#I used to think Pine City Stage was a STAGE

[bg-sparrow]

McFly July 2022 - #8 - Pine City Stage

viii.

Stubble did not question Buford Tannen. 

Stubble assisted him, informed him, even sometimes corrected him — but he did not question him.

But when they didn’t hide under Bride’s Bridge or hunker down in the brush to ambush the stagecoaches, he had questions.

When they dismounted at Pine City’s Monterey Theater, he had questions.

And when Buford strode down the aisle to sever the venomous string of Spanish obscenities erupting from the raven-haired lolita rehearsing on-stage —

“Your son es un terror,” she railed against his lips, furious and wanton as he backed her into the wings. “Pequeño demonio!”

— Stubble had questions.

#mcflyjuly #back to the future #fanfic #bttf #bgsparrow #ao3 #fanfiction #i've never seen a BufordOC #I used to think Pine City Stage was a STAGE #drabble #100 words #left field #it's weird i'm sorry

[boydepartment]

“i love you in every universe.” with enhypen

a/n: arggggggghhhhhhhhhg minecraft music started playing so i’m a lil soft rn i’m sorry

warnings- none maybe slight angst for the most part fluff

wc- 100 words at least per member

MASTERLIST

jungwon- living mice

you and jungwon have been dating for quite awhile now, definitely longer than anyone thought you would. it wasn’t a fault to either of you, you were both busy all the time. when you had quiet moments with him like this, you cherished it. every second with him felt like you were floating. every soft breath you heard next to you, every small chuckle that fell from his lips, this was your own personal heaven on earth. you watched him scroll through his phone, probably on tiktok. you watched his reactions and how his teeth would peek out sometimes when he found something funny. he felt your eyes on him and so jungwon looked up at you. “y/n?” “hmm?” you smiled at him, getting up to walk over and sit next to him. “do you think we love eachother in every universe?” jungwon’s voice was quiet, your heart was screaming. “i do… i really do….”

heeseung- wet hands

when you first met heeseung, you thought he was exactly like his stage presence. so safe to say you steered clear of him. for months… little did you know he was secretly pining after you. he’d ask around about you, try to befriend your friends, it was honestly scaring him how much he just wanted to talk to you. when he finally did, you realized that his stage persona was kinda bologna. heeseung was a grade A dork who didn’t know how to speak to someone at all. it was the perfect example of he fell first but she fell harder. you ended up falling hard for heeseung. everything about him, even his stage presence. you stood by the door of your abode, heeseung’s uber was here and he had to head back to the dorms. it would be the last night you’d see him for a month. heeseung walked up to you and buried his head in your neck as he hugged you. “i’m going to miss you…” he mumbled, you smiled into his shoulder. “i know… you’ll be back home soon though..” heeseung pulled away and put his hat on you, his favorite beanie. “i love you.” you smiled up at him, adjusting the hat. “i love you more.” he was stalling, he really didn’t want to leave “i love you in every universe.” that made heeseung’s jaw drop. then he smiled at you. softly leaning in he kissed you like he never wanted to leave your side.

jay- dry hands

yours and jay’s relationship was grounded pretty quickly. you both knew what you wanted in this relationship and you both communicated that very well. when he was off work, you’d dance late at night in the kitchen, go on shopping trips, everything. you both were practically married mentally. one thing that a lot of people were not aware of, was that you’d go with them to different countries. mostly everyone just saw you as staff. so you got to tag along. it was a night in france and everyone had gone to sleep, jet lag hit you both and neither of you could join your friends in slumber. you and jay sat on the balcony sipping wine and watched as the city wound down. “all those people have separate lives than us…” you spoke softly, people watching. jay sipped his glass and set it down, “it’s crazy to think huh?” you looked at him, “it really is… i just hope they find as great of love as we have. although that would be difficult wouldn’t it?” you we’re tipsy and were sure hard to understand but jay understood you. “it would… because i love you in every universe.”

jake- cat

ever since you were young you were infatuated with romance movies. you always wanted your life to be one, you yearned for it. yet as you were growing up, you had terrible luck. so at some point… you just stopped looking. you let life rule you, and it was mundane and almost depressing. that was until someone spilled his entire hot ramen on you at 2am on a curb. jake apologized profusely and even took you to an urgent care, just to make sure you weren’t burned too badly. you weren’t mad at all in the slightest. he was charming in a way, and in your mind, the universe threw someone at you finally. to you, it was love at first sight. unbeknownst to you, it was for jake aswell. you didn’t find out about his work until you asked for his instagram and saw this barren sketchy account, when you asked, he broke down and told you everything. expecting you to be mad and to never want to talk to him again. you just smiled, you weren’t mad at all. you were just thankful to be around him. one night, something really bad happened. it caused you to spiral and not pay attention to anything. you ended up getting hurt and taking another trip to urgent care, which they immediately sent you to a hospital. you spent the night there, exhausted and not thinking. when jake finally got back in the country he was made aware of what happened and immediately rushed to you. instead of talking to the doctors and asking your state, he immediately jumped to conclusions and thought you were in a coma or something. he ended up at your side professing everything he had been too scared to tell you. “y/n i’ve always been in love with you ever since i met you. anytime i’m around you it feels right like my soul is at peace. i think- no i know… im meant to love you in every universe…” you were starting to wake up and you looked at him, “when did you get back?” you were dazed and kind of drugged up. “Y/N!” jakes eyes lit up as he looked at you and your eyes that were now open.

sunghoon- mall

sunghoon felt doomed. everything he did he felt he had to be perfect at. everything was a test to him. everything that represented him HAD to be perfect. he was caught in a loop. until he met you you were the opposite, things didn’t have to be perfect for you. if things were perfect then they could get ruined at any second. why would anyone want that constant fear? definitely not you. when you worked at a retail store sunghoon frequented, he didn’t pay attention to you at all. that was until he needed help with a clothing opinion. after that day you both hit it off. which led to sunghoon falling for your laugh and your urge to be outside of the box weird. your first date was NOT perfect, but sunghoon loved it anyways... you looked at the spill in your kitchen and started laughing, coffee splattered the cabinets and dripped off the countertop. sunghoon hearing you immediately rushed in, your mug broke aswell. your favorite mug. “my love what happened?” you were holding your stomach in laughter, “i broke it! i wasn’t looking where i was setting it!” you died down a bit and looked at the pieces, “i should go make a new mug next week.” you crouched down and sunghoon followed your lead, helping you clean up. he felt his heart smile, you being clumsy, and not perfect in the slightest made him love you. you taught him that things don’t have to be perfect to love. all that mattered to him was you being yourself. “do you think i’m clumsy in every universe?” you nudged him after cleaning. sunghoon chuckled, “i don’t know… but i do know i love you in every universe.”

sunoo- mice on venus

you were never overly confident in yourself. always picking apart insecurities and sighing everytime you saw a mirror. your appearance and how people saw you stressed you out heavily. that only got worse when you met sunoo. sunoo was absolutely perfect in your eyes, even his “flaws” that other people said he had, you didn’t see. you loved him for who he was. his smile, the way he’d laugh. everything. when he confessed to you, safe to say you were in shock. it scared you a bit, as your confidence was being tested. you both had a couple months of dating and you still couldn’t help but ask him. “are you sure….?” sunoo looked at you funny and tilted his head to the side, “of course i’m sure. i’ve always liked you.” sunoo rolled over and pulled you closer to him, “i’ve always thought you were perfect for me. every part of you.” he whispered. your eyes welded up with tears and you covered your face, “i don’t know sometimes i just don’t feel like i’m deserving of that.” sunoo’s face dropped, “baby… you are… in fact in every universe you are deserving of love. i’m grateful that it’s my love to give you. if anything i don’t deserve that honor…” you looked up at him, “you promise?” he pecked your lips softly and nodded, “i promise.”

riki- subwoofer lullaby

the way you met riki was embarrassing, severely embarrassing. a few months prior you went to a fansign and then next thing you knew you were stood frozen in front of him at a bookstore. “i recognize you.” he chuckled to himself, then walked away. after that instance, your paths would cross more often than not. at some point he assumed you were stalking him, until he started showing up to places you were already at. then he felt weird because what if he was stalking you accidentally? “give me your phone… please…” he shuffled awkwardly in front of you. you handed it over almost instantly and that’s how you both started showing up to places together. instead of being freaked out by the other one. after that day you were inseparable. you would bring food and water to him during late night practices. and soon the relationship grew into more, and he would look forward to your visits to his workplace. he was proud to say his girlfriend was coming over to take care of him. one night you were headed over, you couldn’t sleep and riki gave you the okay to come over. your bag was filled with snacks and drinks for him. you knew he was always too hard on himself and sometimes it hurt your heart to see him like that. you can imagine the feeling in your stomach when you walked into the practice room to him with his head in his hands leaned against the wall. you shut the door quickly and rushed over. sliding to sit next to him. “hey…” you mumbled putting your hand on his shoulder. riki immediately caved and hugged you. trying to calm himself down. “stressed?” all he did was nod. you took a deep breath and rubbed his back softly, “i’m really proud of you yaknow… i think that what you’ve accomplished in such a short span of time is incredible….” you noticed his breathing started to become more normal so you continued, “i’m really proud to say i love you. and i’m really proud to say that i love you in every universe.” your hands went to his hair, once again trying to calm him down. “i love you too…” he mumbled, “also in every universe…”

#enhypen imagines #enha imagines #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #yang jungwon imagines #jungwon imagines #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung imagines #jay park imagines #park jongseong imagines #jake sim imagines #sim jaeyun imagines #park sunghoon imagines #sunghoon imagines #kim sunoo imagines #sunoo imagines #nishimura riki imagines #riki imagines #enhypen #kpop #enha #jungwon x reader #heeseung x reader #jay park x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen fluff

[keulixeutin]

Hard, Harder, Hardest

a/n: hi.

summary: during a hero panel, bakugou thinks about how he can’t help but orbit you and obey.  bakugou x fem!reader.  

cw: suggestive. 18+.  no pronouns used, but fem!reader in mind while writing + mention of female anatomy; also, reader wears lots and lots of pencil skirts.  bakugou pining after you and imagining the nasty.  sub!bakugou and dom!reader vibes (at least, i tried anyways lmao).  reader wears glasses.

word count: 2,183.

Despite the nonchalant way Bakugou was leaning back in the chair, anyone could see he was stiff and irritable: he was scowling and rigid, the curve of his back not quite following the curve of his seat.

He couldn’t help it though.  He was supremely uncomfortable.  He hated this shit, hated being on the stage, following some stupid itinerary, dealing with stupid activities and games to get people to see the “softer” side of him.  What the hell did people need that for?  Wasn’t it enough for him to do his job, protect the city, beat down the shitty villains, and be the fucking best?  Number two hero or not, he didn’t sign up for this stupid celebrity shit.  They could write a slew of articles complaining and criticizing him, but he hated sitting around in the spotlight.

You, his personal assistant, fucking knew this, yet you still, behind his fucking back, worked with his PR team (and that fucking Shitty Hair Hero) to accept the Hero Convention invite and add it onto his schedule (his schedule that you knew he didn’t look at because he trusted you to be good at your job)—and then to not even to tell him until ten minutes before he was supposed to get ready for it?  He had been fuming.

Bakugou’s leg shook underneath the table impatiently and irritably.  A woman dressed in a maid outfit with home-made Hawks wings stepped to the microphone and asked Round Cheeks about her martial arts usage in battles.  The next fan, someone with blue scales scattering across their face and arms, asked a question to a sidekick three seats away whose name Bakugou didn’t know and didn’t care to know.  Internally, he was pleased with this current line of questioning.  As long as no one addressed him, he could sit and pass the time with an annoyed glare until this whole thing was fucking done.

But, obviously, the universe loved dashing his hopes.  The next person that stepped up to the microphone was cosplaying an older version of the Dynamight costume, which was ego-boosting and cool to see, of course, but that itself wasn’t enough to make any of this entertaining or interesting.

“This question is for Dynamight,” the fan began.  “What would you consider your hardest battle?  Also, I’m your, um, number one fan…!”

It was an easy question.

People wanted to know battle specifics, but his hardest fight?  To date?  Currently?  

Controlling his fucking raging hard-on whenever you with your stupid perfume and your mean laugh entered the room.

Bakugou hadn’t wanted a personal assistant.  Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes stubbornly pushed their agenda onto him whenever they noticed at the beginning of the year that he had been swiftly losing control over his wildly hectic schedule.  Between the patrol, the agency work, the hero work, and the unending meetings—all just the tip of the iceberg—he had been struggling to find any time for himself, personally and professionally.  Despite his violent vehemence, Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes still strong-armed him by nagging him until they were red in the face and accepting applications on his behalf, narrowing it down to a set of five that he was to choose from.

He had picked you because you looked meek in your photo and you were soft-spoken in the interview; he figured that you’d run off after being on the end of his short fuse for a week straight.

But, by the end of that week, with him having just yelled about the type of tupperware his food was packed in, you had very softly and very firmly told him to watch his fucking tone, or you’d make sure that the only time he sat down for the next six months was on stage in front of an interviewer and audience with a fiercely binding contract that ensured he couldn’t skip without heavy monetary punishment.

(“I have my ex-lawyer-boyfriend wrapped around my finger,” you had said, your voice deadly calm as though you were telling him you had started a new hobby and not threatening your boss, the number two hero.  “I will make sure there is so little wiggle room in that contract—every single Hero Convention from here to goddamn China will have you by the balls for the next six months in the strictest legalese.  Do you understand me?”

He couldn’t lie—he was shocked into silence by how fucking hot that was, how fucking hot you were, wearing the tightest pencil skirt, shifting your metal glasses while you threatened him.

“Now eat your rice.  The leeks, too, please.”)

He couldn’t explain it.  Ever since then, things were—different.  He was hyper aware of you, of how far away or how close you stood near him, of how you were usually in some sort of skirt; his eyes were glued to your backside, to the sneak peek of upper thigh every time you shifted in your seat, mind wandering to how it’d feel to have that thigh pressed against his neck and his face. He was suddenly obsessed with how you spoke, realizing he had mistaken your quiet for meekness, for submission. You were soft-spoken, yes, but there was a weight to your words, one that required obedience from those you were speaking to.  Now he could see that your smile sometimes curled at the corners into a sneer, and that your eyes were sharp, narrowing with a finality he found himself unable to ignore.

Fuck, he was even aware of how you smelled.  He often caught himself inhaling deeply as you passed by, trying to preserve the smell of your shampoo inside his chest.  Whenever you leaned over to show him something on his calendar, he had to fight the urge to press his nose into your hair, to bury his face into your neck where your veins pulsed with perfume. Once, you had left your jacket at his place after a long night of explaining and rearranging the weekend itinerary to ensure nothing would be amiss while you were out of town. He had fallen asleep with his face pressed into the fabric the entire weekend, your scent lulling him into the most comfortable and serene sleep of his life.

Things got even harder when you caught on.  Quick, too, two months in.  The skirts got shorter; your shirts were unbuttoned enough for a heated glance of cleavage; and he frequently found you in compromising positions, bending over his table to grab something instead of walking around, or dropping things at his feet requiring you to lean over to pick up.  It was hardest when you used this newfound power of yours to get him to do things he didn’t want to do—like attend interviews or take off-days.  In his frustration and confusion in the early days, he had once furiously asked if you had a quirk he didn’t know about, to which you laughed wildly in your eyes but coolly said no.

“Dynamight?”  The host pulled him from the memory that had began to take over Bakugou’s attention—the one where, after getting caught in a heavy downpour, you had graciously changed in front of him and cruelly wouldn’t let him touch.

Bakugou was about to respond that nothing had been hard because he was too fucking strong, but he made the mistake of glancing to you, standing off to the side with your phone against your ear.  You were good enough at your job that you were able to efficiently multitask, paying attention to both the conversation on the phone and the Hero Panel.  As if you could feel his intent, you gave him a hard stare, your fine eyebrow raising expectantly at him, almost daring him to put one toe out of line in this nationally broadcasted panel.

The look boiled his blood—and the heat went straight down south.

Yes, things had gotten extremely bad when you had realized your effect on him.  

He was grateful for the table.

Bakugou gave an answer about a villain whose name he couldn’t remember but whose shadow soldier-producing quirk had irritated him the entire fight, and then he ended the response with a muttered thanks to the fan.

He glanced back to you, another mistake—“Good boy,” you mouthed.

Fuck.  He bit back a groan.

There was a mean glint in your eye as you held his stare; it wasn’t a long one, but it was enough to create a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach; it was enough to make his heart stutter and jump.  You turned away first, breaking the eye contact to finish the conversation on the phone, yet it felt like he was the one who had caved.

The rest of the panel continued with Bakugou scowling at a spot on the table or the wall behind the audience, but he participated more than he had originally decided to.  He answered the questions directed at him and remarked offhandedly on other people’s answers whenever he felt like it, eliciting laughter from the fans and eye-rolls and playful arm smacks from Round Cheeks. 

At the end of the panel, the heroes had twenty minutes to decompress before the meet-and-greet. Bakugou and the others were ushered off the stage and back into the make-up room to relax.  After the make-up artist checked that nothing needed to be reapplied, you appeared with a phone against your ear still and a tote bag over your shoulder.

“I’ll check his calendar and get back to you,” you said.  “By the end of tomorrow at the latest.  He’s currently doing the Hero Panel, but if I can find a moment to check and confirm, I’ll let you know earlier.”  

You paused, listening to the person on the other side.  Bakugou took the moment to rake his eyes over your form.  Your pencil skirt stopped inches above your ankle, but there was a slit over your left leg that traveled up—up, up, and up—to your tantalizing thigh.  Your skin was creamy and smooth with lotion or oil.  Whenever you shifted your weight in irritation at something that was said, the fat of your thighs rippled in a way that had his mouth watering.

 “…As I said,” you continued, “Dynamight is currently occupied with the Hero Panel.  If I can grab a moment, I will check with him and his calendar, but I’ll be sure to give you an answer by the end of tomorrow.  Yes, of course.  Yes, you, too.”

Your voice was light and polite, but dry and firm.  You hung up, and then your attention was fucking finally on him.  

You pulled several plastic containers out of your tote bag and set it on the table in front of him.

“Don’t scarf it all down,” you advised.  “But eat a little.  Regain your energy and pick up your mood so you can meet the fans.”

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, wondering if he could convince you to let him rip the slit a little higher.

“Eat the fruits at least,” you said, moving the containers around until the smallest one was on top and opened, revealing grapes and cut apples and mangos. 

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No, but I’m fine,” you said, but you picked out a grape anyway.  His eyes honed in on the way your fingers push the fruit past your plump lips.

Bakugou swallowed, neck tense, heart hammering in his chest.  He didn’t know when the leash had tightened so heavily.

“What?” you asked, noticing his gaze.

“Nothing.”  He averted his eyes.

“Oh, I see,” you said, amused, and he found that he hated your tone and simultaneously ached for it.  “You want a reward for earlier, hm?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to.  Despite his attempt at disgruntled nonchalance, his body was obedient to your voice in a way he couldn’t physically deny or control, no matter how much he dug his nails into his palms or ground his teeth.  There was always a twitch and shift in your direction; there was always a fiery red on his cheeks; there was always the need to orbit and obey.

“You don’t get anything for properly answering a question the way you’re supposed to, Katsuki,” you remarked.  

“Tch.  Whatever,” he grunted, suppressing the involuntary shudder at his name on your lips.

“But if you do well today”—you plucked another grape and then pressed it against his mouth—“maybe you can get a reward later.”

You slid the grape into his mouth, fingers lingering at his lips in a scandalous way that journalists would kill to capture.

His body was buzzing at your words.  He couldn’t help but hoarsely ask, “What’s the reward?” 

