: I also wanted you to bring back information for me. Neku: It was hard. Joshua: Sorry about that, but I knew I could entrust this to no one but you. Neku: Is that so…

Basically, what was translated in the English localization as “I sent you to Shinjuku because I didn’t trust you not to keep my secrets” is actually, “Because I trust you more than anyone else, I sent you to Shinjuku to do this task for me.”

I don’t blame the localizers for this mistranslation—Japanese is hard, and so much of translating the language comes from surrounding context due to sentences often lacking subjects. When looking at this conversation as an isolated scene, it makes sense that Joshua ambiguously talking about Neku handling information for Joshua’s sake could be interpreted as Neku keeping said information to himself.

Since there’s no other mention in game of Neku’s purpose in Shinjuku being to gather information, there’s no reason for the localizers to assume anything different. It’s not without knowing the larger context, that this is an old piece of lore/information that was much more important when the sequel for TWEWY was going to be a completely different game, that the conversation Joshua and Neku have here starts to make more sense.

The rest of the conversation plays out the same: Joshua says that he was worried Kubo might have been too much to handle, and that he had planned to step in if needed. Neku then expresses his wish to go back to the RG, and Joshua makes a comment about him instead staying as a Composer candidate. Neku dismisses him, and Joshua laughs it off before saying that he’ll take responsibility and make things right. The most notable change is Joshua saying in English, “Let’s not keep her waiting any longer” when in the original he says, “Is there someone you want to meet with?” But since the implied “someone” is Shiki, I don’t think it’s a wrong translation and still gets the same point across.

And that’s it! While I understand the mistranslation, it’s too bad this little exchange wasn’t properly localized. Irregardless, it’s heartwarming to know that even now, the trust between these two is limitless.

#joshneku #twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #this is from twitter but i wanted to share/archive it here

[bestworstcase]

(hi again fsdf)

If you haven't already touched on it, do you have any thoughts on Mercury's role in the narrative and his possible redemption in V10+? 🥺✨

first i gotta soapbox a little bit grfxvhk

redemption is conceptually fraught because it inherently entails forgiveness of a debt; to redeem someone is to save them, through either forgiveness or repayment on their behalf. the person redeemed by this transaction is often reduced to passive object, and even in circumstances when they do act, the extent of their agency is asking to be forgiven. within the context of fiction specifically this puts the onus for change onto the heroes—the villain is given salvation through heroic forgiveness—and generally elides both the villain’s agency and their emotional interiority because the focus of the redemption arc is on the villain’s salvation.

(this is fundamentally a christian narrative: sin begets suffering begets repentance, often in the form of sacrificial death, followed by forgiveness. it’s also why everyone went nuts for zuko, because his character arc follows the beats of redemption from inside his head, so the character interiority isn’t lost.)

anyway i bring this up not to be pedantic but because ‘redemption’ in rwby is treated as an innately coercive mechanism:

the albain brothers frame kidnapping blake and assisting in the assassination of the elder belladonnas to ilia as an “opportunity for redemption.” implicitly, forgiveness for her “past failures” and her continued place in the white fang is contingent on her obedient participation in what amounts to a violent coup and profound betrayal of someone she loves. redemption is the weapon used to keep her in line.

salem justifies her decision to abandon cinder after haven on the grounds that cinder failed and must therefore be “left to toil in her isolation until she has redeemed herself.” salem is willing to forgive cinder’s failure (and has thought about giving cinder her aid often enough that she feels compelled to raise the possibility specifically to declare that she won’t), but withholds forgiveness to force cinder into this penitent quest for the lamp.

the divine ultimatum is a redemptive project: if mankind is “unchanged,” they will be found “irredeemable” and wiped from existence. the question of whether humanity deserves to exist at all is made contingent on humanity coming together in humble obedience to the gods (humans weren’t executed because they fought among themselves but because they “demanded things of [their] creators,” thus the salient part of the mandate is “if you still demand our blessings” because that is the sin which must be redeemed). and salem phrases her rejection of this mandate as a rejection of redemption itself.

contrast this against the way the narrative handles actual villain-to-hero arcs:

blake confronts ilia directly on both the morality of her actions and how ilia feels about what she’s doing until ilia voices her internal conflict; after ghira saves her life, ilia intervenes to stop corsac’s vengeful retaliation, then becomes the first to step forward and say she’ll stand with blake for haven academy. blake’s emotional appeal and ghira’s decision to save her life both come from a place of wanting to help ilia, without any expectation that she now ‘owes’ them and the inflection point in ilia’s arc is her actions—stopping corsac and declaring she’ll stand with blake if blake will have her. blake’s forgiveness is (in contrast to the albains’ “opportunity for redemption”) an overt rejection of the idea that ilia deserves to be punished for her past failures.

