#sometimes I think ‘I want to be some famous writer who people in my fandom are intimidated of’

[aliens-took-my-iwa-chan]

aaaaaaaaaaa

#am I done with the first chapter of my fic or not?? #I dont know my sister has forsaken me and will not give advice #or attention #i want attention #im not obnoxious guys I swear #sometimes I think ‘I want to be some famous writer who people in my fandom are intimidated of’ #and then I act the way I act #I think its impossible for me to be intimidating xD #wait what am I talking about again #huh

[morganbritton132]

how do people react to eddie's tiktok about the threats to steve? obviously a lot of people would be horrified and support eddie, but do you think anyone would be mad at him for cancelling so last minute? and what do eddie and steve do about the threats?

There’s a wide variety of reactions, but there’s a lot of support.

The other members of Corroded Coffin were among the first and the loudest to give their support to Eddie. It’s not just that Eddie won’t be in attendance at their meet-and-greet or that he won’t play the show, the whole band cancels. They do this together or not at all. When you attack one of them, you attack all of them and Steve is one of them.

There are celebrities and influencers that come out in support and talk about their experience with hate mail and pushy fans, and some even talk about how their significant other were bullied off social media by fans. And there are fans that give their support.

Eddie doesn’t give a ton of information about what kind of threats they’re getting, but he gives enough to put the pieces together that it’s Steve getting them. A lot of Eddie’s fans remember the video of Steve crying at the neurologist and they feel protective of him. That was such an invasion of privacy and to have someone threatening you on top of that, it’s just too much.

Fans post videos on Tiktok and Youtube, and they make Twitter threads about toxic fandoms and toxic fans, and they talk about how Steve is just a normal guy that didn’t sign up for any of this. Quite literally. He doesn’t even have a Tiktok account. He’s not posting the videos he’s in.

And of course, there are people who are pissed off and there are people that understand but are disappointed. They feel like they’re being punished for someone else’s actions and they make videos about it, and Eddie responds.

He asks, “Tell me how you make yourself leave town when you don’t know if someone is going to try to kill your loved ones? Make that make sense to me.”

He responds to another Tiktok saying, “He didn’t even tell me. He’s been suffering through this shit on his own for months because he didn’t want me to lose this. He didn’t want me to lose Tiktok or concerts, or having a good experience with fans. He didn’t want to ruin that, and some – fucking asshole thought that there was something so egregiously wrong with someone as loving and caring as that, that they wrote a fucking letter to a middle school about how he should kill himself.”

Eddie responds to another, “All of this because he – he – he what? He turned my music down in the car? He doesn’t go to all my shows or – or because he didn’t want to go on a date once after he has a seizure? Sorry that the guy with the fucking head injury sometimes has the symptoms of a fucking head injury.”

Eddie responds, “During the worst time of my life, he saved me. He didn’t even know me, but he saved me and he never expected anything in return, and I can’t even make this better for him. I don’t know how.”

Steve doesn’t want to do anything about the letters that Eddie taped back together. He doesn’t want to take them to the police where they’ll tell them that there’s nothing they can do about it. He doesn’t want to hire a bodyguard or get a new security system, and he doesn’t want to move. He already got kicked out of one house, he’s not letting someone else kick him out of this one.

Steve doesn’t want to do anything, but Eddie can’t do nothing so he goes to the police. He’s famous now – a lot more famous than he was the last time he dealt with the Chicago PD – and they’re helpful. The woman he talks to is sympathetic, though there isn’t much they can do without any identifying marks. There’s no name, no return address, nothing that would lead them to the writer.

But they take his name and make copies of the letters, and they open a file.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Eddie not feel so useless. 

#honestly I don’t really know what you do in this kind of situation #I got another ask similar to this that I’m going to try to respond to tomorrow #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

[barbsgirlfriend]

Velvet & Veneer headcanons

Genre: Headcanons

Fandom: Trolls

Warnings: none!

Pairing: a little bit of Veneer x Kid Ritz

⭑

⭑

⭑

⭑

Veneer 🌟

Bro is a bitch 😭

Veneer is mean just like Velvet but in a more sophisticated way. She’s straight up mean and he’s more of the fake mean. He’ll pretend to like you then talk shit about you behind your back.

BOY KISSER!! GAY?! LIKES MEN??

Veneer is bisexual but has a preference for guys. He also might have a crush on the Bop on Top interviewer. 🤭

He’s very sensitive

He’s a very emotional person. No matter what, his feelings control him. However, Veneer’s better at managing it than Velvet. Did someone just insult him? He’s pissed off. Did someone just hug him? He’s very happy.

Veneer can bust some moves bro 🤯

He isn’t really that much into singing. Veneer only agreed to become a pop star because his sister wanted to. Veneer is much more into dance. He took ballet and jazz dance classes when he was younger and loved dancing ever since.

He struggles with impostor syndrome

Now, Veneer is… okay at singing and dancing. He struggles with his self image when performing and is scared of disappointing Velvet.

Veneer has veneers 🤓☝️

He was doing something stupid with Velvet when he was younger and fell. He knocked some of his teeth out and damaged some others. So he had to get veneers and dental implants. He also has a small gap in his front teeth.

Fashionista who???

Veneer only wants to look good. He makes sure all his clothing is presentable and expensive. Veneer pretty much picks out the outfits he and his sister wear. He isn’t that good with hair and makeup though :(

Velvet 🌟

Nice when you get to know them friend

Most people think she’s a bitch (which she is) but she can be extremely caring for her close friends and family. Veneer prob says: “oh she’s actually nice you just gotta get to know her”

Lives on caffeine

Velvet CANNOT survive without some caffeine in her system. She likes to get espressos from Starbucks. She’ll sometimes drink Red Bulls, but only when she’s performing.

She’s one of the girls 😍

Velvet likes women. And that is that

Velvet’s on the spectrum

She was diagnosed with high functioning autism when she was like twelve. Velvet struggles with empathy and understanding other’s emotions. She’s also very mean as a way to protect herself.

Expert song writer

She might not be good at singing songs… but she’s excellent at writing them! Velvet wrote some songs that the other famous Mount Rageons sang.

Emotional af

It doesn’t take much to make her snap. Velvet gets teary eyed when she’s angry and yells. She also gives really bad silent treatment. The reason she ran away when the trolls were yelling about her kidnapping BroZone is because she runs away from her problems instead of facing them head on.

(Anyway, I hope you like my silly headcanons! I’ll try to make more soon)

#trolls #trolls 3 #band together #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #trolls veneer #kid ritz #headcanon #trolls velvet and veneer #trolls band together #trolls headcanons

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N:  🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

*

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

**

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

 At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.��

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded.  You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips. 

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.   

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

*

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

*

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

#Pink Scarf #Pink Scarf Part 20 #Pink Scarf THE END #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis sm #elvis presely smut #elvis presley imagine #elvis imagine #austin elvis x reader #austin butler #austin elvis imagine #elvis fic #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis angst #happy ending #missmaywemeetagain #elvis x y/n

[ppeonppeonhan]

Dead Friends Forever Q&A-Style Review

I listen to a movie podcast called The Rewatchables, and they have interesting categories that I want to examine this series through.

Most rewatchable scene: It has to be the last one, because we've been talking about it nonstop since it aired. Plus, it lives in my head, rent-free, like Non is haunting me. Like WE failed him. 😱

But since I'm a BL girlie, who loves a well-crafted sex scene, I also have to include both of Phee and Jin's high-heat moments when Phee's trying to seduce him on the balcony and when they have rough sex in Jin's room. I'm not gonna lie: That was some king shit on Ta's end.