“Whatever you want it to be,” you answered, smug as if you could read his thoughts, as if you knew he was imagining you suffocating him with your cunt and thighs, as if you knew that he hadn’t been able to help himself on stage, looking to you as though he would’ve said anything to hear good boy again.

#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ 18+ 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 no pronouns used 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 she/her 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 hard + harder + hardest 」 #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #dynamight x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha fanfic #bakugou fanfic

[blackreaderfics]

TIANAMI HEADCANONS

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ A/N: this is literally from the top of my head from pining stage all the way to marriage.

↳ Warnings: NSFW at the end so minors dni‼️

Pining Stage

-At Tiana’s Café Nanami either orders prepackaged foods or the simplest thing to prepare on the menu i.e black tea. All she needs to do is put the tea bag in 💀 He doesn’t want to add to the work that she already does.

-Nanami doesn’t like sweets. He can only eat the desserts Tiana makes. Makes a point to buy beignets all the time because he sees how she lights up when people buy them.

-If Japan had tipping culture he would tip but instead he buys those novelty items they sell at the cafe like mugs or cups. He gives them as customary/holiday gifts to his coworkers/friends or keeps them.

-Highly attuned to social cues. Aware if someone likes him or is flirting. I wouldn’t say he’s shy—he used to be when he was younger—but now he’s just extremely jaded and pessimistic. A glass half empty kind of person (working corporate in a big city will do that to you😪) He could look like he’s shying away if Tiana flirts with him but only because he doesn’t trust others easily at first.

-Nanami didn’t ever have an ideal type. He always thought about getting married but didn’t have a fully formed idea of the kind of woman he would marry until he met Tiana. This is before they even go on the first date lol.

Dating Stage

-The beginnings of the relationship start out incredibly formally. Tiana felt he was asking to hire her instead of asking her out on a date 💀 Otherwise he’s very straightforward. There’s no beating around the bush, no situationship no fwb, he’s a very traditional man. He courts then marries.

-Such a daydreamer. After one date he’s already thinking about the house they’ll buy and kids they’re going to have.

-The ultimate gentleman. Opens all doors, carries all things. Pays for everything. He’s a provider and takes care of his partner.

-Nanami walks Tiana home from work every night. If he’s working overtime and can’t make it he will send an already paid taxi or a trusted friend to her cafe to bring her home.

Committed Relationship Stage

-Nanami doesn’t think much about his own appearance or attractiveness. Like he doesn’t think he’s handsome not bc of low self esteem but bc he just doesn’t think about it at all.

-He values neatness and cleanliness though. He also takes notes of other people’s appearances but doesn’t dwell on them. Like he can be like “she’s beautiful” and then just move on. In love, it’s slightly different. Idk how to explain it he just loves his person very much. They are more than arbitrary beauty, they’re everything and more to him.

-Notices absolutely everything. That one dress she liked in the window, he’ll remember it and come back alone to buy it as a gift. Discomfort on his partner’s face, slight change of mood. He’s very observant so he will never be clueless about that.

-Would never cheat😒 like… he’s Nanami. He is courteous. If he wants another relationship he’ll break things off cleanly with his old partner.

-He really trusts his partner. He isn’t a jealous man. Things will only affect him if he or his partner are directly disrespected. Men flirting with his partner in front of him is disrespect and he won’t take it lightly.

-Because of some of those traits he could be prone to getting taken advantage of, but I doubt it ever reaches that because Nanami is very discerning and careful about the partners he picks. So it’s highly unlikely he would end up with someone that takes advantage of him.

-Also he’s a bit pure? Of course he has sexual needs, but the smallest things gets his heart thumping. The tiniest gestures like Tiana leaving a love note in his bag? Or the smallest details like when he sees her shoes in the doorway when he gets home.

-Would literally not mind if Tiana called him about any minor inconvenience. (She wouldn’t of course) but if he heard her say something offhand about anything that’s broken or doesn’t work he’d figure out how to fix it ASAP. He’s all about efficiency so consider it done in the most efficient way possible. If he can do it by himself he will, if paying someone to do it is more efficient he’ll do that too.

-Needs to know where his partner is at all times. Like if they’re both on opposite sides of the room, he’s always glancing to make sure of her location, just in case.

-Random but he’s really fast at calculations. And keeps track of literally everything. Idk if that’s weird but he knows his partner’s cycle 😭 He knows everything about her health, dietary needs, medical history…etc He’s well prepared if something were to happen

-He speaks like an 18th century vampire if I’m being honest😭 If you text him “where are u” he’s just like “I have arrived…” Also uses ellipses a lot … 💀 but most times he just calls, doesn’t text.

Marriage Stage

-I think he’s always had eccentric tastes for a Japanese man. Like if not Tiana he definitely would’ve married outside his race one way or another. Or outside what is expected for your average Japanese salaryman.

-He remains formal in speech with his wife even if they’re the same age or married. There are couples that choose to drop honorifics and be informal with each other. But he remains formal because he sees it as a form of respect to his partner. The most informal he’ll go is using first names. Still sometimes says “Ms.Tiana” except now it’s “Mrs.Tiana”

-Nicknames and terms of endearment are more traditional. At work it’s “my wife”; At home it’s “darling” or “my love”

NSFW

-In a committed relationship Nanami is incredibly touchy in private. Literally needs to have his hands touching her at all times. Groping fetish?? Likes to squeeze ass and titties, maybe press his erection against from behind.

-Probably has a voice kink. Wants to just hear her talk all day. If he’s away, will call for no reason except to hear her voice. Will probably want to hear her speak as he fucks her. Doesn’t matter the content like she could be talking about how her day went and that could send him over.

-He can be gloomy but he’s the biggest romantic ever. When Nanami falls in love he falls hard. And he’s even willing to try anything if his partner wants it. Bottoming, subbing, femdom, even humiliation whatever. He won’t care because he trusts his partner. The only thing he probably wouldn’t do is anything public but behind closed doors all bets are off.

-Gains pleasure from his partner’s pleasure. It’s not a praise kink persay. He doesn’t care to be praised but if she likes it, he loves it. Likes to hear her moan, claw his back, grab his hair; any indications that it’s pleasurable for her.

-When he’s tired he likes when she’s on top. Also likes when some clothing is still on. That could be because he’s too tired to take it off? Or making a neatly dressed woman all messy is a kink for him.

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to saradika for the dividers

#this was supposed to be a little mini thing #I did not really proof this I hope y’all understand my rambling and run on sentences 😁 #tianami #tianami headcanons #nanami kento headcanons #jjk headcanons #jjk x disney #nanami x tiana #tiana x nanami #freeform.brf

[chireikiden]

Might be a pretty basic take by the standards of more seasoned yuri fans, but it's my perspective as someone who's mostly read yuri in a Touhou context (though a lot of it), and exclusively manga from the Japanese fans as opposed to i.e. written fics.

Touhou yuri (using it very broadly here to describe any kind of wlw shipping present) is, across the board, in a pool of fan literature going back twenty years, remarkably good at taking the lesbian part for granted. Not counting outright het content or works that simply don't bring it up, I have only very vague memories of a character's lesbian orientation being either denied or even brought to question (even in the cliche "But we're both girls!" manner, which even as a somewhat dead horse trope you might still expect to see, given plenty of doujin writing isn't exactly highbrow). You might be able to read "Does she like girls?" between the lines in the usual question of "Does she like me?" if you really want to, but the way it's still basically treated as default is fun to me. There's a reason Touhou basically has honorary yuri status on e.g. Dynasty Reader, even the stories with effectively zero shipping in them. You might not notice if you haven't browsed the site, but it's literally nothing but yuri + Touhou. We even got upload rights just so we could post more Touhou.

(Of course, Touhou being yuri city is part of the reason any hint of straight romance gets a really strong kneejerk reaction from people, including me. But that's also because the lack of usable male characters makes that shipping inherently hamfisted, up to and including literally making up cardboard villager OCs. Basically the only positive example I can remember off the top of my head is Hisona's An Old Poem for the Cuckoo Bird depicting Youki with a 1000-year-old mostly joking crush on Nue, which after some chin-scratching I decided I liked alright. And Hisona of course has plenty of yuri cred to cover for it.)

But although taken for granted, most Touhou yuri is one or more of: a.) On a "blushing maidens thinking about holding hands" level in its approach to romance, b.) Only depicting the starting moments of a relationship, at best - usually just pining, c.) Only off-handedly teasing, basically to acknowledge the ship is there, d.) Showing a very close and loving relationship but leaving the romance part subtextual, even if thinly veiled.

While those are all fine - some of my favorite artists like e.g. Ashiyama undeniably fall under d.) - it means that artists who depict more established couples, and couples that get depicted as more established, stand out. I love when a story is very blunt about two characters, whether the focus is actually on them or not, already being an item. Be it due to a difference in target demographic or what, many of these works seem to have a slight lean towards being more raunchy/horny even when not outright R-18, but I don't actually mind that too much when it does happen - as long as they're fun and raunchy, as opposed to only raunchy or, god forbid, unfun in raunchy ways.

I like how Moyazou depicts Mokou and Keine as basically-married. I like how Atoki depicts YuuParu or SakiYachi after drawing like twenty books of them (each). I like when Kawayabug depicts Tojiko as Miko's beleaguered wife. But the example of the day is obviously risui (of Ladies of Scarlet Devil Mansion), who you might have guessed inspired this ramble. Funnily enough, in LoSDM she seems to have walked back Meiling and Sakuya's relationship coincidentally at the same time she toned down the content to fit SCoOW's guidelines, compared to her usual works that have MeiSaku at a much more established and mutual stage.

But the point stands that it's really fun to see LoSDM almost rub it in your face from the very start - from Meiling's dream to every other conversation she has - that everyone in it is unapologetically and openly lesbian, assumes everyone else to be a lesbian, and doesn't hesitate to talk about it like a (romcom idiot) adult.

Also, risui draw lady very good

#would be really funny if I started using the tag 'ladies disc.' #losdm disc.

[be-my-ally]

The Lisa-Marie

Big Bunny + The Return Flight (in case you want to catch up!)

Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism (public rehearsal, but no-one else is watching/or sees), elvis is a panty thief for no reason other than it’s now totally canon in my head that he continually stole knickers, fingering, mentions of drug use + abuse, oral (v receiving, p mentioned), jealousy, p in v sex, the briefest mention of a gun threat, references to elvis’ ill health. this is somehow the least-bunny fun + plottiest, while also the smuttiest so uhhh enjoy the angst at the end?

Director Elvis is linked where the scene goes in the middle of this, however there have been some minor adjustments to the opening + closing paragraphs to make it fit *just right* and so they’ve been inserted here. 

wc: 12k

Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:

I went waaaay too far into attempting to make the timeline totally accurate; to the extent that I was noting down what city each night when i wasn’t even referencing them but honestly it was stressing me out so much that I gave up and removed a lot of the references - so this is *mostly* accurate in the general tour dates and vibes but not entirely because … this isn’t a biography, it’s smut with a lil teeny weeny bit of plot. 

Confession time! I was and am super unhappy with The Return Flight, there was so much in it that I was excited to share but I think my writing is off and I’m not super sure why, which affected my motivation for this A LOT so apologies for the fact this took a literal months. But hopefully you’ll all think it was worth it! And hopefully a lesser wait for the fourth and final part. 

Anyway, I might return Elvis onto the Big Bunny plane for a little spin-off fun but for now, enjoy bunny still being referred to as Bunny even though, by half-way through this, she is no longer a bunny. 

October 1974. 

You’re awake before him, gently shaking his shoulder as he groaned into the fur comforter that he didn’t want to wake up yet. He eventually shoves you hard enough that you decide it’s probably safer just to leave him as he is, pulling yourself together and redressing instead - he’s still got his eyes closed when you slip out. Ten minutes later you get a note passed to you with details about where to meet them for the pre-show rehearsal but you don’t actually get the chance to see him again, too distracted with dealing with all the matters of the disembarkation and cleaning. After you’re done you change as quickly as you possibly can, ignoring the questions from the other girls about where you’re going - practically sprinting to catch a cab.

He’s already on the stage when you walk in, pacing about - blocking the show as best they can in preparation to allow for the lights crew to have some idea of where he might be at any moment. He looks marvellous - absolutely gorgeous, his hair back but essentially left to do what it likes, all fluffy and soft looking. Eyes bright underneath his tinted glasses. He’s dressed in a white shirt, cuffs like a pirate, damp see-through sweat patches evident when he raises his arms, filigree studded belt, huge against his stomach, blue stones glinting in the lights. You feel your mouth water and tummy start to flip just at the sight of him. He smiles when he sees you, with your tiny little halter dress on, chilly in the cold air of the auditorium at the venue. The breeze causes you to wrap an arm around yourself a little self-consciously as he waves you closer to the stage. You're practically leaning on the edge when he kneels down in front of you and you get a sudden flash of what it must feel like to be a girl at his concert. Someone who hadn't had the luxury of falling asleep beside him, or the feel of his palms against theirs. The feeling of being forced to look up at him, his head backlit by the lights, a halo like he's the goddamn messiah. That feeling of desperately pining for a single moment of his attention. 

“Ah-ha! lil Bun-Bun! C’mon up here,” He puts an arm down before retracting it, looking you over more carefully, a note of stern shock in his tone,

 “Good lord! That might be more r’vealing than your lil bunny get-up. Uh - here!” He gropes around the floor for his jacket before he thrusts it at you, and you look at it with amusement, it’s a rainbow. Rainbow fringe. It’s truly one of the most preposterous things you’ve ever seen in your life. He grumbles as he holds it out, 

“Don’t need every man in here to be starin’ at you. Got work to do - don’t need ‘em bein’ distracted.” You don’t think you’re particularly scantily clad, you’re certainly showing a fair amount of leg but you’re far more covered up than Playboy enterprises would like you to be had you been on shift. But still, it was chilly, so you shrug it on gratefully. The soft leather caresses your arms, encasing you in his thick scent, it’s heavy on your shoulders and big enough that the fringe tassel tickles your thigh. 

“Uh Hi, Where-“ You wonder if you should even ask, “Where’d this come from?” You shake your arms out, making the fringe dance. 

“Oh - it was a gift,” He grins at you, lips all crooked in his sheer delight, “You like it?” He clearly loves it. So you lean into the absurdity and realise that what you’re about to say wasn’t even really a lie. 

“Uh. You know what, yeah I do,” You giggle as you shimmy a little making the strands swing. “I love it.” He looks at you fondly before he leans over the edge of the stage, tugging you up with a grunt. 

“Glad you could make it doll, been waiting for you.” You smile back at him, pleased as anything that he’s laying on the charm but that underneath you can still sense the sincerity in his voice. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” He pulls you close to him and you brace yourself with a hand on his belt, feeling the weight of the buckle against your fingertips. He reaches down to grasp your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss against it. It’s intimate and gentlemanly and you feel like you’re in a period drama, feeling your chest heave as your breath catches in your throat at the movement, and you’re helpless to do anything but gaze into his eyes. You glance down, eyes catching on the wide white band on his wrist, just above his diamond encrusted ‘Elvis’ bracelet. 

You stroke his wrist gently before looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. He kicks his foot out to show you that beneath his gently flaring trousers there’s a matching white band on each of his ankles. 

“It, uh, it mimics the weight of the ‘suit, gets me used to it for the performing.” He flicks a wrist, “And, uh, gotta try and get some of this weight off.” He pats his stomach, gripping the side harshly, “No-one wants to see a big doughy ol’ Elvis.” He shakes his wrists at you, and you’re mortified at the fact that it makes you squeeze your thighs, drool pooling in your mouth forcing you to swallow hard. Something about the way the rings on his fingers glint under the stage lights, the way the buckle makes the tiniest little metallic clang, feels akin to being shown a hidden sliver of skin. Makes you think all sorts of things. Of the weight of them around his wrists, of the possibility of them around yours, weighing you down, wrapped around your ankles too, making you heavy and pliable. Or his belt around your middle, the huge buckle pinning you in whatever position he chose. You don’t realise how low your eyelids have slid at this line of thinking until he laughs, 

“God - you got them dirty thoughts written all over your face Bunny, this is a respectable r’hearsal, don’t you go getting any ideas now.” He wags a finger at you, you feel like you’re being hypnotised watching it.

“Go on now - hop over there for me, sit yourself down, just watch the show baby.” He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as he catches your bare thigh, while he grips your upper arm and ‘helps’ to lower you down gently, almost missing his huff of laughter in response. You have to take a second after you're on the ground forcing a deep breath feeling your heartbeat between your thighs. 

You take a seat where he’d pointed, content to try and settle down and watch him practice. It’s gorgeous to watch, he struts about the stage, breaking into gospel every now and again, making you smile at the clear little flashes of joy on his face. You’d considered if it was going to be boring, contemplated even bringing a magazine with you but now you were here you can’t imagine being able to concentrate on anything but him.  Every now and again he cracks a joke, changing the lyrics to something dirty and tossing you a wink, laughing back at the boys who all join in like a pack of wild hyenas. It’s different to how he is in private, yet shockingly the same - there’s flashes of the insecurity you caught on the last flight, a quietness to him while he waits for a song to be set up or a wire to be fixed. But also an exaggerated boyishness to him, playing the jester for men who don’t seem to be aware he’s putting it on.

He calls a break after you’ve been there about an hour, and he slides himself off the stage to walk over to you. You were going to try and play it cool but you can’t stop yourself from gushing at him; 

“You sound wonderful. I can’t wait to see the show tonight.” He smiles, a little bashfully, 

“Yeah? I can see you wigglin’ your yittle hips from all the way over there,” He narrows his eyes at you, crinkles forming as his high cheekbones move, “ ‘just wonderful’, ‘s that all I am?”  

“Well you’re not - ” You squirm a little under his line of questioning and consistent stare, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in his jacket, “- not bad to look at. You’re so different out here than on the plane.” 

“In a good way?” You hum back a non-committal noise and though his brow wrinkles a little he lets it go. Instead leaning back on the chair in front of you, feet crossing between your legs. He folds his arms across his chest, your eyes track the bands on his wrists again and when you look up he’s smirking at you watching him. You can’t take it any longer and his smile grows wider watching you shrug his jacket back off, letting it hang over the back of the chair, fringe tickling your arms as it falls, 

“Let’s make this more interesting for you huh, must be boring having to wait for all this - ‘n I can see you’re all fired up for me doll.” You look around, but he’s blocking your view forcing you to focus on him even more, as if he wasn’t already the only thing you could see. 

“Oh no, it’s plenty fascinating enough El honestly,” He shakes his head, magnanimously as if he’s doing you a favour, 

“No, no, must be boring for an exciting lil girl like you.” He taps his chin almost pantomime-esque in its overdramatic nature. 

“Hmm… what shall we do to keep it entertaining.” You squirm silently begging him to stop drawing your attention to his wrists. He bends down, unstrapping the weights from his ankles, 

“They’re gonna be a bit big on you. But still,” He kneels down, like he’s the prince and you’re Cinderella, tapping your foot to make you lift it up for him. He slips it onto your ankle, letting it fall down over the top of your foot as the weight drags it down. You wiggle your foot - it’s not particularly heavy, you could definitely still walk and run in them - as was probably their intended use. But they made you feel very … aware, made you notice whenever you wanted to move your leg. He grabs your right leg now, doing the same, placing it back down when he was finished, your legs wide. You glance down at him, realising that your dress was certainly too short for this. You try to close your legs but he stops you with a hand to your knee. 

“No, no, darlin’, leave ‘em where they are. That’s gonna be your job ok baby? You’re gonna keep these yittle legs spread, and when you try to wiggle around again these-“ He taps one of the weights “ ‘ll remind you to keep still.” You hiss back at him, 

“Elvis - someone’s gonna, you gotta get up - they’re all gonna think we’re up to no good, don’t want - I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” He grins up from between your legs, spreading them further. You cringe a little, feeling the air now brush against your uncovered underwear, feel your wetness start to drool onto the fabric despite the embarrassment. 