similarly, emerald’s defection is motivated by her fear and moral scruples which she can no longer ignore, and oscar explicitly makes the point that whether they choose to forgive her or not has no bearing on the fact that she defected. the heroes are angry and distrustful but do not inflict any punishment or demand anything from her except that she keep her unhelpful commentary to herself. the idea that she could work with them is presented as an invitation, not a requirement.

winter defects from ironwood and actively reaches out to her sister to offer whatever help they need; there is never a question of forgiveness, only acceptance of her desire to do the right thing.

neo tortures ruby to the point of attempted suicide, and yet as soon as she decides to change herself for the better, she is given the freedom to do so, one way or another.

the distinction in essence is that redemption is explicitly punitive (“you have done wrong and deserve punishment; my forgiveness is a reward you must earn”) whereas the actual villain-to-hero arcs center atonement (“i have done wrong and now i’m trying to do better, whether or not you forgive me”) and compassion (“no matter what you’ve done in the past, what matters is what you choose to do now, and everyone deserves a chance to find their own way”).

SO all of that is a lengthy way of getting to: mercury isn’t due for redemption, by which i mean no one is going to ‘save’ him in the way a lot of the fandom seems to expect emerald to do. (although i do think emerald will play an important role in his story.) rather, i expect mercury’s arc in vacuo to be about what does he want?

narratively, the point of pairing mercury with tyrian isn’t about terrorizing mercury per se. it’s that both of these characters are nihilists. tyrian seeks total annihilation, mercury actively chooses not to want or care about anything because he feels that being an empty killer-for-hire is what he’s meant for. but mercury’s nihilism is a projection, a brittle emotional armor with obvious cracks (he cares about emerald, he resents cinder, he’s terrified of tyrian).

in a twisted way, tyrian is the idealized form of mercury’s projected self—a living weapon with no purpose other than to enact violence on salem’s behalf—and i think there is a degree of self-recognition lurking under mercury’s visceral discomfort with tyrian. now add to this duo the asturias twins: jax is so fiercely dedicated to his cause that he’s willing to die for it, and gillian loves her brother too much to let him die. the twins are defined by true, passionate, unrelenting commitment to what they want and what they believe is right.

so mercury is positioned between this extreme living embodiment of what he pretends to be, and two people who are exactly the opposite. he is also undoubtedly going to find out that emerald defected sooner or later, bringing his true feelings into conflict with his outward actions. i think it’s likelier than not that he and tyrian will be posing as supporters of the crown, which necessitates some degree of interaction with actual supporters—many of them driven by anger and fear of salem—so mercury is also going to be faced with the harm he’s helped enact in a way that will be difficult to look away from.

where do his sympathies fall in this situation? what does he want? does he know deep down what really matters to him? tyrian and the asturias twins represent the crossroads he’s approaching; at some point the narrative will force him to choose.

which is an interesting set-up because both halves of the crossroads are villainous, so the most intuitive path for a villain-to-hero arc for mercury is one that precipitates villain-to-hero arcs for the asturias twins too. i’ve seen a lot of speculation that mercury might get between emerald and tyrian, but mercury doesn’t pick fights he can’t win, as a point of pride. he does want to protect emerald, but getting himself killed won’t save her from tyrian and mercury isn’t stupid.

but if he and tyrian are masquerading as supporters of the crown, there is something mercury can do that will meaningfully keep emerald safe from tyrian:

tell jax and gillian the truth.

they want to protect vacuo from salem. mercury wants to protect emerald, who is in vacuo, from tyrian, who has infiltrated the crown on salem’s behalf. mercury can’t take tyrian down by himself, but the twins together pose a really credible threat—gil can outlast him, jax can overpower him. they are also generally safer than tyrian or salem, which makes it easier for mercury to take a risk on trusting them.

sure, they might retaliate against him by draining his aura or twisting his memory to ensure he’s loyal to them—but they will definitely take tyrian down. and if mercury comes to them and honestly says he’s been working for salem under extreme duress but he’s got someone he loves in vacuo and he’ll fight to the death on their side if they can help him kill tyrian, well, i’d put better odds on them taking him at his word than i would on mercury surviving if he got between tyrian and emerald on his own. and i bet mercury would run those numbers in his head.

and if he goes to the twins, and the twins hear him out and take down tyrian, then mercury kind of… ends up being a potential point of contact between the crown and shade academy, because emerald knows and cares about him and the twins 1. decided to trust him and 2. know salem benefits from vacuo’s internal conflict and might feel more inclined to set aside differences after being infiltrated by one of her lieutenants.

and. well. yknow. the mythological mercury is the messenger of the gods and all.