Best quote: "No one could leave this abandoned house — not even one." Come on! It foretold the surreal ending and fulfilled the victim's wishes. Gold.

What aged the best? The way that even the bullies perceived teacher Keng as a groomer, who took advantage of a desperate child — that will most definitely make that subplot still bearable even a decade from now.

What's aged the worst? The unaliving and SA montage in the finale that some have said was insensitive/irresponsible to have included. It was like trigger after trigger after trigger — practically a machine gun of traumatic scenes. The fandom could sincerely organize a class action lawsuit against the writer and director for them to pay for our therapy bills.

Scene-stealing location: The lake. Such a beautiful setting for romance, betrayal, and revenge. 😈

Best shot: Definitely the one of Tan from above when he's successfully drugged all of his victims. Iconic.

Are we sure this person is good at their job? Tee's uncle. The fact that he has so much riding on two teenagers is ridiculous. He didn't just start being a con man / mob boss that week. How does he not have a more stable criminal infrastructure at this point?

Best use of food and drink: Obviously, Tan spiking the beverages, knowing it would be the easiest way to poison everyone.

Was there a better title? Absolutely not. The play on the phrase "Best Friends Forever," an archaic term popularized in the '90s that puts way too much pressure on kids to find their kindred spirit and hold on to them through adolescence and adulthood, was inspired. It truly encompassed the impossibility of it all. There are just so many obstacles ahead of you, like peer pressure, family obligations, love triangles, bullying, ego, insecurity, and cowardice, that it's a lofty promise to make when you've barely finished puberty. Plus, it kind of hints at the ending...

Overacting award: Some could argue Barcode, but part of his performance was meant to be surreal, because it was in the dream state. I, personally, vote Jet (Top). Sometimes I felt like his character was in an entirely different, far more slapstick genre.

The "That Guy" Award: This category is for the actor/famous person you see all the time, but don't know the name of. I noticed a lot of people were excited to see Perth, so I "saw him all the time" on my feed. When I Googled him, that's when I learned that he was on a reality show with other Be On Cloud stars. 

Scene-Stealer (with very few scenes): Honestly, whichever extra/stunt double they had wearing that mask, freaking us out. The most memorable of which was when its creepy hand groped Tee.

Recasting couch:

I think Nanon (Bad Buddy) could've been interesting as the tormented Tan, because we would've bought his innocence longer.

It could've added to the mystery if we had the BL twins, AJ and JJ, confuse the narrative. 

I would watch Neo in almost anything at this point, and he could've played the morally conflicted Tee as he showcased those skills already in Only Friends.

A younger Mark (Last Twilight) would've fit so well into this cast. He plays lost and guilty quite well.

Picking Nits: This category is for pointing out things that just don't add up.

Why didn't Phee's cop dad have more questions about his son's behavior and activities after he saw who his son was involved with?

What teenager is fine going somewhere that has no wifi or reception? Even I wouldn't do that and I've had wifi as long as these characters have been alive.

Why was Non, a teenager, being medicated for mental health issues, but not being monitored by a mental health professional?

If Tee's uncle didn't want to be at a loss if Non died unexpectedly, then why didn't he let him get his wounds treated and get some rest? Unless the plan was always to harvest his organs, which would still have merited rest. Nobody wants shitty organs.

Unanswerable Questions

If Jin and Phee survived, would they have got back together?

If Non were alive, would Phee have ditched Jin?

What did they do with Non's body?

And, of course, after succeeding: Does Tan recover from his grief and move on with his life? Does he successfully escape arrest? Does he leave behind evidence of what the boys did to his family to further persecute them in death? Is his revenge plot really over...?

That was fun! Tag me if you answer the same Qs.

#bl drama #thai bl #bl series #thai drama #dead friend forever #dff the series #dff spoilers #bl review

[mrsbsmooth]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @rebelrayne! @longbobmckenzie tagged me in the body of hers too so I’ll take it.

How many works do you have on ao3?

82 right now, but I’ve orphaned a few recently

What’s your total ao3 word count?

1,220,982. I’ve got about another 30-40k words in WIP documents right now, so almost one-amd-a-quarter million words 😨

What fandoms do you write for?

Love Island the Game, Too Hot to Handle game, Harry Potter (Dramione exclusive), Romance Club (Heaven’s Secret)

Top five fics by Kudos

Tell Me What You Want (HP)

This Time, I’m Serious

Jaded

Unhealthy

Kinktober 2022

TIL that my Harry Potter fic has overtaken TTIS even though TTIS has more hits.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! There were a few on TTIS I missed that it would be awkward to reply to because it was so long ago, but I make a point of trying to reply to every comment.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The only sad ending I’ve ever written was the first chapter of Jaded which was originally done as a oneshot.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Welcome To Racers. They got the whole shebang. Love me a happily ever after.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not recently. I’ve had hate for my portrayals of Alex, Lucas, and Suresh. But I haven’t had any nasty anon comments in ages which is lovely.

Do you write smut?

Yeah it's kinda my thing.

Craziest crossover:

I don’t know if I’ve done many crossovers… maybe Bruno and Miri Make a Porno or All I Want for Christmas is You which is a hetero take on Red White and Royal blue?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but I think I would probably die of happiness.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I HAVE! All’s Fair in Casa Amor was written with my beautiful friends @i-boop-you and @crimswnred !!!!!!

All time favourite ship?

Dramione (new fave) but for LITG? Hard question because our fandom is so built around an MC. But with two canon characters? I secretly love a Bruno/Valentina. Also love Hope/Lucas. They just WORK.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It’s gotta be Recovery. I have the whole thing planned in my head but I just have no motivation to write it at all. Other than that, I don’t see myself finishing Famous Last Words any time soon. If I was going to finish it I’d take it down and rewrite it to make it fully OF.

What are your writing strengths?

Smut probably, I’m not bad at it. I feel like my narrative pacing is alright, and my prose is decent despite it being really inconsistent.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I rely too much on dialogue. I miss all the little body language bits leading up to an important line that could take it from an ‘aww that’s sad’ to a ‘holy fuck I’m sobbing’. Luckily I have wonderful beta’s who help me with this.

But more than anything, characterisation. Forming a fully fleshed out character before I start the story. I struggle with it. I’ve always felt like I’m more of a storyteller, (a plot person) more than a deep dive into a character’s psyche kind of person. I love reading character driven stories though, but I think it’s something that comes with writing experience. I haven’t actually been writing for that long and I think I’m getting better at it, but it’s still a weak point.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I sometimes forget that people don’t like this. I LOVE it. I do try and use it sparingly though. It’s so nice to see a character conversing with someone in their native language. I try and put the English dialogue in brackets or italics unless it's rather clear what they're saying (like swearing).

First fandom you wrote in?

LITG

Favourite fic you've written?

I, like Sarah, absolutely hate this question. My fics are my children. I like some of them more than others, though (I never claimed to be the world's best mother). But I love them for different reasons.

I love Welcome to Racers because it was my first AU. I loved The Only Two Things because I got to create an entire world, an entire city for my characters (Yes I'm aware Waterford, Ireland is a real place but God, I loved that story so much). TT,IS was the first fic I started and it gave me the friends I have today and the amount of people who tell me it's S4 canon just makes my whole life. Jaded was something different. It was a challenge to myself and I'm so proud of it. Unhealthy has been the most difficult to write, but it's also pushed me the hardest in my development of characters. FLW has been so much fun because I get to dive back into my music roots, urghhhhhh. Love.