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble ‘round here little one. ‘Member I’m in charge.” He takes a second to leer at you, and your thighs twitch at him staring straight up your skirt. Finally, he stands up, using your thighs for balance, clutching at them on his way up, you gasp at the firm grip. He leans down over you, one arm bracketed on the back of your chair, and the sudden scent of him, stronger than what was lingering on his jacket almost overpowers you - his cologne almost too much, like walking past a men’s locker room. He leans down to murmur in your ear, his other hand going down to brush against your hip, feeling through your dress for the waistband of your panties.  

“C’mon Bunny slip ‘em off, let me have ‘em as a good luck charm. I haven’t got any of yours yet.” Your legs slip a little closer together and while he looks down and smirks he allows it, 

“You got a collection?” You ask shocked, tilting your chin up at him, he grins back at you, boyishly and amused ignoring the question. 

“C’mon! Hurry up, gotta get back to work in a second baby, want you all bare - so its nice and easy for you to slip a lil hand up there, want you to rub yerself every time you like what ‘m doin, ‘till you’re all silly with it. Okay doll?” He says it like its a totally sane request, and you have to wonder if he’s of completely sound mind. You glance around, double checking that the building is practically empty, and where there are people that they’re all preoccupied with the stage rather than glancing back at you sat in the middle of the row a few lines behind the mafia. You roll your eyes, heart going almost a little too fast, but still obediently lift your hips up to tug your panties down and off, they catch on the weight on the way down, 

“No need to be shy doll, I’ve seen it all before.” He winks, as he bends down to pick them up, glancing straight up your skirt as he does. You flinch a little at the sight of them in his hand, if you’d known Elvis was gonna be taking them home you’d have put on something a little sexier, but you can’t imagine that any change could have made his face more gleeful, as he stares down at the wet spot on them before slipping them straight into his pocket.

 “You ‘member what you’re meant to be doin’ now.” He whispers in your ear, pressing what would look like an otherwise fairly chaste kiss to your cheek, before sauntering back up to the stage.

 You nervously fumble the hem of your dress, delicately sliding a hand up, trying not to noticeably flinch as your fingers brush over yourself. You wonder if it wouldn’t have made more sense to slip your arm down the side of the wide arm-hole of the dress, more subtle perhaps? But all you can hope is that the the way the chairs are placed in front of you obscures your actions should anyone look back. From anyone that wasn’t up high on the stage. You can practically feel his laser focus up your skirt, you’re far enough away that you’re sure he can’t see anything in detail, perhaps not even the way your slickness glistens against your skin, but just the gentle motion of your fingers teasing yourself. There’s a clang as the metal inside the cuff on your ankle knocks against the chair leg and you freeze, anxiously glancing around to check no one had heard. Elvis’ head had whirled around at the noise from where he’s been talking to someone at the side of the stage and you can see the way his face contorts into a knowing smirk. 

You didn’t think you’d be into this level of wanton exhibitionism, but the sudden fear that had jumped through you had translated straight into excitement, and you could feel the pulse of arousal swirling with the butterflies in your stomach. You brush your fingers more confidently, rolling your hips with the motion, not even really aware of how much your body was moving, but simply going with it. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you rub a singular finger down your self, trying to build the anticipation, but you can’t resist moving your hand to play with your clit when your vision clears and you witness him moving about the stage - dancing, thrusting. He pauses while they reset something - the mic perhaps, or the lights, and you can feel the thrum of your climax growing; the fear of being spotted, the sheer desire for him, the feel of your feet firmly planted on the floor, weights holding them down, enough to bring you closer and closer. 

He starts singing again but if someone had had a gun to your head though you wouldn’t have been able to tell them what, and as you start to move your fingers again you make eye contact with him, swallowing a moan as you watch him attempt to surreptitiously adjust himself. You should feel embarrassed, you think, but instead a sudden boldness creeps over you at the evidence of his undivided attention, and you instead spread your legs wider, your skirt riding into the little roll of your stomach, completely exposing yourself. You run your fingers against yourself, feeling them slip as you gather wetness and drag it up, reducing the friction on your clit when you finally let your finger brush over it again. 

Elvis is stood still now, ostensibly staying put so they could manually hold the lights for him to sing a ballad, but in reality in the perfect position to watch you. You watch his face flush as he misses a note, watching you finally dip your finger into your practically dripping entrance. You’re made away of the weight on your feet when your legs try to jerk and your body compensates by crunching in on yourself a little. Making it startlingly obvious to anyone watching, hopefully just Elvis, what you’ve just done. 

You let his voice wash over you, and your eyes close as you go to add a second finger, thumb moving to tease your clit with little circling touches. Your climax comes over you suddenly and unexpectedly, a slightly unplanned harder touch directly over your clitoris and the combination of your fingers curling inside yourself sending shockwaves down your spine and belly. You continue to touch yourself through it - dragging it out for a moment. Until you just know that if you push yourself any further you’re going to scream and you have to slow the pace, gently stroking yourself as you slowly come down from the high. Your head had fallen back and with a little effort you manage to bring it back around, shifting yourself upright as you do. 

When you make eye contact he winks, mimics licking his fingers, and you look down at your own sticky pair, before following his mimed instruction. You meet his eyes again and watch him trail off mid-sentence as his chest heaves taking you in, squinting under his glasses to try and focus on your fingers leaving your mouth. You make sure for a second that you let your tongue peek out, watching him gulp in response.  Before hastily rubbing your hand against your dress, thankful for the colourful pattern that hides all sin. He sets the microphone back onto its stand, slowly, deliberately. Then, he motions you to the stage, and when you make no attempt to move, fear shooting through you that you’re going to be leaving a wet patch behind, he makes the request vocal. 

“C’mere Bunny, can’t see you all the way over there.” You rapidly close your legs, weights knocking against each other, and sit stock straight as several of the boy’s heads spin to look at you. Elvis breaks into song, “C’mon and be my little good luck charm.”  While pointing to a spot in the front row. You swallow hard, trying to make your limbs cooperate again, but it just looks like pure defiance, and he’s frowning at you when you try to plead with your eyes. 

His tone changes, “Ain’t gonna ask again honey,” You flinch as several other heads in front of you turn around to stare. You trip a little as you stand, forgetting about the extra weight on your ankles and when you look up Elvis’ smirking straight at you. 

“Can take them off now baby, leave ‘em on the chair, someone’ll clean it up later.” He winks and you suck in a gasp as you do as he directed, the implication of someone having to clean up both the weights and the seat of the chair. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at the complete lack of secrecy, with your mind all muddled you don’t have the capacity to consider that the other people in the room wouldn’t understand the double entendre. 

 “There we are, right there Bunny,” He points at the same spot again and you gratefully stumble down there, collapsing into it. You can feel your cheeks blazing and you clasp your thighs together, trying to tell yourself to just watch Elvis and not pay any attention to how wet you still are, or the embarrassment of being ordered around in front of everyone. 

You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know how those innocuous little white bands feel. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although shouting back at them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.

“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you - 

“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling arms to yank you up with him, clearly overcompensating without the weight, causing you to stumble with the force of it. His arm comes around to steady your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could, could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting. 

(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)

But still, after some consideration you agree, and before long you’re relaxing on the bed with him, taking in the moments of quiet before he’s got to head out into the screaming crowds, performing for the pleasure of the girls and women. He’s magnificent in the flesh, masterful in his ability to command the ultimate attention of the audience. But still, as wonderful as it is to watch him, rhinestones glinting in the stage lights, you have to admit to yourself that you much preferred him in the somewhat faux intimacy of the rehearsal. 

By the time you’re all filing up the steps to the plane once more it’s night again, looking forward to a short day-break for you all after the busy past couple of days. Elvis is exhausted, and though he’s gentle with you still you can tell he’s had enough. He wearily waves to the other girls, calling you over to ask for some food before disappearing.  You push the cart into where he’s ensconced himself in the bedroom to discover him in the bathroom - door open, and you can’t help but take a peek. Your eyes catch on the little pill bottles lined up on the side, the man himself shaking seemingly every bottle possible into his palm until there was a little cocktail of medication contained in his hand. He takes them with a swig of water and jumps when he makes eye contact with you in the mirror. 

“Jeez honey, make a noise next time.” His tone isn’t harsh, it’s not annoyed - but it is solid, serious. You frown, the floor was carpeted but the rickety wheels of the cart still made some noise. 

“Oh, uh, sorry - didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh a little bit in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t respond. “Uh, I’ve got, there’s hamburgers, and sandwiches and uh-“ He’s wiping his hands on a hand towel when he comes out of the bathroom, throwing it back onto the floor behind him when they’re dry. 

“S’ok Bunny, that’s good. Just-just leave it over here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a spot within arm’s reach. He’s in the tracksuit again, out of the jumpsuit from the show, out of the the sharp outfits you were now used to seeing him in. But he still looks appealing, if not moreso now. Soft, approachable and above all else - cuddly. He’s evidently exhausted, face pale after removing the stage makeup, and he shuffles back on the bed. He’s starting to slur his words a little as he reaches for a sandwich, 

“Come. Come sit here baby… come sit here with me.” He pats the side of the bed next to him as he shuffles further up. You do so and he tucks a hand into the crease of your stomach and thigh, thumb brushing in circles, a gently squeezing grip. 

“Here.” He holds out a sandwich for you and you take it gratefully, “Gotta…feed you up while I got the chance.” His head is starting to slip forward as his eyes fall closed. You pat his arm, leaning over to take the parchment out of his hand. He grips your wrist, forcing you to put your sandwich down too as he slides down the bed to lie down, tugging you into him. 

“S’ok El, just, just close your eyes. You did so good today.” He hums, a little pleased noise like he’s somehow not used to being praised still. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping under and around you, pulling you tight to him. 

“That’s it Bunny, that’s it, just - just gonna rest my eyes for a moment, doll. Be…be ready for action in a mo’ - just, ju-“ You shush him, his eyes were fluttering closed, arm clenching around you and you felt it relax a second later as he drops off into sleep. 

There’s a few more flights scheduled, but they’re busy ones - short flights with barely enough time to get the men fed and watered, let alone enjoy any other kind of extracurricular activities - there’s a hasty blowjob and an attempt for the world’s quickest round of intercourse and that’s it.

There’s a break for a little while before he cancels the next flight on Big Bunny so you only see him once more, and that time he barely acknowledges you; exhausted from a show he locks himself in the bedroom and doesn’t appear until the plane is touching down. You wave goodbye to him, a little melancholy and hating yourself for wishing that he make some grand gesture to prove it had all meant something, instead he winks at you as he leaves down the steps, whispering a

“Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Bunny.” As he went. 

That’s the last you hear from him. For little over six months you hear nothing else. You’re almost immediately thrust back into the reality of the normal world and you’re kept busy enough that he doesn’t pass through your mind too often. 

Occasionally, when you see a tour announcement pop up in the tabloids, or from a fan-club membership that you totally didn’t take out in a pitiful attempt to keep up-to-date with his life, you wonder about him. About whether you were a bit of fun to flirt with, to tease, to sleep with for a couple of days - a distraction from the real life, like all the bunnies were intended to be, or if he’d meant any of what he’d said. The thing is, even if you were curious, you could never know - despite being so intimate, so close to him; had he lied? Did he help every girl through a panic attack with meditation? There no longer felt like six degrees of separation between you, no longer like you were travelling in similar circles, there now felt more like a hundred degrees; what were you supposed to do; ring the operator in Memphis and ask for Elvis’ number? Pull Hef aside on the next flight and ask him? Don’t be so ridiculous, so clingy you tell yourself, disgusted at your inability to let it go. 

Time passes, as it does, and though you somehow feel like you can’t escape him, ultimately you have. Months have passed and you’re busy - being promised a promotion, training a couple of new girls and it means that you don’t get to go home for what feels like weeks.

 You finally get back to your apartment, relieved to be there for at least a week, with a stack of mail waiting as tall as your arm. You take your time enjoying the peace and by the evening it feels like you can relax for the first time in a long while, glass of wine poured, comfortable little short pyjama set instead of the bunny-approved corset or dress. You’re just starting to open the first of what looks like several catalogues of clothes you’ll never get a chance to wear when the phone rings. 

You glance over at the clock, surprised that anyone would be calling you at half eleven at night, when as far as you’re aware none of your friends or family even know you’re home yet. You consider not answering, too content with your night, but it rings insistently so you drag the handset closer, accepting the call. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” You’re immediately taken aback by the annoyed exasperation of the voice on the other end of the line, 

“Where’ve you been?” You start to protest, to question who on earth is questioning you and explain that you’ve been working but the voice doesn’t give you the chance. 

“Listen, Boss’ got a new plane, he’s uh, calling it the Lisa-Marie,” he shouts to someone on his end, “I don’t know man, thought it would sweeten the deal if she knew he’d already named it! Like - ain’t that what you’re supposed to do if you’re negotiatin’ - let ‘em know you have a name?” Right. So, Elvis. Someone is calling about Elvis’ plane. You’re trying to comprehend that when he continues,

 “Sorry. Anyway, he wants you on it. He won’t hear otherwise.” He pauses, “Permanently. On call whenever and wherever he needs to fly,” As if he can sense this isn’t the most attractive prospect, “but you’ll uh, all expenses paid for, apartment in Memphis, the whole shebang, you’ll be well taken care of.” You take a second to process that, 

“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say - do, do you need to know right away?” He chuckles down the phone at you, 

“Well - uh, no, but, he’s goin’ on tour soon and we need the flights staffed by then so….” He trails off, and you know from your limited experience with Elvis and his methods that this means, actually yes, we do need to know right now, and we’re not actually giving you a choice. You take a deep breath, still confused as to why you’re getting this call out of the blue, thinking that you’re going to regret it if you do, regret it if you don’t. 

“Oh, uh, ok fine - look I’ll be at one of the offices tomorrow; I’ll give you a call and you can fax me over the information for the dates and things?” 

“No need, we need you by July.” You pause, that’s… barely a month away, 

“Ok, I’ve got a three week notice period though, I can’t just -” 

“We’ll take care of it with Hugh direct.” You laugh incredulously - is that how they think it works? 

“Hugh Hefner isn’t my boss - how high up do you think I am? I’m a jet bunny for god's sake.” There’s silence on the other end of the line as if they'd expected you to feel cowed, or awed by their famous friend. You can hear them whispering before the voice returns, just as confident as before; 

“Well, we’ll take care of it.” You frown but you’re not sure what else to do but agree - at least this way of something falls through you can claim you had no clue about any of this. 

“Ok, but you’ll have to ask for Ellen at the office and I’ve got a notice of -“ You’re cut off by him, 

“We’ll make it happen.” Well, you couldn’t say more than what you’d said - you’ll just have to hope they do enough that it all gets sorted somehow, and without totally burning all your bridges. 

“Right, well then, -” 

“Tickets for your flight on the 26th June to Memphis will be waiting at the airport. Someone’ll pick you up there.” 

“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -” 

“Thanks again, you’re a doll, bye!” The phone hangs up and you’re left holding the receiver wondering what on earth you’ve just agreed to. 

—— 

It turns out you’ve agreed to a stewardess job pretty similar to any other. You’ve got a cute new little uniform, and it was indeed little, sleeveless and hem skimming the middle of your thighs but Elvis had indeed fulfilled his promise - it was stretchy. With a scarf around your neck and tall boots it almost didn’t feel much different to your bunny outfits. In fact it all would have felt quite similar if it weren’t for the sudden increase in responsibility you were facing. There was another girl who worked on board here and there, but whether as a cost-saving measure (although you couldn’t fathom the necessity considering the gold sinks on the plane) or simply the knowledge that one stewardess and the pilots were enough for a plane of this size you weren’t often put on the plane together. It meant that you were often working alone and solely responsible for the cabin. It was certainly an adjustment, you’d been safety trained before - of course - but you’d never really had to use it; the focus of your jet bunny role had pretty much been to cater to the whims of the people on board. Like a Barbie doll you’d had too many jobs to count, and the responsibility to look good while doing so. On the plane you’d had to be waitresses, dancers, chefs and bartenders but less so a safety officer. 

And it’s so strange, you’d not been expecting much but you had been anticipating at least an acknowledgement, or something? But instead on the first flight Elvis collapses in a seat, clearly out of his mind and ignores you completely, There’s this, somewhat odd, hierarchy evident and you somehow just know that you shouldn’t approach him like this - trusting that his needs are being catered for by his entourage. But you can’t help but glance over at him, inspecting that he looks paler than before - almost sallow-like in comparison to the fit tan of the first time you’d seen him in the flesh. So you do your job, and see them on and off the plane with nary a word exchanged between the two of you. 

You fall into this habit pretty quickly, flight after flight. When he’s awake his eyes skim over you, unfocused and never stopping for long. You hate yourself for how upset it makes you, he hadn’t owed you anything and yet you still feel like you’d signed up for something under false pretences. It keeps you up at night, wondering how you could have been so stupid - you’d given up a stable salary, a life and an exciting one at that, for this - for him. With every month that passes you’re more and more aware that you’re creeping towards your next birthday and the chance to return to Playboy in any capacity is dwindling. They aren’t shy about declaring there’s an age limit. You feel like you’re trapped, in a never-ending cycle - flight, sort the plane while they’re at a concert, flight, fitful sleep in a hotel, flight, flight, flight. 

But then, like magic, two weeks before your birthday - two weeks before the deadline you’d come up with in your head to quit he notices you. He’d been looking better for a few days, on an upward swing or so it would seem, and seems significantly more aware than he had been.  He almost does a double-take, as if seeing you for the first time. It’s then that, suddenly, Georgia - the other girl, starts to come on board with you a lot more frequently - taking care of the other guys while Elvis not so surreptitiously pulls you into his excessively decorated bedroom.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in there, you clean the damn place after all, but it’s the first time that you’re able to look at it with fresh eyes, through the lens of the awe of a girl being invited back there as a guest. You feel the bend of the fibres of the plush carpet underfoot, against the smooth sole of your boot. 

He sits down, patting his thigh, “Give me your lil footsie baby, them little footsie sooties, put ‘em up here.” You look at him slightly askance, fondly, but still do as he asks, putting first one foot up on his lap, letting him unzip your boot, tugging it off and then your other one when he taps your ankle. He looks up at you, as he holds onto your foot, and you know you’re both getting flashbacks to that first flight, when he’d tugged your heels off, got caught in your pantyhose, the joy of that first time. He grips your wrist, forcing you to kneel onto and then shuffle across the bed as he tugs you while sliding back himself.  Pulling you're both placed far enough to the headboard that he sinks down into a lying position and drags you down with him. 

“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“ 

“Shhh baby, don’t worry about anything, just, just feel it with me - you feel that?” He shifts to hold your hand, “Feel that energy? ‘S right between us darlin’ girl, right there.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, but you had been feeling the thrum of a connection, willing him to pick up on your silent desires, so you can’t deny a strength of feeling there. 

“I feel it.” He hums at you, happily, still holding onto your hand, threading his fingers through yours and pressing his nose against your cheek. He nuzzles at you for a moment, starting off gentle and slow, before rolling you into him and catching your mouth with his. He’s sure of himself, pressing himself skilfully against you - you’re more than aware that this is a skill he’s nurtured, learnt - been judged upon, almost as much as his singing and it shows, it feels no different to the first time you’d kissed. A masterclass in the right moves, just the right amount of bite, just the right amount of tongue, and it makes you buck into him. You’re suddenly desperate for him to break out of the cultured practiced mould, feel him lose control and slip. You gasp, trying to provoke it in him, biting down on his lip a fraction too hard. He shifts his grip to your neck, clutching it to pull you back a little, 

“Careful, honey, careful.” You can feel his lips move against your skin as he murmurs and it makes you shiver a little at the tickle of his breath. He kisses across your jaw, little sucking presses, before he returns once again to your mouth. 