[starsstuddedsky]

Doyoung as your brother's best friend...

(wc: 1.7k, non idol au, mentions of food, alcohol, reader has a mother/family, i really dont know what this is)

who you were always fond of because he was way nicer to you than your brother ever was growing up (a pretty low bar, but a win is a win)

he graduates before you and you see him only a couple times a year when your brother would hang out with him, which fizzles out and suddenly you realize you haven’t seen him in five years 

you finish college and get a great job offer except it’s a city five hundred miles away from home and you don’t know anyone, until your mother mentions Doyoung moved there a year or so ago and says something like you should reach out

to which you think no thank you but you politely say you’ll see what he’s up to 

and you don’t give it a second thought, you meet a few friendly people at work and try to call your old friends as much as you can but loneliness has a way of seeping into the empty corners of your room and the quietness of 9:56pm on a Tuesday 

so you figure a hinge date or two isn’t the worst idea

hey, guess what’s the worst idea? 

the first man you decide to go on a date with spends the first hour bragging about his job and how he’ll be able to retire by the time he’s 35 and simply does not stop talking about himself

you’re sure you’ve given help me eyes to every person that’s walked past but no one takes pity on you, until you’re looking into a familiar pair of eyes 

Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to stride up to you, saying “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, why haven’t you been looking at your phone?” and “The doctor’s say he won’t make it much longer!” 

it isn’t difficult to follow him out of the café and listen to him throw out fake medical terms until you’re around the corner 

he slows after that and you realize he’s gotten even taller and let his hair grow out a little

before you can tease him about the hair, he asks if you’re busy and when you say no, he drags you to the coin laundry to watch his clothes spin around 

sitting on the plastic chairs and sipping paper cups from the water dispenser, you trade stories, amazed at the Doyoung from your memory and the Doyoung that sits in front of you

he’s changed so much (he spends his free time painting and going to art museums) and not at all (still ducks his head when he’s feeling shy and smiles with his eyes just as much as his lips) 

you try to pretend like you aren’t stealing looks at him. he isn’t nearly as successful.

you walk to his apartment, only a couple blocks away and it’s gotten so late that he insists you spend the night, saying that your mom would kill him if he let you walk alone this late and to just take the couch 

to which you protest, because, honestly, what would his mother say not offering the bed? and he just rolls his eyes and gives you his best pillow 

except he must have really never slept on the couch because it’s actually so uncomfortable that you can’t sleep. when Doyoung gets up for a middle-of-the-night bathroom break, he finds you watching a crime show

despite making fun of you for it, he sits beside you and it’s actually way more comfortable when you’re using his shoulder as a pillow and then it’s suddenly morning and you wake up fully in his arms, meeting his smug smile

he does not waste time making fun of you, saying “what was that about the couch being uncomfortable?” and “are you sure you didn’t just want to sleep with me?” and pretending he wasn’t just as flustered

even though it’s daylight, he still walks you home and you find you don’t mind it at all. in front of your door, neither of you can figure out how to say you want to keep seeing each other, especially since you aren’t sure if it’s in a flirty context or not and what any of that would entail

finally you tell him your apartment has laundry, if he doesn’t want to pay for it and he says somehow he thinks you’re going to cost way more than a laundromat but he’s smiling 