I don't care if it's narcissistic. I re-read my fics on a regular basis. They're perfectly tailored to my taste. I love doing a nice re-read and sprinkling in a few extra details with liberal use of the edit button. If there was someone who knew my fics as well as I did, they'd get something a little bit different on every read. Might just be a line or two, might be a thought or a reaction, but I love to add and tweak and tinker with them all.

Love.

tagging: @i-boop-you @crimswnred @ellegreenwxy @tammyisobsessedwith @operationnope @sparxaf @eskiix

#mbs tag game

[magicalrocketships]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @powerful-owl! (Em's answers are here)

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

170. Crikey etc.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

2,698,478. That's a lot of words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment I'm writing F1, but I haven't been able to write anything for quite a while, and I never put the lid on any fandom. I've got some outstanding 1D WIPs that are on hiatus.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Emperor's New Clothes (1D famous/not famous, NDA where there used to be a relationship)

Can't Fight The Moonlight (Harry/Draco accidental mpreg)

Truly, Madly, Deeply (10 Things I Hate About You) (1D high school AU, famous/not famous again)

Maybe This Time (1D age play)

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow (tomlinshaw, secret relationship, watersports, resulted in some of my favourite saved screenshots:

hashtag never forget (my beloved)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

LOOK, I want to, and I used to when I had a fic lj, but every couple of years I'd try to on ao3 and then I'd just be drowning in my own horror at writing "thank you so much!!!!" over again and essentially we hit a slump and I haven't in ages. I'm going to pick it up again, though.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh god I hate a sad ending. I hate them!!!! I will only accept an ambiguous ending under certain circumstances, so I don't think I've got any with truly angsty endings. I've got plenty with very angsty middles. That SAID, I occasionally get hassle from people who don't think my fics are happy enough at the end because I don't like to tie all the ends up. I really, really hate pointless epilogues - NOTE, not all epilogues are pointless, and some of them I love - but the ones where it's just an unnecessary flash forward and all the problems are solved and they've got 2.5 children and a beautiful house and everything's perfect and it just feels like a horror story to me, like a fannish/romance novel version of the stepford wives. If it's an epilogue where the characters have had a bit of a chance to breathe after the main events, and they're happy, GREAT. If it's a cookie cutter ending then I'm out, so I guess maybe the end of Emperor's New Clothes where they're trying living together and trying to be financial partners in their relationship, and Not Your Fault But Mine, where Louis and Nick are together but it isn't obvious which route Louis is going to take back to university/he's still struggling with his mental health was still too angsty for some people. To me, both those fics end with them together and planning for a future so they feel happy to me.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think all of mine are happy but maybe We Used To Wait is the most deserved happy ending, because it's the one where Louis was in an accident and a secret relationship with Nick, and he's in intensive care and his injuries are really bad, and the ending is him getting to perform again, and being out and being with Nick.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

y e p. Sometimes it makes me laugh because this fic very clearly wasn't For You, just press the back button, and sometimes it's more frustrating. Sometimes it's gross.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yeah baby. My current fic is delightfully feral (to me) and I love writing smut. And then other times, I'm like... yes we won't be writing THAT right now thank you, no sex please we're British. Usually I have one week per month when I vastly prefer everyone keep their clothes on. Love a weird hormonal flux.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have in the past, but in general now I can't be bothered. I definitely wrote a Sharpe/Doctor Who one back in the day.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, a few times. The most egregious (and recent) was someone stealing We Used To Wait (which was Louis/Nick) and changing the names to Aaron and Robert, and amending various little bits to suit Emmerdale canon. If you're going to steal a fic, it's best to do it in a fandom I'm not in/I don't fucking read in, for the love of fuck.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I love having a blanket transformation policy on AO3. I'm always so in awe of people wanting to engage with your writing like that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! A couple of short ones and then the delicious Sugar, We're Going Down which I co-wrote with my very dear Anonymous friend, and we didn't ever think we were going to share it when we wrote it (hence why my friend is anonymous on it!) so we just went balls to the wall feral with it.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don't have an answer to this, but if I ever considered something my OTP I will go to my grave loving it. I love Louis/Nick so much, and each OTP before that. Right now I'm extremely focused on Max/Daniel and I don't see that going anywhere soon.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Nope, I have the I Had Rather sequel and Harry Styles Cooks outstanding but hopefully they'll both get an ending when the time's right, even if it's just me reading them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue? Angst? IDK??!! Help!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh, action and description for sure. I'm not a very visual writer/reader, I very rarely have a picture of a character in my head or the space that they inhabit. I know everything they say, though.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'd be worried about fucking it up. If I knew someone who was a native speaker and it worked, then I guess.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Young Americans technically, then probably Percy/Oliver in Harry Potter and Dom/Billy for the Lord of the Rings films.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow - I loved writing this, it came together in a few weeks, it made me fall in love with the pairing, legit changed my life for various reasons and I just enjoy it a lot.

Anyway, tagging @allwaswell16, @astorytotellyourfriends, and @junkshop-disco if you fancy it :)

#waffling on about fic

[olderthannetfic]

The whole bookmarks conversation reminds me of the authors of massive crossover fic With Pearl And Ruby Glowing, who have been known to lash out at anyone and everyone who criticize them, even if you did it in a private server where it was never intended to get back to them, even if you only mildly disliked one chapter, even if you were a massive fan but wished they'd used intersexism instead of going "what's the word for this? interphobia?" and then deleting all comments stating "it's intersexism". Mention them on a locked Dreamwidth entry that duckduckgo search results will show them part of? They're going to contact you and they're going to be furious.

Sometimes, not everyone is going to love your work. You cannot try to ban them from expressing that opinion in private to others. Yes, even if you're "famous" author who has a whole TV Tropes page for your work. You are within your rights to not want to be insulted to your face outright in vitriolic ways unrelated to your work, such as people who slam them for being queer writers. But not wanting that being a relatable, reasonable thing to feel does not mean that everyone has to say your work is good even in private, that people who comment on the fact that there's been more blonde black people than Arab people in your work even though you say you care about representation are haters who shouldn't be allowed to speak, or that if you ask what a word is and get told what the word is then that's hate that needs to be deleted and just for that we're going to screen all comments you meanies.

I've gotten some really nasty intersexist, antisemitic and outright violent comments on my work in the past. I delete the garbage and report the comments that threaten physical violence against me. The result is that people who like my work feel like they can approach me and say hi and chat in my comments or to others. Meanwhile, despite having a ton of hits, almost no one comments on With Pearl and Ruby Glowing and hardly any discussion of it off of AO3 because no one is in the mood to be yelled at for answering a question the author asked or for saying you didn't think a particular chapter was as well done as the others. When even "I loved the first 150 chapters except for number 44, I didn't get that completely" can be met with backlash, the readers start going, "I'll just not say anything and hopefully they won't get mad at me", a fandom dynamic that has resulted in less and less hits and less and less engagement as the story has gone along.

The best thing to do about angry bookmarks is to ignore it. People hate being treated as if they don't matter, thus it is your best possible revenge, because long after you've forgotten their annoying bookmark, you live rent-free in their head. Snapping back at even the lightest of criticism does not make for a fun experience for the reader. It makes me glad I didn't recommend the fic to anyone or comment and it likely to make me stop reading.