It’s hard not to assign more feeling or meaning to it than what it is, when he seems to do everything with such feeling. Not for the first time you wonder how it would be possible to be kissed at a concert and then have to continue to go about your life, acting as if nothing huge had happened, as if something totally earth-shattering hadn’t taken place. But then, you imagine, it’s probably not that different to what you have to do. 

He pulls back a little, pushing himself up to be more on his knees than lying back, before he slips a hand down between you, pushing underneath your dress to pull at your panties, rubbing a finger on the outside. He pushes them against your folds, circling with his finger until a little damp patch is forming where he’s touching. He pulls them to one side, shimmying his hand underneath, a ring knocking against your thigh and catching on the fabric and your hair as he cups your mound. You reach a hand down yourself, brushing it over his trousers, but you’re slightly surprised to feel him still soft inside. He jerks his hand off of you, gripping your leg instead, shoving your hand away with his other. 

You pat his face as it peers over the top of you, the creases in the corners of his eyes a little scrunched up in disappointment and his lips in a slight pout; as if he were trying to stop himself being upset.

“‘S ok El, You’ve still gotta perform tonight too -“ You go to tug your dress back down assuming there was no need for you to remain bare but his hand flies out, gripping your forearm and pushing it against your stomach.

“Take it all the way off,” You look nervously over at the unlocked bedroom door but obediently wiggle down a little, as best you can with his arm still locked over top of you to slither out of the dress. He shifts back down into a horizontal position, sliding himself further down, shirt crumpling with the motion, before gripping you with one hand on an arm and one on a leg, to hint at where he wants you to move to, tugging you until you’re in position, straddling him.

“El - seriously, I don’t think, it’s fine, it happens all the time it’s noth-“ He cuts you off by sharply pulling, with hands gripping right on your hipbones, you closer to him - forcing you to stumble on your knees even further up his body. 

“‘Nough of that.” In that wonderful growly voice only he seems able to achieve, he lifts his chin up to press a kiss against your inner thigh. “Can still, still make you feel good Bunny, baby. Still make that pretty yittle cunt o’ yours feel good.” He yanks you so you’re perfectly placed, hands gripping the navy velvet headboard to hold yourself steady. “Just gonna have a lil taste, ok darling? Just needta give me a little more time. Let, let it kick in.” You nod frantically, although you’re not 100% certain what you’ve got to let ‘kick in’. 

“Yes, god, yes. Sure.” The kiss, and his brief touches had been enough to turn you on, and you jerk as he holds your thighs to press a kiss against your now bare cunt, 

“Oh, fuck.” Elvis laughs against you, and you can feel the vibration up your spine, thetickle sending sparks straight into your stomach. The sheer level of arousal makes you feel almost a little nauseous but you’re distracted by the feel of his tongue moving again, holding you tight to him with his grip on your thigh when the feeling makes you try to thrust out of his hold.  You can feel twin bruises form from the thick bands of the ring on each of his hands and the twinge of pain when he lifts the pressure makes you gasp, 

“Oh, Christ - Elvis, need, need you to,” You’re not sure if you were planning on asking him to let go, or hold you tighter - but you’re distracted by him shifting to suck down directly on your clit, briefly, just enough to make you choke on your own spit, before he releases, flattening his tongue and moving it down. Every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in and you can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth and against his tongue. He pulls away, and you shift your hips slightly so you can look down at him, and your head tips back with a moan as he quirks a little grin at you. It’s utterly filthy the way his chin and mouth is glisteningly sticky and wet.

“You like that honey?” You nod, and he returns, surging forward to renew his efforts, your hips circling in response. 

“Oh god, yes, don’t, oh, holy fuck, - don’t stop,” You can’t stop moving your hips, and part of you is briefly concerned that you might be suffocating him, but the larger part is more concerned with making sure he keeps licking right there until your building climax hits. His tongue is flicks between lapping at your vagina and your inner folds. Your hips are constantly moving and you grip the headboard even harder, feeling the fabric pile shift and flatten under your hold as he finally captures your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard, reaching up to slip a finger inside you as he does. 

Your lower back is starting to ache, thighs beginning to cramp but you can’t think about that, reaching down with one hand to comb through his hair, clutching at it as you thrust up and back, finally your climax rocking through you. He licks you through it, holding you open still, feeling you shudder around him, until you finally insistently tug on his hair enough to make him come away. 

You dread to think what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door, the wet smacking having been all you could hear past the blood rushing through your own ears and you’re sure you couldn’t possibly have stayed silent. You watch him wipe his mouth with a sleeve, blushing the whole while before he slips out of the shirt. Fully exposing his bare chest and, finally, reaching down to unzip himself. 

You’re sticky and soft when he reaches down, running a finger against you, opening you up to bump against you with his now, hard, cock. You’re not quite sure when it had happened, if it was a delayed reaction to a pill he took earlier, or if he simply was that turned on just by licking you to completion, but you’re not about to complain feeling how his head slips against your wetness, nudging at your clit before he angles himself down, bumping against your entrance. 

“There he is, Bunny, got Lil’ Elvie here just for you baby, for my sweet lil - ah, bunny bun,” 

Elvis pushes into you, a hand straying to stroke your labia on its way up to clutch at your waist, feeling the way you open up around him - for him. You groan at the sensation - it’s been a while, actually it’s been a long while; the last man you’d been with was the one currently pressing inside of you. He takes a moment to allow you to adjust, although you suspect it also allowed him a moment or two, either to calm himself down or encourage himself up. 

“That’s it, honey, there we are, there we go, Oh Lord, here we are, I got you, gonna, gonna do such a good job, you just lie back. I got you, got -“ 

He’s fucking into you now, slowly, sweetly, accompanying each thrust with his mouth joining onto yours, and sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck. He’s trying to get the angle right, you can tell, but he’s decidedly less sure than he ever used to be, or least how you remember him. Taking longer to hit the right spot, and then almost immediately slipping away and losing it.

“Ah, that’s - that’s it, right there,” You almost cry out as he moves again, begging him in your mind to return to where he was. 

Still, he’s not totally unskilled, and the motion of his body against yours, of the feel of his hand reaching down to play with clit, combined with the growling curses and praises falling from his lips, southern accent coming out harder as he loses himself in it, is enough for you to feel yourself start to shudder your way towards a second orgasm, clenching down onto him. That is, apparently, enough to set him off and he takes some time firmly rocking his hips into you, before, with a hand splayed on your tummy for balance, withdrawing fast to shoot across your stomach. He collapses there for a moment, lips in a pout and eyes closed from the sheer pleasure of the minute before. 

He rolls off of where he’s pressed against you, where you’d welcomed being crushed under his weight, tummy pushed against yours, hairs tickling your own bare skin to flop onto his back. You watch his chest heave, eyes drawn to his tight little nipples, as he catches his breath back. You take a moment to swipe the cum off your belly with the edge of the bedspread, noting in your head to send it to the laundry later. You know you should be getting up to pee sooner rather than later but he’s holding out an arm to you, and you can’t bear the thought of refusing his offer. Instead curling into him with a sigh. He smells the same as you remember now, that same heady mix of sweat and sex, woodsy heavy cologne combined with the tint of smoke, and you hate how it sends flutters down your tummy again at how you feel a sense of familiarity from it. He murmurs into the top of your head, lips catching on your hair, 

“You been here all along Bunny? Hopping around my plane?” You nod and you feel him grimace, “Didn’t recognise you without your ears, or your yittle tail.” You don’t mention that you very rarely wore ears on Big Bunny, and that he had in fact seen you both on and off the plane without them too. He tips your chin up to look at you and you make eye contact with his pair of guilt tinged blue eyes. Your nose wrinkles and he taps it with a finger, “Twitchy lil thing though still ain’t ya?” He pats your cheek, “Still gonna be my bunny? Ain’t got another bunny, got, got,” He stumbles over his words as he takes a breath in, clearly struggling to stay lucid enough to have the conversation, “got other girls, not got ‘Cilla no more, but got, got Linda … and, and - I got a whole list, baby, but no - you’re my only bunny.” 

The thing is though, it’s never for long. You prefer the flights after a show to the ones before, he’s more awake before but he’s panicked like a tiger in a cage. It’s still difficult to tell what kind of Elvis you’ll be dealing with on any given night. There’ll be one flight where he’s perfect, drowsy from a show but awake and alert, flirty and fun, and then another where he sleeps for so long and so deeply that you worry he’ll never wake up. The worst are the ones where him and Dr Nick, his father or one of the other boys with that damned black bag disappear into the bedroom for the flight. He stumbles down the stairs after in a daze, clearly half out of his mind. The alternative - that you have to listen to his whimpering cries, that his body aches, that sleep won’t come to him - why won’t anyone listen to him? That he wants his mama, that everyone leaves him, “even my yittle yisa.” Is worse, it makes you wish for when he’s sedated or so over the top in his exuberance that you know his ‘vitamins’ have a lot to do with it. You don’t know how much longer you can silently pick up the pieces - cleaning up when he’s trashed the room in a rage, or left pill bottles littering the floor. Going in to him when he calls for you, acting as his waitress, nurse and on-call girlfriend all at once. 

Linda accompanied him often, and you’re shooed out of the way of her keen eyes as they watch you a little too knowingly. She’s sophisticated and classy though, more than you would be in the situation. More than you are. You take the opportunity to swap with Georgia as often as you possibly can when you know she’s coming with him. 

You’d avoided her too at first, often being the only one working on the little plane, not usually that many people on board - maybe ten at most, well within the capabilities of a single girl and the pilots. You hated that you felt the sting of jealousy, of worry that he was fooling around with her too, to the extent that when she, unprompted, had reassured you that she had not slept with him and nor would she ever sleep with him you had laughed it off. Pretending you had no idea what she was suggesting. 

Linda though proved difficult to ignore. She was a presence - even when she wasn’t physically there - he was swearing to the boys they were through, broken up, done, and then would spend hours on the phone to her. He’d swear he didn’t give a shit about her anymore; just had to keep his promises to take care of her - but then a week later she’d appear on the plane with him. They’d sit cuddled together half the time, shouting and screaming for the other half. You had no idea how to react when she called you in to the bedroom, Elvis’ head pillowed on her thighs, dead asleep. She doesn’t ask you for much, a coffee and some water to be brought to them. You do so, still slightly surprised to be invited to intrude on what seemed like an overwhelmingly private moment. But then, a large part of your job is being invisible when necessary. You don’t expect to her acknowledge you when you return, but she does - she’s polite and courteous, but quiet, eyes never leaving his relaxed forehead. A cynical part of your brain wonders if it wasn’t intentional, if she didn’t purposefully call you in at that moment to prove she was different, but that line of thinking gets you nowhere. It’s not your place to be jealous.

Occasionally there’s other girls with him, you burn when Sheila comes aboard - you’d given up your cover dreams for this, and it feels like she’s the new kid in town - replacing you in every way. Better than you in every way, she’s pretty and lithe and young; you’re young and pretty too but you’re feeling it less and less. She’s above you - in the privileged position to sit at the side of the King while you have to settle for serving him and her. She had the cover, you had gotten pouring the drinks into branded glasses.

Elvis didn’t help how you felt - the first time she came on board he took it upon himself to personally introduce the two of you. He was sat with his legs spread wide, Sheila’s own legs over the top of his, an arm tucking her tight against his side out in the lounge area, the public display of affection almost too much for you to witness. 

“Here she is!” He called out when you came around the corner of the half-dividing wall, and you balk a little before steeling yourself to walk over, 

“Here I am.” You respond, flatly. He’d been particularly difficult recently, and your patience was wearing thin. 

“Looksies - this here is my Sheila,” He raises her arm, she nods politely, “She’s - she’s a bunny too, she was on the cover.” You smile, what else can you do? 

“Oh - wow, congratulations.” You nod at her, she’s silent. 

“Two bunnies on the plane! My two bunnies together!” He laughs, and the tone and words immediately make you smart. There’s a cruel edge to it that you don’t quite understand, it’s not like you’ve ever turned him down or refused him, not like you’ve done anything to be treated second best - to have her paraded in front of you. 

 It makes your skin crawl, furious with every decision that led to this point, cursing those pretty blue eyes that you couldn’t refuse. Makes your skin crawl that he’d sworn you were his only bunny; and as ridiculous as it might seem, the evidence that that wasn’t true at all, that it was an empty promise makes you cry yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row. The first time you’d found a notelet, tucked under the bed having perhaps fallen out of a pocket or book, 

“To Sheila, 

Love you allways, 

E.P.” 

You take two weeks off, and debate whether you should even return, if it’s worth how it makes you feel. You don’t have time to see anyone else, and you’re not dating him. But then in some ways it makes sense all your emotions would be put onto him, you weren’t physically seeing anyone else, in general, exclusively cocooned in the Elvis Presley Show bubble. There is, you think after three glasses of red wine at home in your fancy new Memphis apartment, nothing else in your life. There is only Elvis. You wonder if you can use that as the excuse on your notice. You make yourself go back though, determined to get a grip of yourself, of your feelings, give it one last try. 

It’s short-lived with Sheila, at least from your perspective up in the air above the reality of the ground below. Ultimately, you feel you somehow won. And although he may, every now and again, bring some pretty young thing up into the air with him or have Linda come on board during some of the tour he’s fundamentally alone again - the same group of men his only constant companions. You form your own opinion of them, watching two of them cringe at the sight of the little black bag of pills and needles and two others writing his signature out on blank cheques. 

You’re horrified, making eye contact with Charlie, you think, you know their names now you need to start to use them. You open your mouth to say something, but uncertain about what, but he catches your eye, shaking his head and you wonder if there’s anyone on this plane willing to stick up for him.  You’re forced ot consider if it’s something you can do too - turning a blind eye to all of this or if you’re going to be forced to leave because you were unwilling to do so.

But then, there’s a few months where he behaves differently, and he looks different - his face brightens up, and though you don’t dislike how he looked before you can appreciate that he’s slimmed down a little, looking less bloated than he had before. A renewed interest in the happenings of the group. Suddenly, he’s interested in you again - ensconcing you in his bedroom, telling the boys to stop telling you what to do or asking you for things,

“It’s not her job - her job is looking after me.” And you do, distracting him as best you can when that’s what he’s after - reassuring him when it’s not. You have to talk him down from a panic at one point and you’re thankful to have the memory of him calming you down to use as your guideline, even if you find irony in being the one trusted to provide the measured breaths. 

The sex though, is still almost non-existent; he apologises constantly, and at one point you try to have a conversation about it, lying with him in the bed, cuddled together. 

“I’m not your girlfriend, E, you don’t needta explain yourself to me,” He hushes you, 

“You’re my girl as much as any of ‘em.” It’s your turn to stroke his cheek, 

“I don’t need to be, you don’t hafta say that to me.” He just hums at you, tucking you further under his arm and cupping your face to his chest. That’s when the gifts start rolling in, before you’d even arrived back at your apartment for a few days off, finding on the doorstep a gift bag filled with lingerie. You smile when you see it, but you’re a little puzzled - he’s not even seen you in your underwear in months. Was this a hint? Were you meant to be the one putting out? You took it as you thought he intended it, picking out and wearing the little white set you found in there, but you were unsurprised when nothing came to fruition on the flight. You tentatively bring it up the next time you’re curled up next to him - the flight not really long enough to justify a nap but happy to be tucked up in his chest.  You’re drawing circles with a fingertip through the gaping neckline of his shirt, absentmindedly thinking of how best to bring it up. 

“El, what’s -, not that I’m not appreciative but you don’t needta buy me things - especially, especially if you’re not gonna get anything out of it.” You refuse to look at him, anxious for his response. 

“Wasn’t that what you told me before? That you don’t dress for me?” You can feel him already grinning at you in anticipation of your reaction and you laugh, surprised he’d even remember that conversation from a year and a half ago. 

“Well, You weren’t really my boss then.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around you, 

“Oh-ho, so I can have my wicked way with you now huh?” He squeezes you hard against his side. You giggle, and he continues - his tone turning more serious; “Honey… - Bunny,” he laughs when you squirm at being called bunny still, “I’m just, I can’t, can’t do more at the moment but I uh, I do still - I like thinking about you all pretty for me unner that tiny little scrap of a dress.” He flicks the hem, leaving his hand grasping the back of your thigh and your respond in playful outrage. 

“Scrap! You picked out this dress!” You smile into his chest as you feel his tummy move with his laugh, “Elvis - you don’t owe me anything, I don’t need to be bought things, you don’t need to feel like we have to do anything. I just, just want you to take care of yourself.” He hums at you, as non-committal as one can be. 

He shifts a little so he’s lying on his side, brushing his hand down your body, fingers fumbling as they graze over your core, he seems remarkably less sure of himself than the last time he’d touched you, and you have to wonder if, despite all these girlfriends hanging around, he hadn’t actually been doing it with them either. Whether it’s because his fingers are a little thicker than before, or his skills are simply rusty,  or maybe this is all some new technique he’d thought he’d try, he seems to take a while to do anything. He slips a finger between your folds, gathering the wetness you’d started to feel drip as a pavlovian response to his fingers anywhere near you, and rubbing it up your pussy but when he reaches the apex he seems to struggle, fingertip roving around, rubbing down but not quite finding your clit. You squirm as he continues to rub around just a bit too low, his finger making you pant simply from the virtue of it being Elvis’ finger, but not because of success with his ministrations. You panic, eyes flying open, wondering if you’re gonna have to fake it with Elvis beforehe pulls his hand away with a grunt. 

“Ain’t no good little, my hands are hurtin’ too much tonight, got them, got them shakes again.” You nod even though you know it’s at least partially untrue - his fingers not in the least bit unsteady, if anything they’d been a little too solid. 

“Just, it’s fine to just cuddle El.” He’s silent beside you for a few moments, 

“One sec doll, lemme just -“ He shakes his arms out, staring at the curvature of the plane ceiling as if he’s trying to talk himself up. “Ok, ok Bunny, lets, lets give this another go.” He captures your mouth in his, sucking gentle little bruises across the bottom of your jaw, and lowering himself down to your neck. He concentrates there for a moment as he dances his hand back down your body, shifting your dress up again. His touch this time is more sure, more similar to how he’d always felt, the confidence appeared to be back.

He circles your clit just right, the two fingers curving inside you hitting just the right spot, and he moans with you, 

“C’mon darling that’s it, oh that’s your lil button isn’t it - let me, just relax into me baby, relax, I’ve got you.” He crooks a finger, and your hips jerk, his other hand reaching over to pin you firmly against the bed while he takes the opportunity to brush directly over your clit once again. You squeal, panting, as he whispers into your neck, 

“Such a good girl, good little baby Bunny, c’mon now,” He croons into your ear, voice unmistakable, “C’mon - for me.” His words, the sight of his face, the feeling of his fingers, it all combines so that in mere moments your back is arching off the bed, clutching at his arm as you tip over the edge. 

When you’re back into the land of the living, and your breathing is starting to ease up a little, you’re able to sit up. You get onto your knees for him, expecting to reciprocate but he shakes his head at you, “Just, just lie with me, mama, let me cuddle, ‘s that alright? No-one lets -  everyone wants somethin’ offa me.” You frown, standing up, his words manipulating you into believing you’d even asked him for something, 

“Sorry El- there isn’t, there’s no pressure from me, I just thought because -“ You gesture to his still clearly wet and sticky fingers, “Just wanted to give it back to you.” He huffs, lying down again, and looking over his shoulder at you. Betrayal written on his face. It softens when you clamber back under the covers with him, and he tugs you closer. 