Doyoung slowly becomes a fixture in your life and even when you truly befriend your coworkers and become particularly close with one of the baristas in the coffee shop next to your apartment, he’s always the first person you think of–when you get a commendation at work, when you have another fight with That One Coworker, when you stub your toe. and he tells you about his constant fight with the owner of a dog on his floor that thinks it’s okay to let their dog pee on Doyoung’s doormat, and you hear all about his friends before you finally meet them 

there are countless “almost” moments–telling him about this guy at work who flirts with you more blatantly than Doyoung himself and when you pause after saying you told him you have someone, he doesn’t say anything so you just say it was a lie to get the guy off your back; holding your hand on your birthday (after cooking a five course meal for you) but letting go before you even reach your apartment; staying over at his apartment again and refusing to sleep on the bed but he builds a wall of pillows between you “so you don’t feel uncomfortable”; waiting for the bus after drinking with his friends under a flickering streetlight where you think for sure he’s going to kiss you but he ducks away before you can let the fantasy dip into reality 

you know you have to talk to him about it directly (especially since all of your friends say that he’s as in love with you as you are with him) but every time you try to do it you freeze up and you can’t get the words out 

but when the holidays come around, you go to visit family with him and realize Just How Much you’ve changed around him

you’ve completely forgotten how to be normal around him, how to look at him without hearts in your eyes, but you’ll die if your family asks you what’s going on and you don’t have an answer, so you steel yourself up for a Doyoung-less Christmas 

it goes really well until Day 2 when your mother announces Doyoung and his family will be coming over for dinner. to make matters worse, your brother finally shows up and it becomes very clear 1) he and Doyoung still talk all the time and 2) Doyoung has not mentioned how close he’s become with you 

you try your very best to pull stories out of everyone else, since you can’t seem to mention anything about your life that doesn't include Doyoung, which apparently is true for him, you discover as he tries his best to tell the story about the time he wound up halfway across the city with a dead phone and no way to get back without telling them you were right there with him (ultimately failing since you were the one who ran into a friend who let you into their apartment to charge your phones) 

after dinner your brother and Doyoung disappear and maybe you’re being paranoid but you swear everyone is looking at you

so you go ahead and vanish into your childhood room, thinking about anything except your brother’s best friend who’s become your… (damn you really thought you’d have a word for him that time) 

an hour or so later, your brother knocks at the door and asks to come in (already scary since he’s always just busts in and purposefully leaves the door wide open). he sits down and says he doesn’t care what happens between you and Doyoung but not to hide anything on his account and you’re like okay well there’s nothing to hide and he’s like if my dumbass can pick up on the vibes, there’s something to hide so go figure it out and you’re like wait what did Doyoung say and he rolls his eyes and mutters something like “I am not doing this” and tells you Doyoung is waiting for you outside 

you did not sprint down the steps, no matter what anyone says. it was a controlled pace, one foot per step, hand gripping the railing to keep you upright 

Doyoung waits for you like your brother said, sitting on the porch swing wearing his winter jacket with his hands stuffed into the pockets, and he perks up when you come out the door 

you sit beside him, trying not to lean into him and letting the cold air warm from the tension between you. there’s a couple heartbeats of silence, your breath hanging in the air in front of you before you manage to get the words out. 

“i like you” 

silly words, immature words, not the right words for how you feel, but you can’t quite figure out what those might be. 

“it’s like mixing paint,” he says and you think maybe there really aren’t any right words, but he keeps going. “at first you think ‘wow i used way too much blue and this will never look right’ but you keep mixing it together and even though it isn’t the color you wanted it to be, you’ve found a whole new color and it changes the painting completely but it makes it so much better.” he pauses before admitting, “maybe it isn’t the perfect analogy. my point is, i wasn’t expecting you at all, but you make my life so much better.” and another couple seconds for him to remember he’s got something else to say. “oh, and i like you, too. if it wasn’t obvious."

it’s stupidly like a movie when the snow starts to fall, but you’ve been waiting far too long to kiss him, so you won’t let the feeling that this is a bad hallmark movie stop you

what does stop you is hearing half your family cheering through the window when you scoot closer to him 

(your first kiss happens a couple days later on a secluded hike in the woods) 

(a few years later at the wedding, one of your cousins pulls up footage that can only be described as stalker-like) 

and you never sleep on his crappy couch again (though you do stay over, even when it isn’t late), and he keeps doing laundry in your apartment until his lease is finally up and he moves into a bigger apartment that just so happens to have enough space for you

(oh, and it has in-unit laundry too) 

a/n: i swear i have been writing i just haven't been finishing but i got 2/3 of sending this to bestie before i realized this is a writing format so yeah. idk this is very much my delusional stream of consciousness but tell me im wrong. go ahead. tell me.

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct 127 #nct #nct u #nct fanfic #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #kim doyoung x reader #doyoung fluff

[literalite]

you love him but you’ll never be the one

context under the cut (slight nsfw warning, minors dni)

this is set several years before the scylla mission, both sunny and jovan are adults, sunny hasn’t met niko at this point

“Wanna go again?” Sunny asks, and Jovan thinks he’s in love.