One of my fandoms is stubbornly refusing to move to AO3 and is still posting on FFN, for reasons I don't know and cannot explain. The result is that hate comments are still common. The standard response is to just ignore it. I feel much better about talking to those authors because I don't have to walk on eggshells around them in order to make sure I don't make them mad at me. As a result, I am much more likely to recommend their fic to others, because I don't have to worry I'm putting someone in the line of fire by doing so.

TL;DR can we all please learn some sense of proportion and that negative comments aren't worth burning the world to the ground over? Because in the process of burning things to the ground, you burn a good chunk of your audience in the process.

--

[remyfire]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

I was tagged by @quordleona03! Thank you so much for the tag I know lots of people have already been tagged, so consider this a formal request that if you have NOT been tagged, you please come play! But off the top of my head, @onekisstotakewithme @cuddleswinchester @dreamingofspring :D

How many works do you have on Ao3?

40.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

I think we might officially be leaving 2023 with 300,842 words. Not a bad count for only publishing since April! That's a novella a month right there.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

MASH. :D

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Scratching The Itch, Can't Take My Eyes Off You, To Have and To Hold, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, and Tear Out All Your Tenderness. Good morning beejhawk nation I see you all hkdfds

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Sometimes they pile up and I get overwhelmed and just click that "Mark All As Read" button while hiding behind my hand. But I really try to circle through nowadays even just for a "Thanks for reading!!" because I really appreciate every single one!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I feel like ...With Too Many Miles Between Us was a pretty rough one. There's maybe optimism that you can read through the cracks, but it was a damn agonizing prompt fill (affectionate) all around. The Good Ones Always Seem to Break is another. Sorry that I keep putting you in situations, Beej.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oughhhh, just about anything that suggests they don't end here, so to speak. I think To Have and To Hold probably tops the list, but I Intend to Hold You For the Longest Time and Soft Place to Land also come in hot just by nature of being established postwar situations.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! I've had a couple of people not understand what I was going for and who were not afraid of saying so, but it wasn't outright hate. They were probably just not the intended audience.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ahh yes. 65% of my current fics are rated E for a reason, and the 5 M ones are flirting with that line.

I categorize myself as an erotic romance writer, meaning that typically if you remove my sex scenes from my fics, you are losing integral information or character/relationship development that would otherwise make the fic not stand on its own. I also have a handful that are just pure erotica—sex for titillation's sake rather than development. I adore writing smut!! It's a lot of fun, it's exciting when you know you've landed it exactly like you wanted to, and it's a way for me to reclaim all those years I spent being forcibly repressed due to my religious upbringing. I love every minute of it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

The Famous 4077 Dog Tag Party certainly counts! Many of us authors randomized a list of pairings for both eras of the show, and then we were responsible for picking a pairing, writing the characters going on a date (platonic or romantic), and seeing what happened. Extremely fun way to get some rare pairs we might not have expected. For example, I got to write Margie/Klinger for it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hey now I am too fucking polyam to answer this and you know it. Mcpunnihawk probably tops the list, warring with margbeej and sidbeejhawk.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I am not taking this defeatist energy into 2024, how dare you. One day, my pretties, I'm coming back for all of you and we are crossing that finish line OR ELSE.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Smut, capturing character voices accurately, physicality, spinning relational scenarios on the fly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Genres like mystery or sci-fi or horror, repetition of comfort words/phrases, putting my characters through significant levels of pain (I am too empathetic, I can and will cry over my own fics).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Things that I do not feel comfortable doing myself because I am not familiar enough with any other language to know I'm doing it accurately.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The kid wizard one.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you make me pick from my children. Scratching The Itch, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, I'd Give Up Forever to Touch You, and Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures. Notably this could all change by this time tomorrow. I'm very fond of my fics.

#ty for the tag!! #ask meme answers #my ramblings

[108garys]

Bleeding Hearts

So this is the longest bit of writing I've ever posted, I know it's nothing compared to a lot of the wonderful writers in the dark pictures fandom but it's the longest I've ever posted all at once. So people seem to like the way I write Charlie's darker traits and I had this idea of what a true role reversal would look like and what would drive Charlie under the circumstances, as always if anyone has anything that they think I should tag then let me know(and also as usual there wasn't a lot of time between completion and posting)

It somehow just occurred to me that this is my first proper Hecile fic, at least the first to actually get completed and posted

@kassiekolchek22 @mistmoose @delurkr @eddie-brii @oblivious-troll @ivycross @lonnitamongus @maria-rayro @blubary @ultrabananapudding @ctrvpani @timethehobo

(one of these days I'll stop being so mean to Hector in my writings)

Charlie kept him grounded. Shortly before he'd met him Hector had buried his mother, the last of his family, cracked a career defining case and very nearly went off the deep end interviewing the vile man who truly believed Hector could sink to his level…

The day they'd met he'd come home knuckles bruised from where he'd struck the Beast of Arkansas, if others hadn't intervened Manny Sherman's execution may have came a lot quicker and when he caught a stranger in his home that night he understood that anything was possible.

Charlie had fallen to his knees and begged for Hector to understand, he wanted to write about the case. He was taken aback by the audacity that the man could blatantly trespass and feel completely justified in his actions; Ultimately kicking him out for fear that this comparatively petty criminal would end up on the receiving end of violence meant for a far worse monster.

That should have been the end of it but the next day he found the younger man on his doorstep, this time asking for an interview. Humouring this request had quickly escalated into something unthinkable. Hector knew there was something wrong with him, sleeping with a man who he'd only met because the other broke into his home and when Charlie had to go back to the UK and he agreed to a long distance relationship Hector confirmed that there was something very wrong with both of them…

Over the next few years they'd periodically visit and for the first time in his life Hector had a halfway decent work life balance, when the 2000s rolled around the idea of Charlie moving to the US permanently came up more and more and after living together for a full year Hector concluded his boyfriend was indeed crazy. He was a little too into true crime, it was his dream to eventually direct documentarys about famous serial killers, he was fascinated by them and cohabitation with an FBI profiler was fuel to that fire.

Hector knew he shouldn't but … Eventually sharing details of his cases became a regular occurrence, it was good to get it off his chest… He knew that he should be concerned that this excited Charlie but… His boyfriend had always been a little eccentric, he dismissed it against his better judgement.

Charlie started working the night shift at a local grocery store, Hector didn't mind since he also worked late most nights. Charlie kept working on his passions on the side and it was almost like they were married.

In the mid 2000s work became busier for Hector and he had to travel for his cases, Charlie didn't take it well… Hector knew his boyfriend had some pretty intense abandonment issues and made sure to call him every night and promised to check in with him as much as possible…

After a close call on an investigation he woke up in the hospital in a different city. Charlie had destroyed their place in his anxiety when Hector didn't answer his calls, he became the most attentive boyfriend anyone could ask for during Hector's recovery… Sometimes he worried what Charlie would do if he died… It was best to not think about it.

He hit the ground running when he returned to work, a new serial killer was on the block. With three known victims he started painting a picture. All were men in their early thirties with few social ties, one came from out of state, the other two had immigrated, all three wore glasses, their hair ranged from light brown to dirty blond but there was no mistaking it, they looked like Charlie…

At first Hector wanted to protect him from this information but he had to know. He promised he wouldn't let anything happen to him and Charlie clung to him any chance he could get… He needed to solve this case.

Months went by and more victims emerged. Stabbed in the heart, with no other injuries and an expression of shock… These men were clearly taken by surprise. When a body turned up a block away from Charlie's work, along the route he took home Hector couldn't take it anymore!