It goes downhill fast, the tours just keep coming, and the random, sudden desires for trips here and there. You’ll be home for a scheduled three, four week break and get maybe 60 hours before a call comes in - he wants to be taken to Colorado, California, to Vegas. Before you know it you’re careening into 1976. He swings like a pendulum from happy to angry - the emotions impossible to keep up with. He wasn’t ever wholly staid before but everything seems suddenly emphasised and the erratic nature of his personality is making you wonder if you can do this job much longer. It’s worse without a girl on board. Linda and he may have argued but he was almost always easily soothed. But she’s coming on less and less, and he’s telling tales about her more and more with the boys. Expressing how he hates her shopping now, how she deserves it but doesn’t earn it, how he can’t stand her nagging. He seems to have more girls than ever before, one or two picked up for him in every city, but they never seem to make it onto the plane.

Without the settling presence of a girlfriend that role falls to you, and although you’ve now spent countless hours with him it’s different; the fits and starts with which you get to see him is completely different to being a girl who’s able to be with him in his home - you find him almost overwhelmingly difficult to manage. The first time he’s brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot you for attempting to put him to bed, you laugh - not expecting to be essentially thrown off of the plane for weeks for such an indiscretion. It doesn’t get mentioned again - not until a while later; simply brushed over, forgotten about. There’s no apology, just suddenly one day, a bashful joke gets made with Elvis tucking his chin to his chest to look at you shamefacedly but almost immediately he cracks a laugh, and you’re forced to laugh it off with him.

His health swings like his moods, it seems to be entirely dependent on a number of factors that all seem to change within a minute’s notice. It’s a combination of his mental health, the exact cocktail of medication at any given time, the number of shows he was doing, how often he was getting to see Lisa, whether he’d been home recently, the financial situation or whether he’d recently liked how he’d looked in the mirror. As soon as any one of these changed it would either send him crashing into lengthy highs or a period of lucidity. 

You didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid - it wasn’t the role you were expecting to fill but as time goes on it seems the only form of relationship you can have with him. You don’t truly mind, although you do wish for more, if he’s going to let you have this part of him - the part of him that’s sad and lonely, the part of him that he’s ashamed of - even if just for a few hours on a plane where he can pretend to be distinct from real life, then you think you deserve the same relationship back on the ground. But you would never broach that with him, not even when he’s alone, or when he brings a girl on board who doesn’t even make it to the next city. All you can do is stay. 

The last part of the year is particularly hard. He looks awful, you only really get to see him directly after a show, the schedule doesn't allow for more spare days in each spot, and the sweat pores off of him. You can’t say he doesn’t look appealing in some ways, you wouldn’t mind  licking him clean, or crawling onto his sweaty chest. But in other ways, his face growing paler and yellower, it makes you cringe away from him. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with him, or that you’re disgusted - a fear he’d mumbled into your stomach one night recently, it’s that it’s so difficult. Difficult to watch a man, so otherwordly virile to succumb to earthly decay. It’s almost painful - and it’s made all the worse by the fact that you’re only given the choice to witness it in fits and starts - over a tour you watch him, keeping a close eye, spending hours alone with him. But then, as you land back in Memphis, or Vegas, or California you lose him again - with no idea of how he’s getting on physically or mentally, no idea of how he’s feeling. He grows distant - and all you want is to make his journey easier, although the destination at this point is unclear. 

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

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last two chapters - there’s one last chapter to this ‘verse coming soon(ish) so lmk if you wanted to be added or taken off the list before then :)) 

@ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1

#elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #be-my-ally #elvis x you #big bunny #big bunny vibes #be my ally

[outofconcheol]

Between The Mountains And The Sea (XMH x GN!Reader)

pairing: detective!Minghao x gn!reader genres/au/rating: angst, some fluff, sort-of mystery au, 15+ summary: In the seaside city, the ebb and flow of the tides is as constant as the presence of tragedy in Minghao's life. Until one day, the tides bring him you.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: Minghao is a detective investigating an un-aliving (referenced, no graphic depictions), unconventional detective-suspect-witness relationship, mutual pining and melancholy, OC is a different kind of femme fatale, alcohol use, (1) kiss

a/n: I watched Decision To Leave and it had me so effed up (seriously, it's amazing). I loved the dynamics between the two main leads, and for some reason, the visuals brought the Hai Cheng mv to mind. This is purely experimental, and it kinda reminds me of my rough early fanfic writing, but hopefully it's still an enjoyable read!

Minghao was nine years old when his parents had taken him up the mountain for the very first time. He cherishes the memory as though it were yesterday, still remembering the crackling in his lungs from the exertion, and their feet dangling over the edge while he happily munched on his mother’s cooking. 

“Remember Minghao,” his father had said to him, quoting an old verse from one of the many books that sat collecting dust on the shelves of his office. “The wise love the sea, the benevolent the mountains.”

He’d been so wary back then, an irrational fear seizing him - what if his shoe suddenly slipped off and was to fly through the air, only to hit some poor unsuspecting soul below? It was then that he decided the mountains weren’t benevolent after all, their harsh, jagged faces looming above the landscape, striking fear into people's hearts. 

And so, Minghao stayed away for many years. Until he met you.

He remembers the way you’d shuffled into the empty boardroom, so different from every other person he’d ever questioned. While normally their eyes were trained on the floor and their shoulders hunched, an indirect admission of some sort of guilt, you walked in, eyes level with his own. A challenge in them. 

While it wasn’t unreasonable for Minghao to question the widow of a deceased victim, you made him feel like it was. 

“You’re a hard person to track down, ___,” he mutters when you take the seat across from him. “You think you’d be more eager to come in and answer some questions given he was your spouse.”

“He was my husband,” you counter back, voice far too calm and steady for someone who was supposed to be in the harrowing stages of grief. “Not my life. I have a job, I have people I take care of.”

I am not benevolent. I like the sea.

Minghao’s father’s words come back to him when he looks at you, tempting and unknowable, your demeanor like the ebb and flow of the ocean tides that ravaged the coast a couple of miles away.

You lean over the table, inching closer and closer, and Minghao is transfixed, unable to draw back when he smells the warm hint of your perfume. You’re impossibly close, and he has to turn his head to remind himself that his colleague, Mingyu, had gone home for the night. 

“So Detective Xu,” you whisper in his ear. “Ask away.”

Minghao stands up abruptly, your curious eyes following the line of his body. Your eyes follow the line of his body, and he has to force his racing heart to calm down, reminding himself that there was a job to be done.

“Let me buy you dinner first.”

After that night, Minghao stops eating dinner at his apartment, the tiny box with the garish wallpaper making way for the sleek wood of the boardroom. His packs of ramen are exchanged for more extravagant meals - sometimes bibimbap, other times sushi, or on the rare occasion, zhajiangmian, his favorite. 

The two of you start off eating quietly, savoring the meals and tranquility amongst the hectic backdrop of your busy lives. It’s only when you’re both working to wipe down the table and put away the utensils and your hands brush against his – rough and callused against soft palms, that a chill runs down his spine – one he pushes to the back of his mind.

I’m working on the case, he’d lie to Mingyu when his partner questioned why he couldn’t join them for drinks, watching them clamber down the street. And then he waited. Waited until night had fallen and he could hear the drumming of your boots in the hallway, spotting the light blue wool of your favourite coat first, clutched in your arms while you wandered in, a coy smile on your face.

Instead, he learns that you’ve been unable to sleep in your bed since everything had happened, falling asleep to the sound of a different drama every night, a half-eaten pint of ice cream not far from your side. 

That’s why he buys you dinner, he convinces himself. You’re clearly in shock and unable to cope with your husband’s tragic passing. It’s not because you take his breath away, a formidable tempest in your blue coat, standing out against the foggy backdrop of the seaside city. 

It’s not because he also finds himself unable to sleep along with you, spending nights bundled up in his down jacket, staring at the twinkling lights of the houses across the bay, wondering which one is yours. 

He forgets to go home, falling asleep in his car, roaming and wandering the streets in the hopes of running into you outside the shackles of his job, so he can finally get to know you in the way he yearns to – not as a suspect or an informant, but as a human being.

. . .

Minghao heaves for breath, his legs buckling underneath him as he climbs the stairs one by one, chasing after a new suspect. He’d been disappointed when the captain, Seungcheol, called him into the office that morning, informing him that the case on your husband was closed due to lack of evidence. 

Minghao wanted to protest, to tell Seungcheol that you were worth it, but he realized how strange that would have sounded. And so he kept his mouth shut, being handed the next file for investigation, reading over the thief’s name – Soonyoung. The hours passed by, with him slumped over at his desk, until Mingyu is shaking him awake, telling him that Soonyoung’s been spotted and that they needed to split up and run after him — now.

The wind howls at the top of the winding road, Soonyoung cowering in the corner, and Minghao approaches the man, fingers lingering in case he makes a sudden move. His hair is matted with sweat, hands shaking as the handcuffs lock around the other man’s wrists easily, and he’s calling Mingyu for backup, ready to take the suspect back to the station for questioning. 

All of a sudden, bright lights appear from around the corner, the roar of an engine and then sputtering, the car coming to a halt. The door swings open, and Minghao isn’t prepared for what happens next.

“Hao? Is that you?” your voice calls out to him. Hao. You’d never called him that before. It was always Detective Xu, a respectful distance in your voice, reminding him of the gap between you two.

“Is everything alright?” you look from Minghao’s exhausted figure to the handcuffed man.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Minghao manages to hiss out, wondering how the universe could have given him his greatest wish, the chance to see you again, in the most inopportune of moments, where his duty outweighed his heart.

You nod, eyes shining with concern, but back away anyway, stumbling over a few rocks on the road before the car revs up again, driving away.

Mingyu arrives not five minutes later, the two of them leading Soonyoung into the car, and that’s when Minghao spots it – the tiny piece of paper. Glancing around to make sure no one’s looking, he picks it up. There, scrawled in hurried and messy ink – is an address.

He knows it’s yours, and that it can’t have been there by accident. Tucking it into his back pocket, he lets out a heavy sigh, preparing for a grueling few hours of questioning ahead of him. And then, the real investigation could begin.

“You came,” the door swings open before Minghao can knock, his fist suspended in the air while he stares at you in shock, unable to say anything. He doesn’t know if he’s more shocked or you’re more shocked that he actually showed up. 

“I made food,” you usher him in, and immediately, the smell of your cooking hits him, reminding him so much of his mother’s. He’s slipping his shoes off before he can think, and downing three shots of soju not even five minutes later.

It’s different from when you met before, because Minghao is in your home, your space. It’s different because he’s five shots of soju deep, and spilling information he shouldn’t be sharing with anyone about cases that should never see the light of day. Anything from petty thievery to crimes of passion.

You follow along with interest, pausing to nod at his declarations and add in your own theories.

“I don’t know about you Hao.” There it is again. You reach over with your spoon, pausing to take a bite from his bowl, and Minghao feels his throat go dry. “But it’s not a crime to like someone just because they’re married. If it was, the whole world would have been in flames by now.”

Minghao sputters, choking on the steaming rice that clogs the back of his throat, and your eyes are staring at him once again, deep and solemn. How would you know, unless…

“You’re tired,” you take his hand, pulling him up with you. “Please sleep.”

Minghao focuses on nothing but the warmth of your hand as you lead him down the hallway until he’s enveloped by darkness, falling backward onto the sheets of your bed. 

“Close your eyes,” you whisper to him, and he feels his gaze become heavy, the ceiling of the room that’s not his blurring into soft focus. “Pretend you’re in the ocean, floating along the waves…”

Your voice is hypnotic, drawing him to a lull, and Minghao thinks it’s so easy to love you. He wonders why your husband couldn’t have stuck around long enough to do so. 

He remains awake long enough to hear your voice go impossibly soft, asking a question to the darkness.

“I want your heart, Minghao. Will you give it to me?”

Soon enough, time ceases to exist in the quiet seaside city. The days at work begin to blur even further for Minghao, desolation creeping up his spine when he realizes that in his line of work, there’ll always be a tragedy with no happy ending.

He scribbles notes furiously in his journal, watching the passerby from the bus, when all of a sudden, there’s a shadow who takes the seat in front of him. It’s you, in your blue coat. The two of you hadn’t spoken since Minghao fell asleep in your bed. He’d spent many sleepless nights afterwards wrestling with your whispered words.

He’d never given his heart freely to anyone before, but something about you made him want to try, just this once. Even if you had nothing to give back.

“Your hands,” you finally break the silence. “They have blisters.”

Reaching over, you grab his hands in yours once again, and Minghao marvels at how gentle you are, reaching into your pocket for your hand cream. The smell of flowers and almonds permeates the air, the cold cream making him jolt, but soon enough, it’s soothed by your touch, thumb rubbing circles against his palms. 

It’s far too intimate a gesture for Minghao to wrap his head around, and all he can offer in return is chasing down a man selling balloons when the two of you exit together. He offers a red one to you, and you accept.

“Why me?” Minghao asks, watching you twirl the balloon around in your palms, eyes lighting up in glee. 

“Because you listened.”

He should have known it was all too good to be true, watching the grey clouds roll in on the coast. Mingyu had been on his case for months, asking him where he disappeared off to, why his focus wasn’t there. 

How could Minghao focus, when he remembers the way you’d giggled at the aviators hanging off his shirt, putting them on his face with a smile? 

You’d left without a trace, taking all your memories with you, from the lip balm you’d stolen from his coat pocket, to the files that had been swiped from his work satchel, containing precious evidence from your husband’s case.

How could he focus when he’d felt a taste of happiness, only for what felt like mere moments to pass, leaving him collapsed and broken. 

He knows the storm is on the way, rain pelting him, the waves crashing against the shore, their whispers becoming screams, but he drives, drives, drives, chasing the memory of you, until it leads him to the mountain. 

Tall and deadly, a solitary figure against the thunderous sky. Minghao fights the downpour, abandoning everything behind him, and he begins to climb.

He doesn’t know if it’s minutes, or hours later, when he stumbles to the top, collapsing from exertion. You’re alone, perched against a rock, looking off into the distance. He remains there still, unable to move, though he longs to know what secrets you hide.

“I’m afraid of heights,” your voice echoes out. “That’s why I like the sea - it’s chaotic, unpredictable. It can wash away everything, even all the bad memories. That’s why I married him.”

“Because someone like you would never want me, Minghao. Someone who doesn’t hesitate to scale a mountain in search of the truth. Someone kind, and dependable. A force to be reckoned with.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions,” he seethes, turning you around to face him. His hands run up your sides, and you shiver at his touch. “To decide who’s worthy of what.”

“What if I told you that my happiness is the tube of lip balm you stole from me, or a red balloon floating in the wind? That yes, maybe I’m the mountain, but only because I want to be, so the waves don’t take you away from me? That maybe we’re just two lonely souls, who’ve never had anyone really know us the way we know each other.”

“You don’t know me,” you tell him, clutching onto his coat.

“Then let me,” he takes your hands in his, pulling you closer to him. Around you, the mist thickens, but you pay it no mind, fisting the damp hair at the back of Minghao’s neck, your lips seeking his. 

When dawn rises, you remain in the comfort of his embrace, your broken souls finding peace in each other, somewhere between the mountains and the sea.

a/n pt. 2:  As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

#seventeen #svt #kvanity #seventeen fanfiction #svt fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen fic #svt fic #xu minghao #minghao #the8 #svt fluff #svt angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #minghao fluff #minghao angst #the8 fluff #the8 angst #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #minghao fic #the8 fic #minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 26/100

valentine's day fics 🥰

Fuck Valentine's Day by @jinlinli

[Friends to lovers, 4 218 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

Steve and Bucky's friends finally get sick and tired of their obliviousness, so they set them up on a blind date on Valentine's Day. But of course, they think it's just a prank because they're idiots.

“You know what we should do?” Bucky says. “We should stage a coup.” A smile slowly starts to spread on Steve’s face. He leans forward. “Go on.” “They’re freaking terrible at this Valentine’s Day thing. We’d be a million times better at this romantic bullshit, and we’re not even dating.” Steve’s full on grinning now. “So we’ll show ‘em how it’s done. We’ll have the best goddamn Valentine’s Day ever.” “We’ll put all the real couples to shame with how fucking great we are at Valentine’s Day.”

Wakanda You Be My Valentine? by @kickflaw

[Post CA:CW, 11 921 words, Explicit]

Summary:

"You make the whole world shine, in every place and every time, and even though I can’t rhyme, Wakaaaanda you be my Valentine?”

A story in which Steve is an oblivious ball of (unnecessary) angst, secrets are shared, Valentines exchanged, and Bucky spends a lot of time in Steve's lap.

Valentine's Fuck Up by @jro616

[Valentine's Day, 1 131 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

Steve misses Valentine's day dinner, and Bucky is not very happy.

The Perfect Man by Ellessey

[Modern AU, 9 251 words, Explicit]

Summary:

"I'm Steve, by the way."

Steve. That's cute. Steve's really fucking cute, and he's falling into step beside Bucky on the way to his apartment.

"Bucky," Bucky remembers to say after a noticeable pause.

"Huh. And you didn't go with FuckyBucky for your handle?"

"I really don't even want to talk about my handle," Bucky admits, and when Steve laughs it's loud and it makes his nose crinkle up. Bucky can barely believe this is happening.

__

Setting up a dating profile is decidedly not in Bucky's skill-set, but against all odds he manages to connect with someone who makes the one-night stand he thought he wanted feel like not nearly enough.

Valentine's Day Is A Hallmark Holiday by sebstanau

[Valentine's Day, 2 038 words, Not Rated]

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is done with this month. He’s done with still being hungover from Stark’s New Year’s Eve party, he’s done with everyone claiming ‘new year, new me.’, and currently he’s done with pink.

All of the fucking pink.

It was everywhere, it was like New York City as a whole wants to remind Bucky that he’s spending Valentine’s Day alone. Again.

or, the fic where bucky literally hates valentine's day and he pines over his best friend

Couldn't tell you though I tried to by @stuckyflangst

[Post CA:TWS, 9106 words, Explicit]

Summary:

Bucky was always a romantic. Steve would whinge and moan and then Bucky would always turn up in the evening of the 14th with a flower (I promise I stole it Stevie I didn’t pay) or a folded card (I made it myself) with a poem in his loopy handwriting.

What was that poem? That poet Bucky liked so much?

Out of the corner of his eye Steve looks at Bucky, at his soft hair, at the way he still rests his metal arm so carefully in his lap, even though when they are in the apartment together he wraps it around his mug of tea, as if he felt some of the warmth in the metal and it brought him comfort.

For Bucky, Steve thinks he can be a romantic now, after all these years have brought them back together after he thought Bucky was lost to him forever.

-----

Bucky's getting better, living with Steve in Avenger's Tower. Though they're not what they used to be to one another. But it's Valentine's Day soon - maybe Steve can show Bucky just how much he still cares.

Conversation Hearts by @alpineandbucky

[Meet Ugly, 4 416 words, Explicit]

Summary:

If you were to ask Steve, the only good thing about Valentine's Day is when the clock strikes twelve, signaling the beginning of February 15th.