Thinks being the operative word here. He’s still breathing heavily, blinking the fuzz out of his eyes and the haze out his brain. He’s just came so hard he thought he must have blacked out, and the younger man has sat back up, using the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth. It’s boyishly juvenile in a way that he can’t really articulate, so he ends up staring dumbly at him until Sunny quirks an eyebrow up at him, black eyes slightly scathing. Or not. Jovan might have been sleeping with the other man for a short period of time and been an acquaintance for barely a bit longer, and neither had helped him properly comprehend what exactly was going on in that mind. He was starting to think he might never work it out, and their mission was going to end in a week, so it was looking more and more likely.

“I’m gonna take that as a no, then,” Sunny sighs, and shifts his weight so he’s leaning with his back on the wall. Jovan blinks again and remembers his manners, pulling his briefs and scratchy grey inmate sweats over his hips and then reaches for the bottle of water he’d left there, hands it to Sunny in silence. Watches him empty half the water bottle straight down his throat, not letting the rim touch his lips, before handing it back with a quiet thanks.

Small shit like this. The way Sunny won’t let him touch him more unless Jovan’s eyes are covered or they’re both in complete darkness, scrabbling blind. Open arms and jokes, slapping other inmates on the back but never too hard, making the crew’s mission feel more like an adventure than something they all have no choice but to participate in. The way his smile lingers, ever present, but never reaches his eyes. He’s unfathomable. Beautiful the way the sharp edge of a shattered mirror is. He’s remorseless and sometimes, Jovan thinks he might even be kind. 

And you can’t trust him, murmurs a smarter voice that sounds a lot like his older brother. You realise that, right? This type of guy isn’t going to stick around, and you know it.

The voice is right, as it always is. Even on a more logical basic level, Jovan’s set for release once this mission ends. He’ll be a free man, and with the way Sunny acts, the disobedience and the accumulating murder charges that he makes no attempt to hide or even apologise for, he’ll be in here for a lot longer than the three more years that he’s got right now. So there isn’t any hope, not really. He doesn’t really want to think about how long Sunny will spend in the system, the looming thought of until he keels over and dies bringing down his mood.

“Mind if I smoke?” He asks him, and Sunny cracks open an eye from the end of the bunk where he’s shut them, arms crossed over his chest. Shrugs noncommittally, but says “Go ahead,” with yet another one of the fake little smirks. Fuck this guy, seriously. Jovan pulls himself closer to the edge of the bunk and fishes around in the space underneath, pulling out his lighter and pack. Perilously close to being empty. He can’t go home to his mum and little sibling and brother reeking of the shit he’d promised to stay away from, even though lung transplants are a dime a dozen, so maybe this is for the best that all his bad habits end at once. Clean breaks, and all that. He lights one, takes a deep drag, exhales as the burn of it curls down his throat. Sunny’s still watching him, his loose t-shirt hanging off his slouched frame. This is so fucking awkward.

“Did you…” He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence in a way that doesn’t make him sound crude. Sunny basically does that weird shit where he guesses what he’s thinking with unerring accuracy, and answers, “Like, finish? No, but it’s fine. I’m going for a shower after this, if you’ll mind the door for me.” It’s way past their allotted time for a shower, but Jovan’s never seen the other man naked after weeks, so this must be the usual routine for him.

“Yeah, of course. Uh, why don’t you just do it with the rest of the guys? If you don’t mind me asking?” He hates the way his voice curls up at the end of the sentence, like a flinching animal. Sunny makes a face at him.

“I do mind, actually. And don’t peek or I’ll kill you.” He says it casually but Jovan knows that it’s no idle threat. Wouldn’t that be something. Jovan Renaud, a  week away from his first taste of freedom in three years. Murdered by the guy he’s been fucking, the guy he kind of just wishes he could take away from here with him. Something about Sunny makes Jovan want to be a better person than he knows he’s capable of being. 

Something like love. Something he knows Sunny isn’t capable of giving back, not to someone like him in a time like this, anyway. 

“I won’t look. Swear it.” Sunny holds his gaze for a long moment, then nods, seemingly satisfied.

#tldr they finished fucking and jovan is being Morose #amongussy #scylla 06942 #sunny #jovan #ts4 #ts4 edit #sims 4 edit #the sims 4 #edit #my edit #p