"I've been thinking…" Charlie looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of his, "Charlie, until this case is solved I-, I think you should go back to England." Charlie dropped his spoon into his cereal splashing milk across the table. "What!?" Charlie looked betrayed, his bowl was spilt. "You… You want to get rid of me?" Charlie asked in small voice, tears in his eyes. "No- I…" Hector took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "Charlie I can't keep being called to crime scenes, seeing you in the faces of this bastard's victims, I just want you to be safe."

"Fine." Hector could deal with Charlie's temper, he could deal with his tantrums, but when Charlie was cold to him… Hector watched as Charlie got up from his seat and went to their room without another word, he decided to give him some space as he cleaned up the mess. Doing the dishes before going to check on him.

Hector stood in the doorway in silence… The room was empty!? Draws emptied, the room in disarray… The window wide open… "Charlie?" Hector didn't want to believe he was gone, he tried to call him only to feel his heart sink as Charlie's phone rang out in the room… "He couldn't have gotten far…" Hector reassured himself, throwing on his coat and getting his keys.

He spent all day searching for his boyfriend, this wasn't like him… Hector concluded that Charlie must be terrified and that the idea of being away from him scared him more. He kept his phone close at hand just in case Charlie went home and decided to call… He should've asked Charlie to take the day shift, or find another job, hell he made enough that Charlie could be unemployed!

The sun was setting as his mobile phone rang. Hector didn't even look at it before answering, before he could say anything he heard a colleague's voice on the other end. An eerie cold washed over him… His hands were trembling as he heard that another victim had been discovered, killed within the past few hours… He had to ask them to repeat the address a few times and as the call ended he stood on the sidewalk. Heart pounding in his ears. It isn't him… It… It can't be… He should keep looking, he couldn't abandon Charlie… But what if-?

Hector looked in the direction the crime scene… It wasn't far, "Forgive me Charlie."

This one was different… The victim had been killed with extreme malice, his face so disfigured that only his ID could confirm his resemblance to the others. Hector was conflicted… He was disturbed by the sight, horrified that the killer seemed to be escalating… But at the same time he was relieved that it wasn't Charlie and that made him feel like a monster.

It was just before sunrise when he came home, physically and emotionally exhausted,he heard the shower going and saw that Charlie had made dinner. What was he supposed to do?

Part way through having his reheated pasta and quietly reflecting on the past day Charlie came into the kitchen, he smiled like nothing happened. "How was work?" Hector didn't say anything, he wish he could say he was shocked, Charlie stood next to his chair, Hector leaned into his touch and just let it all fall away for a moment as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, kissing him on the top of his head. It wasn't until he ran his free hand over Charlie's arm that Hector noticed the bandage. He froze for a moment, turning to look at his boyfriend as the arm was pulled out of his grasp. "Charlie? What-"

"I hurt it at work." Charlie said defensively, Hector wanted to ask about specifics he wanted to talk about Charlie's actions or what he had seen but instead steadied his voice and started over. "I've had time to think…" his eyes followed Charlie as he moved to the other side of the table and sat down, a worried look on his face. "We we're both a little too hasty yesterday, I want you to be safe but there are so many other options before banishing you back to England." Hector picked at his food still a little nervous. "The best I can think of is for you to request the day shift or quit, I can support us, I just-"

"Okay… I'll call my boss, if I can't get my shift changed," Charlie looked away, "I'll trust your judgement." Hector let out a sigh of relief that they'd found a compromise. He finished his dinner feeling a little lighter and when he finally found his way to bed he slept a little easier. He never told Charlie what he saw.

The next week was a blur but Charlie kept Hector grounded. He could do this, he had captured the Beast of Arkansas… He could do this. He needed more than anything to solve this case.

Early morning on his day off he woke wrapped up in Charlie's arms, he never wanted this to change. Hector carefully extracted himself from his sleeping partner's grasp, taking a moment to admire how peaceful he looked. After his morning routine hector decided to catch up on laundry, he preferred to get things done on his off days. It was a running joke that Charlie claimed Hector would die if forced to actually relax. He was probably right… He paused noticing a balled up shirt pushed into a corner, a little out of sight, it was one of Charlie's button up shirts, it was dark red, Hector had bought it for him. the sleeve was torn up… It seemed clean, maybe even a little too clean? Perhaps Charlie gave up on repairing it after he washed it? Charlie probably felt bad about ruining it… Hector absent mindedly tucked it away, making note to ask Charlie what exactly happened at his work…

He couldn't get the most recent victim out of his head, the guilt he felt that he was happy it wasn't Charlie, the horror of knowing it could have been… They still didn't talk about it, maybe it was selfish but he wanted to only think about Charlie but… He felt like something was alluding him, why did they all look like him? He and Charlie had been living together openly for years now, he was certain that they'd be married one day… Was he being messed with? His name was in the news surrounding the Manny Sherman case… Maybe his private life was too public? It wasn't like they were screaming from the rooftops… He and Charlie were the normal amount of open about their relationship, maybe that was too much for someone in his line of work…

He couldn't sit still, he had to get out and put these thoughts into something useful. He left a note to let Charlie know he where he was going and left as soon as his washing was in the dryer. It wasn't unusual for him to work on his day off so nobody would be shocked if he took another look around the crime scene…

When he arrived at the old dockside warehouse he let himself in, the place didn't seem unusual… He put on a pair of gloves and got to picking over everything, looking for… He wasn't exactly sure what, but he was determined to find it. After over an hour of fruitless searching Hector stepped out side, lighting a cigarette. This side of the building looked out over the water, a chain link fence ran around the perimeter. Old and rusted, it may as well be torn down, as smoke drifted lazily into the grey morning, his mind was racing… As if in answer to an unspoken prayer Hector noticed something from the corner of his eye.

Where the fence met the building the chain link was separated enough for a person to crawl through, not remarkable in of itself as the whole thing was filled with holes but caught on the edge was a small strip of fabric. Dark red, bloodstained? He carefully removed it, placing it in a clear evidence bag… Maybe he was desperate... He was desperate, but this could be important. he stashed the bag in his coat, he'd drop by the house on his way to hand it off to forensics.

When Hector arrived, Charlie was writing one of his true crime things. Hector kissed him and poured a cup of coffee. He didn't tell Charlie what he'd found, Charlie hadn't asked about it… That was a little unusual but he must be focused on his writing, he figured he could afford to fold the washing before he headed for the office. After idle conversation, no that was underselling it… There was nothing more he loved than just talking to Charlie about anything and everything… It made him look forward to being off the clock, even if he knew he had a problem with actually staying off the clock.

He went went back to the laundry, satisfied with how productive the day had been so far, he didn't even remove his coat given he'd be heading out again soon. As he folded the clothes he stopped, his literal shred of evidence had fallen out of his coat pocket, he should put it somewhere safe so it doesn't get lost-

His brain crashed into a brick wall at full speed as his hand paused an inch above the bag… He stared at it, dumbfounded. It took him a minute to even articulate what the problem was and then… And then a few more dreadful heart wrenching minuets to actually get his thoughts to make sense but they didn't, it didn't make any sense… It couldn't… He'd prove it to himself, it was an stupid irrational thought. He grabbed the bag and dug out the shirt, laying it flat on the table. He kept his eyes shut. Deafened by his own heart beat as he smoothed out the fabric, feeling along the torn sleeve. He layed the fabric strip next to it in its clear bag… Hands braced on the laundry table as he breathes slowly, he tilted his head down. He'd open his eyes and feel like the biggest idiot in the universe… Maybe he'd been in this field for too long, maybe what he and Charlie needed was to get far away from it all but… He had to solve this, had to know.