Also known as 'International Discount Chocolate Day'.

more fics

#100stucky #stucky #stucky fic #stevebucky #steve rogers #stucky fic rec #stucky fanfic #bucky barnes #stucky au #stucky fanfiction #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stevebucky au #captain america #post civil war #modern au #modern bucky barnes #fic rec #my recs #moodboard #fluff #smut #valentine's fic #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #mcu #jewish bucky barnes #post tws #post ca:cw

[faith--in-the-future]

AFHF23 RECAP

thought I'd share my day for everyone (and future me).

so the alarm was at 6am bc my mom had to drive me to the train station to catch the 1st train of the day towards bologna so I woke up early and packed my giant backpack for the week (which I had to buy new bc my old one broke literally the day before rip) and then got on the train! then after 1h i arrived and switched train to get to Florence where me and @riverswater walked around and saw the city before catching yet another train to go to the city where our accommodation was and leave the bags. then we got ANOTHER train from there back to Viareggio and from there then we anxiously waited for the bus with other girls who were also going to the festival. the bus was late but it did arrive and the bus driver must have been driving ppl there the whole day bc he told us where to get off before we even asked him anything sjsj after 15min we FINALLY arrived at the venue 🥳🥳 (it was like 6.30pm lol) and there I met up with @tanktop-lou (trusted louis show companion) and @dahliaaz who I met for the first time irl !!

inside the festival ppl were mostly spread out bc there were only a few people already pressed at the front of the stage (those that had entered first) everyone else was sitting around in the grass or in the areas under the pine trees with the fairy lights and the hammocks! and there were LONG lines at the merch stand and food stands ahsh so it was a pretty chill atmosphere and when I got there there was a dj set by abbie (I think) who played mostly rock and indie hits that everyone knew so everyone was dancing and singing along! obviously everyone got up for mister brightside (white ppl anthem! skjs)

after that the cribs played their set and they were really good !! I liked their songs from the afhf Playlist already and they had a really good energy live and their sound was great! and they kept thanking louis which was very nice! check them out if you haven't!

we also saw lottie and lucky in the terrace bc they were right above us and it was so weird to see them irl like what?? they exist?? crazy ahah but she's really pretty (and short!) and lucky is so cuteee! we also saw Isaac Michael (he IS hot tbh) Oli (!!!) Matt and Chris (booo) and all the girlfriends or wives

then we saw the blossoms set which I also enjoyed although I think I enjoyed their music more from the album version lol but the guy was really trying to get the crowd going so A for effort sjdj I Also liked his 70s hair and look! he kept thanking the wrong city but that's OK skgkj

then ( ~9.20pm ) there was another dj set and at this point everyone was just ready to see louis tbh zjgkh by now the crowd was bigger and getting tighter and ppl were mostly standing. also it had gotten dark which made the place and the lights even prettier

then finally and with only 15min of delay (!!) the band started to take their places and the intro started and then FINALLY the guy we'd all been waiting for took the stage woooo !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (the build up in the intro is so good it really feels you with anticipation! great job steve!)

this year I hadn't been watching the lives for the months before the shows like last year bc it was all in north America so I didn't know the setlist by heart and I have to say it was fun to be surprised every time ! and to experience the live versions of these songs without having heard them many times before!! I really enjoyed that! plus he went a little crazy with the setlist so by the time he did Saturday so soon I was like ok lol ANYTHING can happen tonight skdjkd and it DID! Never in the world would I have expected PARADISE!! as soon as I recognized it I was like OH NO!! I should have listened to this more RIP! at least I knew the chorus skdjkd and it was really fun live !! really went well with the rest of the setlist which was FIRE🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻 probably my fav of the shows of his I've been to! all the songs were so high energy and the crowd around me was as well ! we all jumped and screamed most of the night and it was just so fun! and as always the music was so good like all the added drums and guitars in live arrangements are amazing !! my fave is probably OOMS live it's just SO GOOD from the bass intro to the drums it's just the best! also I'm happy I got to hear 7 again bc it's SUCH a good cover and even tho not everyone knew it (😒 embarrassing) I sang along the whole time sksk and he was obviously great at it! I'm also super happy that he kept BTY bc the new version is fantastic!!!! I LOVE the way he sings the first lines so much!!!!!! and it's great to sing you fuck me up you kill me !!!! all together lol let's all scream about that toxic person<333333 bonding experience! then there were also the heartfelt moments like walls which is always so beautiful especially bc live it becomes such a significant moment of pride and love we all experience together and with louis ♡♡♡ I love him sm. also copy is SO good live like it's just so perfect for that setting and is still one of his best songs tbh

louis was so alive and hyped up the whole time he was having the time of his life !!! you could see how happy and proud he was :'))) and he went down in the front even before the last songs !! it was really fun bc everyone got super squished to the side and the front every time lol (I'm sad he didn't go back enough where I was closer but it's okay shsh) anyways it was just great to see him like that especially bc this time I was close enough to actually be able to see him with my eyes the whole time without having to watch the screens like last time in Milan so it felt more "live" in a way to me , more real I guess. (I'd love to be at the very front one day but I don't have the energy for that quest 😭)

it was extremely hot the whole time (louis would have been less hot if he wore shorts but ok!!!) and ngl the crowd was SMELLY by 10pm but it was so good it didn't even matter lol

the set ended at around 11.45 I think? and then we all sang along to we are the champions which was another prideful moment <3

and then me and rhei made our way back to our bus where unfortunately a bunch of dumb fans also were lol but in the end we made it home by 1am and finally went to bed at 2am with sore throats, music ringing in our ears and hearts full!

10/10 would do it all again!

#fan recap #afhf23 #:)

[daily-coloring]

Best of 2023 - TV Series

I think I watched over 50 TV shows this year and most of them were great which means, the making of this list was hard and took me a few days and I'm still not sure about the order.

01. Deadloch - Season 1. - "Welcome to the Tasmanian town of Deadloch! It’s the site of a simmering culture war between the blue-collar, old-school residents and a recent influx of lesbians who’ve put the place on the map, bringing performance art and gourmet nose-to-tail dining with them." - Vanity Fair

02. The Woman In The Wall - Miniseries - "People think that this couldn't happen again. Then they forget that the last laundry closed in 1996. It wasn't medieval times. The f**king 'Macarena' was in the charts." - Philippa Dunne

03. Nolly - Miniseries - "This show follows Nolly through the very public sacking and its fallout, and paints a sympathetic and adoring picture of the woman behind the headlines. Bonham Carter sails through this as if on the campest of clouds, but also beautifully articulates the grief behind the glamour. Nolly is part of the old guard, the oldest of guards in fact – she was the first woman ever to appear on colour television. " - The Guardian

04. The Newsreader - Season 2.

05. Heartstopper - Season 2.

06. Mood - Miniseries - "Like Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag and Michaela Coel’s Chewing Gum, Lecky’s Mood started life as a one-woman show on the London stage; she debuted Superhoe at the Royal Court in 2019, with the Standard describing her performance as “a revelation”. That’s probably where those comparisons should end, though, as Mood is a very different beast, and not just because of the aforementioned musical interludes. The darkness in this story isn’t necessarily mined for laughs (though our deadpan lead Sasha can be savagely funny, just like some of her brutal song lyrics) and there’s a real sense of precariousness at its heart." - Evening Standard

07. Workin' Moms - Season 7.

08. Blue Lights - Season 1.

09. The White Lotus - Season 1. and 2.

10. Ted Lasso - Season 3.

11. Starstruck - Season 3.

12. The Following Events Are Based on a Pack of Lies - Season 1. - "The show touches on some serious themes around abuse, misogyny and gaslighting, but it is so compelling because it doesn’t forget how much fun there is in the art of the con." - The Guardian

13. The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart - Miniseries

14. The Night Agent - Season 1.

15. The Dry - Season 1.

16. Foundation - Season 1. and 2.

17. The Change - Season 1. - "Bridget Christie writes and stars in The Change – her sitcom debut – as Linda, a much put-upon wife, mother and retail worker who reaches a crisis point at her 50th birthday party. It’s not just the menopause. It’s also the cluelessness of her husband (Omid Djalili), the open disdain of her teenage children and society’s general denial of the full humanity of older women that pushes Linda over the edge." - The Guardian

18. Sex Education - Season 4.

19. Fleishman is in Trouble - Miniseries

20. Slow Horses - Season 1. and 2.

21. The Last of Us - Season 1.

22. The Fall of the House of Usher - Miniseries

23. Fisk - Season 1. and 2. - "You can tell Fisk is an old-fashioned sitcom just by looking at it. That goes beyond Fisk’s awesome brown pants suit; the visuals here are firmly in service to the story (and to the jokes) rather than feeling like a cinematographer’s audition reel. The locations are basic – an office, a café, Fisk’s temporary Air B&B home – and filmed in a straightforward way that never detracts from the comedy. For audiences used to expensive production values and flashy locations this may take a little getting used to, but the effort is most definitely worth it." - ScreenHub

24. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel - Season 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

25. The Diplomat - Season 1.

26. Gen V - Season 1.

27. Secret City - Season 1. and 2.

28. Severance - Season 1.

29. Wolf - Miniseries

30. The Crown - Season 5.

31. Shrinking - Season 1.

32. Three Pines - Miniseries

33. Beef - Miniseries

34. The Sixth Commandment - Miniseries - "Evil characters can be just as one-note and boring as the good, but Hardwicke manages to infuse Ben with such a disconcerting blend of calculation, charm and quiet, almost hidden glee in the harm he inflicts that it is impossible to look away. You will want to. It is harrowing." - The Guardian

35. Swarm - Miniseries

36. Bodies - Miniseries

37. The Long Shadow - Miniseries

38. Wellmania - Miniseries

39. Boat Story - Miniseries

40. The Morning Show - Season 3.

#beef #wellmania #fisk #the crown #nolly #deadloch #the woman in the wall #night agent #ted lasso #shrinking #gen v #the diplomat #foundation #blue lights #sex education #heartstopper #boat story #the lost flowers of alice hart #workin moms #the morning show #eanna hardwicke #the newsreader #the sixth commandment #slow horses #best of 2023 #best of #best of tv

[misaverawrites]

hey hey!! first wanted to say your writing is amazing and you are so skilled! i come with a cyberpunk/silverhand idea -- after the game ends (specifically The Sun ending) obvi Johnny and V part ways, and V inherits the Afterlife. my idea is that she keeps herself very low profile but also remains friends with Kerry and goes to dives to perform with him when at one gig REAL Johnny shows up after looking everywhere and it's a whole reunion with mutual pining and maybe a little reunion spice?🥵💦

When We Meet Again (Johnny Silverhand x Reader)

summary: You and Johnny find each other again, even after you were separated.

tags: SMUT, reunion, mentions of death, bar bathroom sex, there is actually a plot to this lol, kissing, hugging, bent over a bathroom sink, sexual jokes, Johnny has a body, Reader is called V, use of the word cunt, oral (f. receiving), choking kind of, Johnny makes you watch him fuck you

a/n: bro you just requested this and it sent my ideas going wild bro also thank you so much 😭😭😭 this is literally 2.4k words of my love for Johnny so I hope you all enjoy it!!!

Becoming a Legend sure is a kick in the ass.

It was all you had ever wished for and now you sit in a seedy bar that, thankfully, isn’t The Afterlife. Kerry by your side, the both of you praying that no one would notice you in this shithole. Any semblance of alone time is a blessing for the both of you. 

How did Rogue do this? You didn’t even think you’d survive the gig from Mr. Blue Eyes, but, fortune favored the bold apparently. After losing Johnny, somehow surviving surgery, and now being the main proprietor of The Afterlife, you had it all. The only thing strumming through your mind is how much you missed Johnny, spending five months with him changed your life in so many ways and all you could do now is think about him. He drove you crazy and you missed him like hell. Sometimes, you’d get together with Kerry in these shitty little bars and play some SAMURAI songs with Denny and Nancy, for old time’s sake. You sometimes wish he’d just pop in, just once. Of course, that’d also make you think you were going crazy again.

You hear the door open and look up to see Nancy, who alerts the bartender, “So, you guys excited to play again?” Kerry rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, aloof as always. Must come with superstar territory, you joke to yourself and look to Nancy, giving her a warm smile and nod, “Yeah! Denny gonna be here soon?” Nancy nods as she goes to set up on the stage, “Should be here in a few, she sent me a call on the holo!” She calls over to you as you finish your drink and hop off of the barstool to go help Nancy set up for the show.

“You know,” She says quietly to you, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I haven’t seen Kerry so happy in a long time. He really enjoys doing these.” You scoff a little, “He doesn’t seem…” She shakes her head a bit and gives you a smile as she tunes your guitar, “It’s the fame. I do it too, Night City is cruel, likes to take away things you care about, you’ll figure that out now that you’re in charge of The Afterlife.” If only she knew… You thought to yourself: If only she knew how Night City had already taken away too many people from me: Johnny, Jackie, Rogue… You sigh to yourself as she places a supportive hand on your shoulder, just for a second before taking it away, Denny walks in, sending you a polite smile and a wave which you quickly return to her. Kerry downs his drink quickly before making his way over to you all on the stage, applying his eyeliner as he walks.

“How the hell do you do that?” You ask quizzically and he laughs a bit, “Years of practice, kiddo. You’ll get it one of these days.” He makes his way onto the stage as you all finish setting up, a small crowd has formed, it’s usually pretty low-key at these events but word gets out sometimes. “Hey, guys! Good to see you here tonight!” You call out as the lights dim, and the crowd cheers with support. People had gotten used to you performing as Johnny, and you’d quickly found your way around SAMURAI’s guitar notes and vocals, the DeLuze Orphean still feels preem in your hands, the way the strings burn slightly into your fingers as you begin to play and the crowd’s excitement grows quickly. You had developed a small group of fans as the new “vocalist” of SAMURAI, which was officially, still not a band but more a relic of the first quarter of the 21st-century.

C-Can you feel it?

Can you touch it?

Get ready ‘cause here we go!

The lyrics burn at your throat like a fire that cannot be easily quenched, you watch the crowd, their cheering combining with the noise of the music into a cacophony of passion.

Not backing down!

Never backing down!

Not backing down!

Yeah!

Your smile is wide as you and Kerry turn back to back, singing together and playing guitars side by side, you’re so caught up in the vibrant atmosphere until you see a familiar figure walk in, the red hue of sunglasses catching your eye. You pause, just for a second, to stare.

Johnny fucking Silverhand. It was him, somehow, in your life again. Somehow alive again. Really alive, with a body and everything. You might have cried on stage if you weren’t so dedicated to doing this and letting him see you do this. 

Suits run when I come undone!

Can't kill me, I'm zero and one!

Add justice to the people's math!

Blaze your way down the rebel path!

Your eyes are glued to Johnny and he’s grinning, with a wide, child-like smile at you. You’ve never seen him that happy. You really hoped this was him, not some sick fuck trying to make money off of a lie. Your mind raced through any number of reasons why this couldn’t be Johnny, you couldn’t let yourself be vulnerable yet, not after the past seven months of running for your life from a seemingly inevitable, premature death.

C-Can you feel it?!

Can you touch it?!

Get ready cause here we go!

C-Can you feel it?!

Can you touch it?!

Get ready cause here we go!

The song comes to a close quickly, “Thanks for coming guys! We’re gonna take a quick ten-minute break and come back on!” While there’s a collective bit of confusion from the crowd, there is no argument. You liked this crowd more than the mercs at The Afterlife, you’d decided. Less whiny.

You run off the stage, looking at Johnny with your own eyes. “This isn’t real.” You whisper as he shakes his head, “It is, do you finally wanna see my cock?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you gasp, glaring at him. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you something only the real Johnny would know.” He takes off his sunglasses and rolls his eyes, but nods to let you proceed, “Okay before we left for Mikoshi, what did I tell you that I wish I had gotten to do with you.” He chuckles throatily, “Are you sure you want me to answer this around other people, because what I remember you saying is,” He raises his voice about an octave, to mock you a bit, “Oh, Johnny! I just wish I could feel your hot, impressive cock in my cunt, really bending me over this bed, or I really wish that I could ride your cock on a stage.” Your face flushes and tears threaten to fall from your eyes, this is Johnny Silverhand, your former brain parasite. You wrap your arms around his body, and it feels exactly as you thought it would. His hands rub at the small of your back, comforting you as you sob into his chest.

“H-How are you here?” You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I’m not sure,” He says quietly, “I just woke up and I’m in my body. My living former body.” You shake your head in disbelief, if this was a dream, it was fucked up on your part. You pinch yourself hard and gasp at the pain, not a dream in the slightest. You grab onto Johnny’s tank top and bring his lips to yours, he’s alive and you’re not going to waste a minute more.

“Where are you going, V?” Kerry asks you as you drag Johnny into the bathroom, a smirk growing on his lips, “I’m taking twenty, Ker! Play a song where you sing alone!” Kerry looks quizzical at your rushing, you’re normally never like this but he accepts this answer as you shut the bathroom door and lock it.

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long.” You murmur, as Johnny chuckles, “Not as long as I have. I haven’t fucked in fifty years, you’re gonna feel this for a week.” Until now, his hot breath against your neck is something you hadn’t wished for. Your lips on Johnny’s an action that feels right, pulling away for air from this man that you have longed for? It only serves to feel wrong, you’d willingly die with Johnny’s lips on yours. Your hands thread through his hair as he lets out a quiet groan of approval, “I’m going to fuck the hell out of you.” You let out a whine as he chuckles, trapping your body between him and the bathroom sink, his hands trail the length of your body, working you out of your clothes, quickly, and expertly. You’ve technically, never slept together but he knows everything that makes you tick, everything that turns you on. He unbuckles his belt with a pronounced click, and his pants hit the dirty floor of the bar bathroom, he spins you around, “So fuckin’ wet, I’ve barely even touched you. You miss me while I was gone?” 

You feel hot at his words and as you feel his fingers dip in between your thighs, lapping up the nectar, which now covers his fingers. He brings his fingers to your lips, “Come on babe, open your mouth so you can taste yourself.” Your lips part, almost on command as you feel his hard cock, growing and pulsing against the small of your back. As you suck on his fingers, his lips come to your neck, kissing it at first, tender, something you’d never believed Johnny would do. His small, tender neck kisses lead to bites, not hard enough to hurt you, but hard enough to make you weak in the knees and grow your arousal. Kerry’s going to have a field day teasing you about this. “Spread your legs for me, come on, V.” You part your legs, and expect his cock to slip in without much fanfare, silly considering this is Johnny. Johnny’s lips quickly come off of your neck and travel down your body, before ending up at your arousal. His lips tease at your clit, surrounding the bundle of nerves, your legs are weak as you hold onto the sink for any kind of leverage, “Fuck you taste so damn good,” You hear his growl as his tongue slips inside of you.

As Johnny tonguefucks your cunt skillfully, you cannot help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. His hands grip against the flesh of your thighs, and it isn’t until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, flushed skin, the peak of Johnny’s head, practically drowning in your most sensitive parts, it almost brings you to the brink of an orgasm right then and there. “J-Johnny! ‘M gonna-- gonna cum, Johnny!” His name sounds incredible when it falls from your lips, “Not yet, baby.” He croons, sliding his tongue out of you. You whine with a hint of frustration, causing him a small laugh. “I want to feel the way your cunt tightens around my cock when you cum, so you’re just gonna have to wait a little bit longer. His cock throbs against your skin and you feel Johnny bring the head of it to the heat that burns between your legs, the feeling of wetness slicking your thighs as well as Johnny’s face. The head of his cock presses against your pussy, slicking it as he pushes it inside of you with a deep groan.

It’s been fifty years for him, this all on its own is perfect. “So damn tight around me, fuckin’ perfect.” He whispers into your ear as he thrusts his cock inside of you. His hand comes to your neck, not wrapping too tightly, just enough to cause a gasp in surprise as he forces your head to face the mirror, “You’re gonna watch while I,” He hits the most sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to gasp and almost making you lose control, “Fuck you senseless.” You nod, eyes trained on the mirror as Johnny’s hand moves from your throat to your breasts, he squeezes at the flesh, pinching your nipple in between his two fingers. You gasp at the sensation, the soft grip his hands have on you, it’s all too much. “Johnny, I’m-!” Johnny groans again as he nods, “Come on baby, cum all over my cock, all for me.” And with that, you come undone. The only sensation is that of Johnny filling you to the brim with his seed and your cunt, willingly throbbing around his cock. He pulls himself out of you, helping you redress into your clothes. The music outside tells you that Kerry is enjoying some solo time for himself to show off a little, you laugh as you clasp your bra behind you. “I missed you, Johnny… fuck, I can’t believe it’s really you.” He smiles at you, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. He kisses your lips, softer this time. Despite the fact that this isn’t a dream and this isn’t a joke, you don’t know if you can trust your mind enough to actually believe this.