He felt numb as he looked down, a perfect fit… He didn't move, didn't breathe, if it was possible he's sure his heart would have stopped… He was an empty shell and his boyfriend was a serial killer… Part of him died when he even considerd suspecting Charlie, he felt dully that his life was over… He couldn't live with himself if he turned Charlie in, his career was over either way, he'd either be the washed up profiler who couldn't even see the truth right in front of him or he'd be found out as the rogue agent who intentionally mislead the investigation to protect his lover-

"Hector?" Charlie stood in the doorway, Hector didn't move, didn't respond. He stared blankly down at the torn shirt as he heard Charlie's footsteps behind him. His heart started beating again as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, he could breathe… Charlie kept him grounded, kept him together. He blinked away tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as Charlie moved to see what he was looking at. He froze, just as Hector had, a shocked gasp escaped Charlie. Hector tore his eyes away from the shirt as he turned, wrapping his arms around Charlie, holding him firmly to his chest. They stared at each other, shaky anxious breathes filling the small room…

"Why?" It was barely audible but the single word carried the crushing weight of the world, of everything they had and could have had… Charlie pleaded with him wordlessly to take it back, to turn his head and forget what he saw… Tears started to stream down his face and Hector couldn't help but reach out, his hand stopped short of Charlie's cheek. He couldn't do it, he couldn't hurt Charlie and he couldn't pretend he didn't know what he knew. He asked again, more insistently. "Why did you… Why did you do it?"

Charlie stepped back, Hector had loosened his hold when he was sure Charlie wasn't going to run from him. He watched as his boyfriend rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Anticipation clawed at Hector as Charlie looked at him calmly. "I didn't want to share you, not even with the dead."

"What?" Hector spoke so quietly that he wasn't even sure he had spoken, was he having some messed up nightmare!? He knew Charlie was the jealous type but this!? Committing murder to… To make it so Hector thought of Charlie at all times… He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to acknowledge that it had worked. "You're insane…" he shook his head, he'd known this about Charlie since they met, every single red flag that he'd actively dismissed and yet… He could have killed him, the day they met he was in such a dark place that he knows he could have done it, knew that man was right about him and deep down… He dismissed every single warning sign because he couldn't handle that fact. He looked Charlie in the eye and asked. "When did you start killing?" his voice was calm, like he was asking about a hobby, Charlie looked like he'd been slapped. He remained quiet for a moment, speaking only when he could no longer avoid the question…

"It was an accident."

"Charlie… Please…" Hector took a careful step towards him. "…tell me."

"it was before we met, I had just turned eighteen and was going out with some friends since we were finally old enough to drink back home," Hector listened as Charlie spoke carefully, "I had this… Friend, I'd been head over heels for him but I kept it too myself," Charlie wrapped his arms around himself, looking at the floor. "I always wanted to scream whenever he got a girlfriend but that night, free of the usual restraint I just… I yelled at him, shoved him and left him where he lay on the way home." Charlie looked back at Hector with a pained smile. "He never got up and nobody ever found out, said he fell and hit his head and… Well that's not the point."

"Nobody suspected a thing, I could have blamed my intoxication but… I said we split up sooner, it was easy… I thought if… If I could understand why it was so easy then…"

"That's why you're into true crime?" Hector asked taking another step, Charlie was crying again. "Were you hoping to find something that could rationalise away your guilt? Or your guilt for not feeling guilty?" Hector hated that it made sense to him, Charlie stepped back looking hurt. "Hector… What are you going to do?" they both knew he held all the cards here, he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. Looking directly into his eyes. "You understand that we can't be together anymore, right? Charlie, our life is over… You never-"

"Are you going to turn me in?" Charlie asked bluntly, neither of them could handle this uncertainty anymore… Hector looked at him, he knew there was something very wrong with the both of them. His mind was made up and he refused to second guess himself. He cupped Charlie's face, kissing him deeply before preparing to go further past the point of no return.

"Listen to me, Charlie… Promise me you'll do exactly what I tell you." Charlie kept Hector grounded, he'd done so for years and without him… "Say you promise."

"I promise, Hector, I'll do anything." Hector was already dead, the future they'd planned had died the moment he suspected his love… Marriage, growing old together… Gone. And yet… He smiled at Charlie. It was going to be ok, he would fix it… He knew what he had to do…

--

Charlie Lonnit sat behind his desk at the office, researching for an upcoming episode of architects of murder, his employees chatting amongst themselves.

"Hey what about the bleeding hearts killer?" Kate suggested, "All his murders were committed right here in Chicago, we wouldn't even have to travel." She looked around for everyone else's input. "Didn't that guy exclusively kill men who looked like his boyfriend?" Jamie asked without looking up, she was fiddling with a damaged piece of film equipment, Erin had headphones on, generally ignoring the conversation.

"That's fucked up," Mark responded, "What happened to the boyfriend anyway?" Charlie looked up at them. "No one knows, he was still alive during the time of the murders but his name was kept out of the press for his safety," Kate scrolled through some information about the case, "I guarantee that poor man never wants to think about his evil ex again, I'd be surprised if he wasn't getting abused throughout the whole relationship…" she got up from the couch she was lounging on, stretching as she continued casually. "He probably celebrated when that bastard died in a fire."

"I'd like to believe they really loved each other," Charlie defended, "What the fuck Charles!? You're a real piece of work-"

The phone rings.

Charlie shushes her, Answering the call. Grateful for the life his love gave him…

#The devil in me #The dark pictures anthology #charlie lonnit #Hector Munday #Heclie #Granthem Du'met #Du'lie #oneshot #Corruption arc Charlie #du'met x charlie #Hector X Charlie #the dark pictures the devil in me

[zenkindoflove]

Hi! 18, 27 for the ask game.

18. Are there any fics or authors that have been particularly influential or inspiring to you?

@crazy-ache inspires me all the time, which probably shouldn't come as a surprise if you follow both of us. We are basically joined at the hip now. She inspires me so much, we have a few fic ideas we want to write together, one of which we are working on now soooo... Stay tuned.

But really, there are SO MANY Elucien fics that inspire me. When I finished the series, I did a huge deep dive into the Elucien fic archive. I read everything that fit my needs of what I wanted out of Elucien, which was soooo much from so many wonderful authors. It's all a big amalgamation in my head now, so really, anyone who is inspired to write Elucien inspires me. There are new fic writers all the time too, many of which I plan on catching up on once I'm done with Summer Heat. But people do things with them in their stories that always has me "Man, I should do something like that!" The same goes for Satharion - a ship that always needs more love.

27. What two (or more) fandoms would you like to see a crossover for? Would you ever write it?

Oh man, you probably don't know this anon, but crossovers used to be such my jam. I wrote several when I wrote That 70s show fanfic. I've thought about how fun it would be to write an Elucien X-Files crossover, where Elain and Lucien are paired up solving unexplained mysteries around Prythian. I think they would have a fun dynamic in general, and I easily see them in the archetypes of Scully and Mulder (in my head, Lucien is more of a Scully because of his vast knowledge of faerie realms and Elain is more of the Mulder who just has a gut instinct about shit and she's right all the time). I also, in general, love being inspired by other media, so sometimes I think about writing some kind of Elucien fic using a very famous romantic comedy storyline. But it's sort of about what is the right one that would inspire me. The best fanfic I ever wrote while in T7S fandom was blending Sixteen Candles with That 70s Show so I'd love to take a stab at something like that for Elucien.