“I’ve gotta go and finish the concert but… will you stay? Come with me to The Afterlife later?” You ask, almost scared that he’ll leave you again. He smiles a smile that you love more now that it’s really him. “Of course, I’ll stay. I wanna see how cool you look performing my songs.” Definitely is Johnny, you think to yourself, laughing softly. Before you go to unlock the bathroom door, he stops you with one more kiss, “Hey,” He speaks softly, it’s intimate, “I just want you to know, I’m never leaving you again.” You smile and kiss him once more before unlocking the door. Thankful for the confirmation that for the rest of your days, it’ll be you and Johnny.

#johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x you #cyberpunk2077 #fanfiction #fanfics #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic #johnny silverhand x v

[fuckyeahvanhalen86-95]

Sammy Hagar plans to revitalize some Van Halen vibes on his upcoming summer tour.

For The Best of All Worlds Tour, Hagar and his bandmates in The Circle – bassist Michael Anthony, a founding member of Van Halen, and drummer Jason Bonham – will be joined by guitarist virtuoso Joe Satriani, who has recorded and performed with Hagar and Anthony in the band Chickenfoot.

The itinerary kicks off on July 13 in West Palm Beach, Florida, and the tour hits a total of 28 cities, concluding August 31 in St. Louis, Missouri. Loverboy will serve as the opening act.

Pre-sales begin on Wednesday, Nov. 15, at 10 a.m., with general on-sale starting Friday, Nov. 17 at 10 a.m. local. For more information go to RedRocker.com.

Hagar, 76, joined Van Halen as vocalist in 1985 after David Lee Roth left. Hagar also left the band in 1996, but returned for a 2004 tour. Recently, Hagar says he and Anthony decided to perform songs from their days playing in Van Halen at Hagar's annual Birthday Bash last month in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

"We pulled out a couple of them and it was an instant lovefest with the fans from our first riffs," Hagar said in a statement with the tour announcement. "The music we created is going to outlive us all. They deserve to be heard so it's time we go out and serve the fans that music, while we still can."

The four albums of the "Van Hagar" era of the band – 5150 (1986), OU812 (1988), For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (1991), and Balance (1995) – were recently re-released in newly remastered editions.

“It’s crazy to think that it’ll be 20 years since Mikey and I played these songs with Van Halen on the 04’ Best of Both Worlds Tour,” said Hagar. “With Joe on board, we can take a deeper dive into those years. We’re going to touch on some hits from my entire career but seeing fans old and new really embrace the new collection set off something in Mikey and I."

Joining the band on keyboards and backing vocals is Australian musician Rai Thistlethwayte.

WHAT SONGS MAY SAMMY HAGAR AND THE BAND PLAY IN THE 2024 TOUR?

On a poster for The Best of All Worlds tour, there's a list of songs including:

• Songs Hagar recorded with Van Halen: 5150, When It's Love, Best of Both Worlds, Finish What Ya Started, Poundcake, Humans Being, Right Now, Good Enough, Eagles Fly • Van Halen songs recorded with Roth: Panama, Running' With the Devil, Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love • Hagar solo songs: Your Love is Driving Me Crazy, Heavy Metal, Little White Lie, One Way to Rock, Mas Tequila • Hagar songs from his days with Montrose: Rock Candy • Chickenfoot songs: Oh Yeah

Here are Sammy Hagar's Best of All Worlds tour dates: • July 13     West Palm Beach, FL     iTHINK Financial Amphitheatre • July 14      Tampa, FL                     MIDFLORIDA Credit Union Amphitheatre • July 16 Alpharetta, GA Ameris Bank Amphitheatre • July 19 Charlotte, NC PNC Music Pavilion • July 20 Bristow, VA Jiffy Lube Live • July 22 Saratoga Springs, NY Broadview Stage at SPAC • July 24 Bridgeport, CT Hartford HealthCare Amphitheater • July 26 Mansfield, MA Xfinity Center • July 27 Holmdel, NJ PNC Bank Arts Center • July 29 Cuyahoga Falls, OH Blossom Music Center • July 31 Toronto, ON Budweiser Stage • Aug. 2 Clarkston, MI Pine Knob Music Theatre • Aug. 3 Tinley Park, IL Credit Union 1 Amphitheatre • Aug. 9 Las Vegas, NV MGM Grand Garden Arena • Aug. 11 Morrison, CO Red Rocks Amphitheatre • Aug. 13 Airway Heights, WA BECU Live at Northern Quest • Aug. 14 Ridgefield, WA RV Inn Style Resort Amphitheater • Aug. 16 Wheatland, CA Toyota Amphitheatre • Aug. 17 Concord, CA Toyota Pavilion at Concord • Aug. 19 Los Angeles, CA Kia Forum • Aug. 20 Phoenix, AZ Talking Stick Resorts Amphitheatre • Aug. 22 Dallas, TX Dos Equis Pavilion • Aug. 23 Houston, TX Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion • Aug. 25 Rogers, AR Walmart AMP • Aug. 27 Cincinnati, OH Riverbend Music Center • Aug. 28 Nashville, TN Bridgestone Arena • Aug. 30 Noblesville, IN Ruoff Music Center • Aug. 31 St. Louis, MO Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre

#news #tour dates #tour announcement #michael anthony #sammy hagar #joe satriani #jason bonham #chickenfoot #montrose #van halen #2023 #2024 tour #Loverboy #usa today #Rai Thistlethwayte #the other half #Instagram #the best of all worlds tour

[caltropspress]

DEBRIEFING: 5 August 2023 | Brooklyn, NY | The Nursery at Public Records

Armand Hammer’s We Buy Diabetic Test Strips Pop Up Party, featuring Fatboi Sharif, Cavalier, and DJ Haram

On the helix approaching the Lincoln Tunnel I saw a Virginia plate that read PHUNKE—its occupants seemed anything but, but who am I to judge? Not since I saw EGO DETH on a Volkswagen Kombi in the artificial light of the Holland while driving in to see woods’ Church release show at Baby’s All Right in early June have I taken a license plate as a sign. Fred Moten writes that “the sign works its terrible magic precisely from within a radical non-isolation,” but it’s a bit too early in the everyday struggle for theory, wouldn’t you agree? What I’m focused on is the WE BUY DIABETIC TEST STRIPS signs plastered over walls and poles. A sight as common in NYC as POST NO BILLS and CA$H FOR CAR$. We close our eyes to these signs, oblivious to their ubiquity. We’ve become blind to them. But I saw the sign with “Armand Hammer” appended to it, and it opened up my eyes. Life is demanding without understanding. So I overstand the signs and signals sent through wires and cables when I dial 1-877-ARM-N-HMR. I focus. I fixate. I study Alexander Richter’s photograph from the forthcoming album of a lamppost covered in taped and torn flyers. The edges fray and flicker in city winds. Looks like the tendons and flesh rotting from the bones of Death in Hans Baldung Griend’s Der Tod und das Mädchen (1517) painting. Looks like some real litter-ature. Gathering on August 5th, just six days shy of hip-hop’s much-heralded 50th anniversary, I think of hip-hop flyers of the past, specifically Kool Herc’s Back to School Jam at 1520 Sedgwick. But MC Debbie D—a flyerologist of the highest order—tells us that the index card flyer is a phony, a fake, a fugazi replica, a forgery. Fifty years into this thing and we’re still searching for authentic experiences. Fifty people at a rap show and one’s an informant. I’m here to inform on what felt—brain to bone—like an authentic experience.

3PM in the sun. I lined up with the other RSVPs (the show was free, in every sense of the word) outside the venue. Summer summer summertime. Fresh Prince via Juice shit. The temp on my dash read 90°. Kids walked down Butler Street mantled with beach towels from the Douglass and DeGraw Pool. Spotted lanternflies dive-bombed my legs. Thank god I lotioned my pale neck. When the powers-that-be finally allowed us entry, the musk of maryjane and malignant body odor was thick. Now I knew (it hit me in the fucking face) what that PHUNKE license plate was all about. “Funk,” from the French dialectal funkière: “to blow smoke on.” I’m not complaining, though—it was a communal fumigation. We were funky technicians, one and all.

“The Nursery” that Public Records has built falls somewhere between greenhouse and Zen garden. The square space is essentially an urban enclosure where pine and plane trees and fresh lumber create a private performance patio, a paradise just beyond the concertina wire, as woods might say. The stage is bedecked with potted cacti, while I spied A. Richter across the way with his Fujifilm GA645Zi amongst the bamboo stalks. ELUCID’s green Champion mesh football jersey (the Bo Jackson jersey in the laundry, apparently) matched the soundsystem monitors, and I found what little shade there was to be had and huddled close to the soundman’s booth, a shed of glass. I almost managed to forget I was cordoned off by beige shipping containers. 

It wasn’t long before I was entertaining the idea of going full Fatboi Sharif, i.e., shirtless. Sharif himself only made it through half his set before shedding his garb—there wasn’t even a hospital gown in sight. The heat was on as soon as he came out to Can Ox’s “Scream Phoenix”—rising from flames. El-P’s Phillip Glass sample could’ve easily made a Sharif beat (we’re only talking a single generation removal, really). Sharif made quick work of some of his most recent altered realities. “Static Vision” included a call [I ain’t scared!] and response [Motherfucker, I ain’t scared!]. He ran through “Phantasm,” “Dimethyltryptamine,” “Designer Drugs,” “Think Pieces,” and “The Christening” like a buxom blonde through an abandoned building, revving chainsaw in pursuit. At times, his speech slurred into a makeshift Swahili (word to This Heat). It was strange to see Sharif in daylight, sunstruck, as I’m so used to seeing him in blood-flooded cellars or Joseph Conrad’s heart of darkness environs, like he alludes to on “Dimethyltryptamine.” He barreled through ventricles, riding shotgun in Sir Menelik’s Space Cadillac. DJ Boogaveli (who hypes up Sharif like it’s a pep rally at Springwood High) shouted about family at the start of “The Christening,” which sounded sincere compared to the tone Sharif takes on Decay—there the family must be of the Manson or Duggar milieu. He finished the track acapella, exhausting the last of his energy, only to reinvigorate and reanimate for a rioting rendition of “Smithsonian.”

I’ve yet to invest the necessary time into Cavalier’s work, though I know him from his association with Quelle Chris. With an album coming down the pike from Backwoodz, I found myself in the lucky position of witnessing his set incapable of discerning old material from new. He took centerstage, acting as his own hype-man and DJ (though he did high-five the invisible “DJ Light-skin” at one point), and his kineticism was immediately apparent. His floral button-down danced over his body as he rapped vitally. I felt vivisected by his exhortations and incisive observations. Keep in mind, my age prohibits me from becoming enthralled by any performer whose work I’m unfamiliar with—a sort of neuropathy of the soul. But he had me open and endeared by the time he implored, Put the tiger balm on it, put the tiger balm. As you wish, Cav. I lathered my chest.

“Y’all believe in magic? No? That’s okay.” Cav said it so quickly that he didn’t give anyone a chance to answer, but he assumed correctly, I think. Still, I was smitten by his conjurations—he made me a believer (no small task). “King me,” he rapped, “I’m trying to make it all across the board.” And, by the end of it, he had the entire crowd shouting “KING ME” back at him without a problem. MAKE SOME BLOODCLOT NOISE! he growled, and we didn’t need to be asked twice. IT’S VIBRATIONAL, AIN’T IT? With a seemingly innocuous phrase he was able to summon the spirit of the crowd. Over the course of his 25-minute set, I heard him rhyme epiglottis, brag of spitting a verse while performing cunnilingus, give a lesson on homophones, and regale us with stories of winking at cops in Whole Foods. “From the Tree of Life I smoke foliage,” he said, and the trees Betty Smith saw grow in Brooklyn circulated through his lungs. “We need to bring back weed spots—it’s not nostalgia.” Though he did rap nostalgically at times, letting us know he was born in BK, went to school not far from where we stood, and though he’s representing the 504 now, Brooklyn born-and-raised ossified his being into bone.

THIS IS CHURCH, YA FEEL ME? And I did feel him. I spent the week culling quotes about improvisation from Amiri Baraka’s Black Music (1967) for another self-assignment (I don’t work for anyone, son), and highlighted this passage: “...to go back in any historical (or emotional) line of ascent in Black music leads us inevitably to religion, i.e., spirit worship. This phenomenon is always at the root in Black art, the worship of spirit—or at least the summoning of or by such force.” [Peace to Kehinde Alonge—always at the ready with choicest recommendations.] Cavalier danced upon the altar and rapped his sermon relentlessly, tirelessly. I was raised up on tippy-toes, enthralled by the force of his spirit. THIS AIN’T JAZZ?! he asked. WHAT THE FUCK THEY TALKIN’ ABOUT MAN? I don’t know who’s doing that sort of talking, but they’d be hard-pressed to say such a thing in this public gathering. “Brooklyn, this is how it feels—all of us together: this is how it feels.” I believed in Cavalier’s magic by the end of his set. I was charmed by his satchel of High John de Conqueror. Let me know where to Venmo my tithe. 

The heat index had my vision tunneling. When Armand Hammer stepped on stage, sounds were moving in reverse, and the Class-A dynamite duo took us back (way back) in time, when ELUCID was in “fifth grade in [his] dad jeans” and he “played Game Boy in the backseat.” woods, with his first words of the afternoon, said he “rather be codependent than co-defendants.” This must’ve been “Landlines,” the lead-off from the new album, seeing as how they shouted-out JPEGMAFIA, ELUCID rapped “leave a message after the beep,” and a dial tone toned between verses. It was off the hook, as they say.

They seemed to be following the official We Buy Diabetic Test Strips tracklist, because next up was “Woke Up and Asked Siri How I’m Gonna Die” (a song with a title so long that it must’ve come from the magnum mind of ELUCID). She replied, she replied, she replied… they repeated, but I didn’t quite catch what that chatbotbitch said. woods refashioned a line from “Remorseless” with “Life’s a blip, I’m swimming under the radar.” Life’s a blip and then you die, that’s why we puff lye. Further deepening the uncanny valley, their third offering to the musty masses included “fake trees in the Apple Store.” I’m sensing something about the excesses of tech after a cursory listen to these WBDTS tracks, the detritus and pollution it produces. To quote my damn self, something in line with “...a cell tower with evergreen branches: / …a drone with seagull feathers.” ELUCID revived “a double portion of protection for [him] and [his] niggas,” explaining he’s “trying to only say what’s necessary.” By any means, sir. 

Cavalier was welcomed back to the stage for “I Keep A Mirror in My Pocket,” another new joint with Preservation on production. We the audience felt, collectively, like we were in the belly of the beast—those shipping container walls (a real Season 2 of The Wire sensation)—as Cav chorused and signified about the Big Bad Wolf. A cautionary tale, indeed. I can see clearly how Cavalier fits within the Backwoodz cadre. 

The content of the next number left no question of its title. “Niggardly (Blocked Call),” if I was asked to predict, will be the cynosure of the new album. (Yeah, you heard me right dog, I said cynosure.) Produced by August Fanon (who was in the place to be—a rare appearance from an elusive mastermind who would humbly demur if you called him such, I’m supposing), the song has an R0 = 15 infectious hook: “Admittedly niggardly, I won’t even give these niggas bad energy.” woods, what with his penchant for scales and measurements, boils everything “down to the last red cent.” How does he do it? Well, MY HEART PUMP KETAMINE, he yells. We find woods in one of his ruthless, no Vaseline moods: “I eat knowing I’m starving my enemies.” Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to spending time with your kids, and woods picked up where his verse from “As the Crow Flies” left off. He closed his eyes and rapped to the rafters and the sky:

I write when my baby’s asleep, I sit in the room, in the dark, I listen to him breathe, I walk him to school and then the park,  Hold they little hands while we cross the street, I think about my brother who is long gone, And this is all he ever dreamed.

ELUCID and woods repeated admittedly niggardly back-and-forth at the end, delighted with the wordplay. 

They kept riding the August Fanon beatwork like Thomas Sankara in the Renault 5 as the killer chords from “Smile Lines” crept in. The crowd response was screw-faced sneers and shouted lyrics. One youngblood knew the song front to back, beginning to end—ELUCID acknowledged him from the stage: “Peace to the homie out there—he knew every word, man.” I watched the dude beam from the compliment. Even after writing profusely—profusely (fuck Caltrops and his non-existent editor, here comes the predator…)—about woods and ELUCID, I still can’t memorize their lines. Chalk it up to some neurological incapacity that arrived in my 30s. I envy those who commit songs like “Smile Lines” and “Smith + Cross” to memory. My not-so-supple gray matter just can’t cut it anymore.

My expectations for We Buy Diabetic Test Strips were upended by the tracks they debuted. I’d speculated an abrasive noise event; a Sheet Metal Music for the new millennium we’ll never reach; a kind of Schoolly D “P.S.K.” FML swagger. There’s certainly elements of that, just not as much as I was anticipating. (And who knows what noise the as-yet-unheard tracks might bring.) I assumed the shared space with Soul Glo over the past several years, the screechings zapped through the receiver on the toll-free number, and their recent appearance on Shapednoise’s Absurd Matter would be an indication of the Shape of Rap to Come. Speaking of which, woods sludged through his verse from “Family” before DJ Haram’s scrapyard percussion ushered in “Trauma Mic.” 

Haram was at the helm for the entirety of Armand Hammer’s set, and she reveled and felt every ounce of her own beat. The buzzsaw sounds were like Baraka’s description of Don Ayler’s trumpet: “long blasts…in profound black technicolor.” ELUCID’s traumatized mic draped over his shoulder for the opening anvil strikes. He needed his hands free to clap in rhythm. The gesture was reminiscent, again, of Baraka’s analysis of the saxophone held by Albert Ayler (the elder Ayler), “a howling spirit summoner tied around the ‘mad’ Black man’s neck.”

The “Trauma Mic” video had me thinking on thematics of refuse and rubbish—you best protect your dreck. I thought back to the garbology Aesop sifted through, where I saw Bakunin’s barricades in the city streets and revisited the actions of The Motherfuckers in the late ’60s—they stood in solidarity with striking sanitation workers and dumped garbage at the doorstep of Lincoln Center. Armand Hammer—outfitted as scrappers, pitching barrels and coiling skeins of copper wire—are of the same spirit. They propose a cultural exchange of garbage for garbage.

woods bodied “No Hard Feelings” and was joined by damn-near the entire crowd. Had it sounding like a tenant revolt as we all screamed, LIKE THEY STEALING! The Aethiopes track equals, if not outright overtakes, “Asylum” and “Remorseless” as most affecting in the past year’s blitz of performances. 

ELUCID stood on the precipice, at the edge of the stage, as he rapped through “Barbarians.” He went swimming into the crowd with his free arm, astro-spiritually. The refrain of “Who the fuck are you?” evolved from the accusatory tone heard on Rome to an existential “Who the fuck am I?” ELUCID and woods bandied the question between them like two college kids in the dorms at 2AM, faded as fidduck. The “intelligent fist” of woods and the “mysticism” of ELUCID (to use an equation Baraka applied to Milford Graves and Sonny Murray) working together to produce a manic mix. They kept the marriage going through “Mangosteen” before turning to the heliocentric worlds they invented in collaboration with the Alchemist on Haram. “Black Sunlight” and “Falling Out the Sky” had me thinking of Baraka (again!): “It only takes two to start a group. If the two are maturely strong, and have a oneness, then the others will feel it and touch their own sound, voice, or whatever.”

ELUCID’s last solo number was “Spellling,” and by then he was spent but still perseverating in the dopest way possible. “This is a physical experience,” ELUCID said as the song began, asking the soundman to turn the volume up higher. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII been spelling, he spoketh [an ever ever elongated I and a shot-to-the-dome of “been”]. The I Told Bessie opener became what Baraka calls “an antiphonal rhythmic chant-poem-moan.” ELUCID’s voice was ragged by this point, a metallic scrape as he shouted about being “your momma’s favorite, since about ’88, ’89.” The down in “just got to heaven and I can’t sit down” was made malleable in how he twisted it around in his mouth. Split tongue heavy lifting.

He had nothing left when the alarming squeal whistle warp of “Stonefruit” started to play. But the audience assisted, screaming with him I REALLY CAME IN ON A CYCLONE as his voice gave out. woods jumped in early when it was his turn, which proved a moment of levity. To err is human, and woods—despite the adoration he’s been receiving—is endearingly human. That humanity is probably why so many of Armand Hammer’s fans have become zealous collectors, showing up at the venue with cardboard boxes full of vinyl, willing to wait patiently for woods and ELUCID to write their names in metallic Sharpies on these their prized possessions. “First Armand Hammer show in the states in a while,” woods said at one point. “Small flex,” ELUCID noted, chuckling. But they brought it home on Saturday. It was “As the Crow Flies” made manifest. woods brought all the Backwoodz family on stage at the conclusion of their set. The family atmosphere afforded by the 3PM start time was embellished by the sight of children on shoulders. It had the feel of a triumphant affair. It’s winning, it’s winning, it’s winning…

Peace to the conversations that were had with Alex Richter, Willie Green, Max Heath, and Sharif.

Photos credit:  Rory Simms

AH setlist:

1.  Landlines 2.  Woke Up and Asked Siri How I’m Gonna Die 3.  [???] 4.  I Keep A Mirror In My Pocket 5.  Niggardly (Blocked Call) 6.  Smile Lines 7.  Family 8.  Trauma Mic 9.  No Hard Feelings 10.  [???] 11.  Barbarians 12.  Mangosteen 13.  Black Sunlight 14.  Falling Out the Sky 15.  Spellling  16. Stonefruit

#armand hammer #backwoodz studioz #public records #fatboi sharif #dj haram #cavalier #underground hip hop #brooklyn

[nogitzune]

@beaconfeels tagged me for a sneak peak at my wips and i figured i COULD share some 👀

So, here's a snippet of one of my "Stiles is new in town" fic ideas (this one specifically just a twilight au if we're being honest) named Nightfall.

“Are you sure you want to go back?” Babcia asks, her voice soft with age, gaze knowing. To be honest Stiles isn’t sure, really. He hasn’t seen his dad since he’d left with his Aunt Barb, and hasn't had a good relationship with him since. According to the few texts they still send each other, he’s left the alcohol behind a long time ago, but Stiles can’t be sure he’s telling the truth. But his Aunt is sad, here, staying to watch over him while her husband goes off around the U.S. playing ball, and Babcia and Dziadek are too old to properly care for him. So he says yes, even though his heart means no.  Babcia watches him with a keen eye, eyes green just like his mothers had been once upon a time, and Stiles knows that she knows–knows that Stiles is uncertain in this like he is in everything, nowadays. “You can always come back, mój kochanie.” Stiles holds that moment in his chest as he boards the plane, a one-way ticket to Beacon Hills clutched in his white-gripped fingers. Beacon Hills is a sunny town, nothing like Seattle. Despite the cold weather and light dusting of snow on the ground, the sun shines warmly onto the streets as if it were midday in Arizona. The wind still bites at Stiles’s skin when he leaves the regional airport but there in the sky, not a cloud in sight, the great big ball of gas seems to smile at him.  The airport is a good thirty minute drive from town, and during the entire length of the drive Stiles can see the pine trees dotted with snow and slush, shimmering in the light of day. The few odd trees are bare–the deciduous, hibernating ones–but lack the eerie lifelessness that usually hangs around leaf shedding trees in the winter. Dad mentions something about a weird cold front a couple days ago as the reason for the snow and Stiles vaguely wonders at a place where snow isn’t the norm for the winter. Seattle was all cold, foggy, and wet. Babcia and Dziadek seemed to prefer that oppressive weather to California when Stiles was younger, in the month and a half they stayed before leaving and taking him with them. Aunt Barb enjoyed every bit in the sun she could despite the sad circumstances. If he thinks hard enough, he can remember a sort of amazement at the constantly overcast state of the city he’d been thrust upon, before he got used to it in the years that followed. Somehow, Stiles had forgotten that Beacon Hills was a place where the sun always shined and tragedy happened to other people.

This one's still is the plotting stages, but I'm being smart and putting down any snippets I think of instead of letting them slip away to the adhd brain

#tzune writes #wip #nightfall #stiles stilinski #tag game #<- technically anyway

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: I know I love you

Tags: Gong Shangjue x Gong Yuanzhi, High School AU, Cousin Incest, Singer Gong Yuanzhi, Pining, Talent Show, Age Difference, Businessman Gong Shangjue, gonna add the underage tag just coz of the age difference

A/N: This is the song that got me back into Kpop. As a Gen 2 fan, I never thought I would ever get back into it once I left that group of friends who loved it as much as I did. But there I was, diving headfirst into Gen 4 Kpop and thus far, it's been great.

This is all to say that it's okay to be a fan of something. There's no age limit to be a fan and as long as you're not hurting anyone with your passion and enthusiasm, you're good :) If you needed to hear this today, there's always a place in fannish spaces for us older fans. No matter what other people might say x

If Gong Yuanzhi were to say that he didn't feel an ounce of nervousness, that would be a lie.

Sneaking a peek at the auditorium's crowd, he hears a loud cheer - definitely led by his cousin Ziyu, the absolute simp - when Yun Weishan's voice starts going into the chorus of that earworm of a song by Esther Yu. Next to him, he can feel Jin Fan pushing at his shoulder so that he can steal a glimpse of his other cousin Zishang who had partnered up with Yun Weishan.

He's surrounded by simps, he swears.

Turning back to where Jin Fu, Jin Fan's fraternal twin, is twirling his drums and this quiet dude they only know as Ah Yue is testing out the keyboards, Yuanzhi meets the latter's eyes and nods.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Yuanzhi huffs, fiddling with his guitar for the umpteenth time. Ah Yue takes pity on him and claps him on the shoulder. He doesn't even ask him the question he knows he wants to ask.

It's fine, Yuanzhi tries to reason. It's fine if he doesn't come tonight.

Logically, he knows that Shangjue gege is probably busy if not on another plane to another city to negotiate another deal to fatten up the family's coffers. More than that, he knows that Shangjue would have about a million things better to do on a Friday night than to attend some high school talent show just because half of the family's younger cousins are part of it.

Still, hope springs eternal. Even if reality is proving otherwise.

From where they stand at the curtained eaves of the stage, they can hear Yun Weishan and Zishang jie's voices bleeding into the final notes of their performance. It's show time.

"Deep breaths, yeah?" Ah Yue says, bumping fists with Yuanzhi as they step onto the stage to the applause of the audience.

They take their place as the emcees of the night announce their names and their class number. Breathing in deeply, Yuanzhi squints out at shadowed faces of the crowd, trying to quell the rapid-fire beating of his heart.

Positions himself at the microphone, he takes a deep breath, fingers pressing down on the opening chord.

I know I love you

Yuanzhi pours his heart into that opening growl. Behind him, he hears the guys start up on their instruments just like they'd spent hours and hours practising. Part of him wants to turn around, grin with glee at how cool this all is, but he holds on to what he needs to do.

In this world of zero, I know you're my one and only 

Try as he may, he cannot help his mind from turning to his gege. The lyrics of the song speak to a truth that his soul knows -- has known for a while now.

My life before you was a mess

Yuanzhi blinks and he can pick out Ziyu cheering him on in the shadows with a borderline maniacal grin. A warm sort of glow settles in his chest. This silly cousin of his...

He can’t help the grin of his own as he sinks his voice into the words. Adrenaline pumps through his veins when he hears Ah Yue’s voice harmonise with his own.

Now I can't stop thinking 'bout you, When I'm sinking alone

The beat kicks up. The drums start to pound through his chest and Yuanzhi closes his eyes as the guys all start singing together.

I know it's real, I can feel it

Yuanzhi feels free in the words of the song. Fingers strumming along as he tastes the way the crowd begins to cheer.

When he opens his eyes again, there he is. Standing in the back of the auditorium, haloed by the exit sign, but he’s here. In the shadows.

Yuanzhi can hardly believe it.

No.

He can’t bring himself to believe it.

I'm a loser in this game

For the longest time, Yuanzhi had trusted in the emotions that tells him he loves Shangjue gege like a brother. Fond and protective in a familial way, respect and admiration all wrapped into how Shangjue gege is so capable and strong.

There was always a thread of gratefulness, too, when Yuanzhi thinks about his emotions. Grateful that Shangjue took him in and practically helped to raise him.

If there was anyone who deserved his love, it’d be Shangjue gege.

All or nothing, I want all of you 

But emotions change.

And recently, Yuanzhi’s heart hurts whenever he thinks about how Shangjue is being expected to marry and have kids.

Even more so when he thinks of gege having someone to love and hold in that way. In the deepest darkness of the night hours, Yuanzhi can admit into the shadows that he wants to be the person that Gege holds and loves. Especially if it’s in that way.

I'm full of problems, love sick 

Yuanzhi keeps his eyes fixed on the shadowed halo on the fringes of the room.

Everything else fades away and he bleeds his heart and soul into the words. Meaning every syllable, every beat, every lilt and crescendo.

In some distant part of his senses, he can hear his band mates carry their own parts as they harmonise together. Yuanzhi doesn’t linger on them.

He keeps his eyes on his prize.

Say you love me, to the end of the world 

Logically, Yuanzhi knows it’s wrong.

If he ever verbalised the exact emotions he feels about Shangjue, chances are he’d be excommunicated from the family. He can imagine the looks of disgust and contempt; can see it in his nightmares.

He knows Shangjue gege can tell something is wrong, but how does one even begin to tell the object of your affections that you love them in the romantic way that begs to burn down any bridge that could cultivate it back into familiar familial feelings?

Loss of his gege is unacceptable. The only thing left for Yuanzhi is to sing it.

All or nothing, I give all of you 

The auditorium shakes with the force of the audience’s cheers. Ah Yue, Jin Fan, and Jin Fu all clamour around him to wrap him up in a hug before they take a bow to the standing ovation they receive.

Yuanzhi turns back to the spot in the shadow and has to kill the bud of disappointment that starts to flower. He doesn’t have a right to feel that way, no.

So, he accepts the applause with a smile, bows politely and jogs backstage where Zishang jie is squealing and pulling him into a rib cracking hug before she jumps right into Jin Fan’s arms.

“Are you alright?” Ah Yue asks, a hand on his wrist. Outside, the next group takes their place in the spotlight. Yuanzhi nods, moving quickly to where they’d stash their bags and cases.

He feels sick.

What was he doing thinking that Shangjue ge was even here tonight? More than that, what the hell was he even dreaming about that Gege would even understand that this song is dedicated to him?

He stuffs his guitar back into its case, snapping it shut and gathering his bag.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday ok?”

“Hey, where are you going?” Jin Fu frowns. “They haven’t announced the winners!”

Yuanzhi can only shake his head and plaster on a weak grin. “I…”

“He’s coming home with me.”

Yuanzhi thinks his soul jumped right out of him and into the underworld. Literal chills start breaking out down his spine when Shangjue gege steps confidently forward and wordlessly takes his school bag. Sliding their palms together, he tangles their fingers, guiding him away and out of the backstage area.

“Gege, what are you—“

“My Didi gave me a ticket to his school’s talent show. Did you think I was going to miss it?”

Yuanzhi wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Shangjue scoffs, weaving them through a sea of performers and their assortment of props and costumes. In no time, Yuanzhi is breathing in a lungful of cool, crisp night air, but gege doesn’t stop and he stumbles a little to keep up.

“Gege—“

“Get in the car,” Shangjue says, letting go of him to move to the driver’s side. When Yuanzhi doesn’t immediately follow, he turns, sighing. Coming back to Yuanzhi, he cups him by the cheek.

Running his thumb over his cheekbone, Gege purses his lips. “We need to have a conversation and I’d rather we do it in the car.”

Yuanzhi numbly tips his head, looking down on the asphalt of the school parking lot while Shangjue manoeuvres the guitar case off him and into the back of his Jaguar, and then shuffles him into the front passenger seat, buckling him in with a smooth practiced motion.

Panic and trepidation sits thick on his tongue.

“Where do you want to start?” Shangjue says over the hum of the car’s engine as he takes them out of the parking lot and into the main road.

“I don’t even know where to do that,” Yuanzhi admits. He starts to fidget with his fingers, stilling with a start when Shangjue gege takes his hand into his own again. Deftly switching lanes, Yuanzhi watched the streetlights wash over the dark interior of the car in measured intervals.

“You’re my Didi,” Gege says. “I’m your Gege. It’s as simple as that.”

The words twist something sour in his chest. It’s the undeniable truth and one he can’t even run away from no matter how hard he tries to.

“Yeah.” Yuanzhi mumbles. Squeezing Gege’s hand he makes to pull away, only for Shangjue to hold on tightly.

Shangjue’s eyes are focused on the road. Cool and calm as he safely merges the car into the evening traffic.

“Yuanzhi, once again you’re hearing and not listening.”

Not a little offended, Yuanzhi tries to pry his hand out of Shangjue’s only to fail miserably when his gege huffs.

“I know you love me.”

Yuanzhi blinks owlishly, brain shorting out at the soft smile that Shangjue gege sports when he inches the car forward.

“Did you think I wasn’t listening?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” Yuanzhi manages. Shangjue’s hand squeezes his thrice.

A gentle quiet settles in the hush of the car. It’s not unpleasant, more so when Shangjue carefully lifts their hands to his lips. The gesture sends a thrill down Yuanzhi’s spine, especially when he lets go only to change gears, then sliding their hands back together again.

“I was going to wait until you’re a little older to broach the topic. I didn’t…” Shangjue trails off, throat bobbing. “I didn’t want it to seems like I was pressuring you into anything…”

Yuanzhi feels his cheeks warm.

“You wouldn’t have—“

“But I would have.” Shangjue cuts with certainty. “You wouldn’t have been anything but willing and that’s what makes it dangerous.”

Carefully, with an infinite tenderness Yuanzhi was sure he could never pour into another person, Yuanzhi whispers, “And yet I would have loved you.”

Shangjue turns to him. “I won’t apologise for making you wait.”

“How long?”

Shangjue blinks, confusion colouring his brow. “How long?”

“How long do I have to wait?” Yuanzhi elaborates. “How long until you will be comfortable with… this?”

The laughter that bubbles up in the car makes him smile. His heart settles in the sound of it, then picks up again at the way Shangjue looks at him syrup soft with an intensity that Yuanzhi now has a name for.

“Get into your top choice for university and then we will talk.”

Yuanzhi smiles. “Do you promise, Ge?”

“All or nothing, Didi.” Shangjue replies easily, running his thumb over the back of Yuanzhi’s hand.

#gong shangjue x gong yuanzhi #my journey to you #my journey to you fic #gong yuanzhi #gong shangjue #gab writes stuff

[warmdusks]

These are my theories for Shadow and Bone S3. If you haven’t read the books don’t read this bc spoilers

sorry my thoughts are all over the place this is just me trying to console myself (i know a lot of us are ??? at the changes) but I think there’s a way to bring it close to the original plot if they’re going to adapt KOS for S3:

• The appaRAT was written off until the end, but I think he’ll be a pertinent character in S3. In the last ep, he was trying to ‘caution’ Nikolai about staging the coronation on the same day as Hringkälla and hinting about his bloodline but Nikolai was like go away 🐀 u’re irrelevant and in retaliation, the Fjerdan Grisha attack at the end could be his doing. We know he switches sides a lot because he’s a 🐀 just trying to gain control over the throne. Yes, he gets attacked in the scene as well but I’m pretty sure he wanted to get a reaction out of Alina and start rumors about her attacking a Grisha or smth but instead, he gets a Sun Saint exhibiting shadow power / merzost. Or maybe it was the easiest way to massacre all the important people in Ravka but failed 🤷‍♀️

• Alina’s Sainthood / Ravka’s First Grisha Queen - I think this is going to be a difficult road. The apparat and the rest of the people in the chapel saw what Alina did. She used Merzost, and the people are going to TALK. The Apparat is going to use this against her being a potential Queen for Ravka. They are going to question where Alina’s loyalty lies and her eligibility to the throne. And with the Sankta Elizaveta foreshadowing in S2, that means the cult of the Starless Saint gonna rise up too. They might possibly claim Alina as their own as she exhibited shadow power? Stir up rumors that General Kirigan is going to be resurrected soon and he and Alina is going to be this power couple taking over the throne? Their Sun Saint isn’t a Sun Saint after all? for sure this is gonna cause distrust among the people, with the blights showing up in random places she might get blamed for it. Will this make her step down as a member of the triumvirate / general of the second army / call off the engagement? Will Mal come running back to Ravka after his soul searching thingy and persuade her to live the anonymous life with him? fake her death and live on a farm? IDK but we have to keep in mind that Alina, Mal, and General Kirigan will have to be major characters still for this series. But I think they can wrap up the Sankta Alina storyline this way. Alina and Mal still had some cameos in KOS and ROW, and the Darkling…we all know what happened

• Alina returning the Neshenyer to Shu Han - The Khergud? Is she going to meet Makhi / Ehri? Will the Crows be a part of this? Or are they going to stick with the Ice Court heist? Not sure if they’ll be completely pulling the Crows out for this season (bc of the spin-off) but the cliffhanger at the end of S2 did hint on the Ice Court Heist. I think their paths will have to cross again for this series’ sake lol

• Nikolai’s 🦇nification. The Apparat would have a lot of blackmail material against the throne if ever he finds out about Nikolai’s little secret. The King’s reputation can withstand a bit of scandal; it would not survive the truth. I guess this is where we’ll get a lot of ZOYALAI action (chaining him to the bed every night, going all over Ravka to investigate, the obisbaya, insert all the close proximity scenes here)

• Zoya of the Lost City - enuf said. And I badly want to see her and Juris. But do they have the budget for a Dragon 😭

• Zoyalai - I think Nikolai’s going to continue pining over Alina but unknowingly falls for Zoya as they work closely together? Then his feelings will be confirmed the moment Sankta Elizaveta drowns Zoya in amber *screams* anyway, we know how rational Zoya is. Might she suggest to Nikolai to call off the engagement with Alina bc the PR team can’t handle all the bad press? Then comes in matchmaker Zoya who secretly yearns for her king </3 i am delusional i just want to see matchmaker zoya 🫶 but really tho, i wish they can build up their work bff relationship first

• Also, do you think David could possibly be alive? No body = no crime but what if the nichevoya was a little hungry…but then we get another David d word scene and we’re going to see Genya’s heart get broken again 😭 i feel so bad for thinking this pls slap me

anyway that’s all for now i am trying to process the mess that is S2

#shadow and bone #zoyalai #shadow and bone S3 #grishaverse #sab spoilers #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #alina starkov #king of scars #rule of wolves #i need to touch some grass and feel my feelings #i am still mad at the oncat erasure