Fanfic ask game

#fanfic ask games #ask games #elucien

[merlinemrys]

20 QUESTIONS FOR FIC WRITERS

tagged : @queerofthedagger ty mona this was sooooo fun 🫶 tagging : @adhd-merlin | @bellamyblakru | @s0mmerspr0ssen | @groundbreakingdot872 | @lightasthesun | @flight-of-fantasy | @nextstopparis | and anyone else who wants to do this (sorry if you've already been tagged and done it) !!!

1. HOW MANY WORKS DO YOU HAVE ON AO3?

129 . . . i write exclusively short oneshots so take that with a grain of salt.

2. WHAT'S YOUR TOTAL AO3 WORD COUNT?

362,664 which is a feat for ME!

3. WHAT FANDOMS DO YOU WRITE FOR?

semi-regularly:

bbc merlin

marvel (spider-man)

percy jackson

dc (batman and superman)

have written and posted for:

doctor who

house md

grishaverse (the grisha trilogy and six of crows)

alex stern series

the raven cycle / the dreamer trilogy

goncharov (😭)

harry potter

the 100

the magicians

anne with an e

to all the boys i've loved before

4. TOP 5 FICS BY KUDOS?

ACCIDENTAL HEROISM / the batman (2022)

THE JONES-WATSON-PARKERS / mcu spider-man

MYTH CALLS ME LEGEND / bbc merlin

BRING ME HOME / percy jackson

YOU'RE THERE WITH OPEN ARMS / bbc merlin

merlin fandom . . . you will always be famous to ME!

5. DO YOU RESPOND TO COMMENTS?

yes, always (or at least i try).

6. WHAT'S THE FIC YOU WROTE WITH THE ANGSTIEST ENDING?

hmmm . . . WAIT. LAFF. this is so funny because i think it's FINAL GOODBYE, my sole goncharov fic because goncharov dies at the end. fr though, maybe WE CAN MEET AGAIN SOMEWHERE which is a pjo fic where i killed percy off lmao. i have since realized that i apparently don't write a lot of angst . . . an interesting to note about myself for sure!

7. WHAT'S THE FIC YOU WROTE WITH THE HAPPIEST ENDING?

due to the nature of my writing—short oneshots—they all mostly end happily! maybe IN THE NIGHT (mergwenthur with platonic merthur and merwen and romantic arwen) because it was just soft all the way down!

8. DO YOU GET HATE ON FICS?

no, i don't think so.

9. DO YOU WRITE SMUT?

sometimes. the mood just has to strike yk <3

10. DO YOU WRITE CROSSOVERS?

uhh if you mean characters from Fandom A meet and interact with characters from Fandom B then no? i have written fic inspired by other fandoms, but those would be AUs then . . . i'll go with no.

11. HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FIC STOLEN?

not to my knowledge!

12. HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FIC TRANSLATED?

nope. some people have asked though! i was deeply honoured but i like to keep my fics on ao3 instead of any other site and they wanted to post elsewhere.

13. HAVE YOU EVER CO-WRITTEN A FIC BEFORE?

wait. i just remembered, oh my god. SCREAM. does 13 year old me's rp count? because that would retroactively change my answer to the crossover question since i DID do that. it was so godawful and was probably 100k—started out as bbc sherlock fic and then bbc merlin got in there along with doctor who and supernatural and probably every fandom under the sun after that. we never posted that anywhere (thank GOD) but what a time. i don't co-write now. not for any particular reason, but i don't think it's come up.

14. WHAT'S YOUR ALL TIME-FAVOURITE SHIP?

see, this question is so hard because i write and consume so much different media. at the moment, in my current doctor who phase, i'll say tenrose! ask me during a different phase and you will get a different answer hehehe <3

15. WHAT'S A WIP YOU WANT TO FINISH BUT DOUBT YOU WILL?

all of four of them 😭 one reason i write oneshots is because my interests wanes so fast. you'll be hard pressed to find me in the same hyperfixation for longer than a few months, but i always come back eventually. specifically, RENEGADE'S RETURN (dc dick grayson-centric) would be the WIP imo because i posted that with no intention to finish it. all the other ones i had hopes, but this one . . . no </3

16. WHAT ARE YOUR WRITING STRENGTHS?

prose and characterisation. i think i'm getting pretty good at writing in the pov character's voice. like if you take my house md fic and compare it to . . . i don't know my raven cycle fic, i think the voices are distinct enough even with my same writing style:

HOUSE MD: New Orleans sticks to House’s skin. It reminds him of the Philippines. Long days baking under the sun, oppressive heat blanketing his entire body, sweat pooling at the top of his lip. At least when he was in the Philippines, he wore shorts and a tank top to cool down. Currently, there are about three layers on his chest—undershirt, button-up, blazer—and the AC in this place wheezes and puffs out mildly cold air like an overweight asthmatic kid attempting to run a marathon. THE RAVEN CYCLE: Adam Parrish does not have many things. A bare IKEA mattress, various pieces of makeshift furniture made out of cardboard, and a three-dollar rug he found at a sale. It’s not much, but it’s his and he’s proud of it. Sometimes, though, pride doesn’t discount how hot Virginia summers are. His skin is sticky with it, the light cotton of his shirt clinging to him, restlessness twisting under his skin.

i tried to pick two snippets that are generally about the same thing (summer heat!). at least to Me, this seems different enough in tone, but you know. vibes!

17. WHAT ARE YOUR WRITING WEAKNESSES?

my inability to write long form is genuinely not only a weakness but so so so detrimental to me fr. every fic i have written can EASILY be at least 25k EACH. probably more (definitely more) because i write the moments in between or . . . [sigh] let me say this instead. with longfic, there's usually a moment or a scene that you want to get to, the whole fic is culminating to that scene so you write thousands upon thousands of words to get to where the that scene would make sense in context, yes? well. for Me . . . i just write The Scene™

18. THOUGHTS ON WRITING DIALOGUE IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE?

i'd fuck up google translate so fast (and have), so something like "they speak in spanish" or "'hi, how are you?' they ask in spanish" would be preferable to me.

19. FIRST FANDOM YOU WROTE FOR?

definitely pjo percabeth fic at the age of like . . . ten (10). i posted it on ffnet and have since scrubbed from the internet.

20. FAVOURITE FIC YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN?

funnily enough i created a series which is just fav fics that i've written which sounds so egotistical, but whatever. there are 13 works in there, i believe, and most of them are merlin lol. but in recent memory it has to be a tie between JUDAS KISS and THREAD OF GOLD (both arwen fic !!!) because i experimented with my writing sooooo much there, JUDAS KISS being first person and THREAD OF GOLD being second person. i typically write a close third person pov especially for fic. my prose is wired for that, but it was so fun to try to do that for first and second anddddd i got some banger lines out of it so a win's a win!

THREAD OF GOLD: Your father’s presence is larger than life. Larger than love. It looms. It casts shadows long enough to hide every hope and dream you’ve ever had for yourself. JUDAS KISS: All I can think about is Arthur. His rage is fine as a blade, sharpened by the betrayal I have dealt him.

#idk why it’s missing lines on desktop for Me but on mobile it’s normal.. tumblr u stupid stupid site #tag games #not merlin #text #tais toi lys

[veradragonjedi]

ok since i know you as the excellent writer mutual, i wondered if you had any advice for creating ocs? one of my other moots asked if i had any ocs and now i REALLY want to create one. but it looks hard af. so turning to a venerable author for guidance

OHHHHH GOD. First of all, I gotta thank you for the description (😭 seriously), I'm trying my best out here.

SECOND. I think I might be able to help, depending on what sort of OC you're trying to make, whether they're real world, fandom related, alien, D&D/Medieval Fantasy etc. Like. WOAH. There's a lot of freedom in making OCs!!!

Long-ish post below the cut!

Instead of actually wracking my brains rn, because evening is drawing in and I'm tired, I am gonna tell you a few things that no one told me! Plus some extra fun knowledge (and maybe tag you in OC dialogue prompts/creation advice in future if you want some help!!)

SO. 1. You can start whenever, wherever, and no one is allowed to tell you otherwise. I'm not sure how else to say this, but it's a game of creativity and a bit of love. To tell someone else what they're allowed and what they aren't allowed to put in their OCs is WRONG. Give them magic powers if that's the only thing you can think of at first, because it's a start and a start is always beautiful.

2. Art is art!! Even if it stays in your brain and never comes out. By this I mean, appearances: what do they look like? Is it what You want to look like? Is it nonhuman? Experiment with races, hairstyles, eyeshapes etc, especially if you're gonna end up drawing them!! More practise, and it's fun, because it's something/someone that You are Interested in. Hopefully I'm making sense here!

3. Names. Oh god, baby name websites won't help you. But fantasy generator names can! They are often much better and more exciting. Back to separate cultures ^ — looking for famous people of the culture/race of your OC can sometimes be of assistance, or sometimes unofficial Census sites. Names can also be objects, plants, celestial bodies, Gods, colours, metals/elements, etc. Maybe, with a few letters missing. Chair -> Chaise, Tablet -> Tebley (two I came up with a while ago and didn't really go into)

4. Clothes! I love researching clothes because they're always interesting to analyse, especially if they come from somewhere else around the world. Experiment with colours, what works/doesn't work with your character? Is your character neat, tidy? Show that through their clothes! Primmed and pressed suits and whatnot. Same goes for the opposite. If your character's main trait is that they're agreeable and friendly, show that through their clothes even slightly by making the colours blend, maybe make their favourite colour limited on the outfit as if they're moving it to make way for others. Think about shape, silhouette, etc. Do the clothes fit your character's particular body type? Their habitat? Their scene/time? :)

5. Personality!! This is always great. For a few of my OCs, I rolled them D&D stats with a twenty-sided dice. The five I ALWAYS take into account are: joy — what brings them it, romantic interest — or sometimes lack thereof, sadness — do they often fall into it? Are they easily emotional? Etc, fear — what are they afraid of and why? Etc, and lastly, charisma/charm — how easily are people to follow them, want to be friends with them, fall in love with them, want to listen to them speak?

(5.5) Flaws! Everyone's got em, aside from Mary Sue (who could be Your character. I'm not judging.) There are plenty of posts talking about character flaws. Here's one I saw earlier. It explains it better than I could, and OP leaves another link! Think about how much it grates against their defining 'Good' quality, think about whether you would see them as a good or bad person, and whether their flaws change how other people perceive them.

6. Hobbies aren't an important factor exactly, but it's always nice to plan your Little Guy some downtime. What do they do when it's quiet or when they're lonely? Do they have many friends, or do they keep to themselves? What's their favourite book? Their favourite video game? Their favourite film? And how is that shown through their appearance too? (Such as merchandise, tattoos, piercings.)

7. Things I didn't mention consist of:

— do they have any disabilities (mental or physical)? Were they caused by something (accident to be mysterious about)? Or were they born with them?

— do you expect people to relate to them, like them, hate them, fall in love with them, etc? Both real people who may come across your character, and other people in this characters setting?

— hero or villain material? This isn't a fine line, but it doesn't have to be a blurred line. Redemption arc/story? Tragic hero falling to..? Revenge? Lust? Hunger for power?

— how they fit into the scenery or area around them, where they live and how they interact with people who surround them.

But, finally, do what you want. OCs can be tricky, but as soon as you learn that it is — in the end — You who control both them and You, it becomes a whole lot easier.

Blogs I recommend are @develop-your-oc and @creativepromptsforwriting — they both help a lot. <33

My final tip? Enjoy. And, if you don't, stop! Do what you want, forever. :)

#vee answers #god i hope this helped #i spent like an hour on this hahahah

[charmsandtealeaves]

💫 what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

Okay this one I’m taking time to answer because I’m gonna use some real examples (because I never delete shit from my AO3 inbox and I'm feeling a little self-indulgent this morning) so strap in:

1. Comments left in the bookmarks. It’s rare, I’ve only ever had it happen twice. But it’s a little window into someone else’s view and I love that shit.

In one someone quotes a line from the fic itself and follows it up with “I’m gonna use that, maybe, once I get bitches, gotta cut my hair for that.” The once I get bitches part had me genuinely laugh out loud for the first time in I don’t know how long. I really hope their endeavour panned out for them 🤣

2. Comments that quote parts of your own fic. I love seeing what parts of a piece of dialogue or scene really resonated with people.

This was fantastic! Oh especially the whole show bit, I enjoyed it too damn much! So well-written and funny, I was grinning like crazy! “But I work in a morgue, so the guys at work are not exactly the sort of stiff I want to be picking up. Naked Attraction please help me find a man who isn’t mortified to go home with a mortician!” - I remember this from the snippets and it's brilliant!

3. Comments from the same username on several chapters of a multi chapter. Those people are the bees knees and fill me with the warm fuzzies.

I can’t even begin to tell you how my heart soars whenever I see your name, @blondelunaa, @abihastastybeans and @practicecourts doing this. 10/10 kudos to you guys.

4. The “Sorry, I got too engrossed and forgot to comment” or “Re-reading!” Kind of comments. With fandom it sometimes feels like something is dead after a week without new kudos etc coming in. But comments like these prove that people are still reading and appreciating long after that.

Oooh ive gushed over this chapter before, but wow- this patronus scene is everything and more. I love the image of the stag, so powerful and magnificent - ima sucker for patronus reveals but this one takes the cake 🤩 and the end is perfect !!

5. The requests for more or a prequel/ sequel. Again rare (for me anyway). I got a few of these on a microfic but I’m gonna share the one:

I am obligated to inform you that I'm in dire need of a sequel. Or prequel. Or both, I won't complain...

6. The paragraph. I think these are the kind of comments everyone loves to get. Just a full paragraph of gushing about something you made.

Oh my goshhhh!!!! My heart!!!!!!! Thank you so very much for writing this <3 This is a perfect, heartfelt, beautiful glimpse into the "after" I requested. I'm so happy they resolved all their feelings! I love the sweet domesticity of the line "it's just me", like they're already an old married couple in Godrics, instead of two teenagers in the Heads Dorms. I feel like that line really helped set the tone of intimacy for the rest of the fic. I'm glad they talked about all their feelings and James doesn't have to be broody anyone xx Thank you for sharing Charms!

8. The full block caps shouting comment. The passion involved in that style of comment.

I SHOULD'VE BRACED MYSELF AFTER THAT AUTHOR'S NOTE

9. The one word/one liner comment. It's small but mighty.

This was fantastic!!!

This was fab. All the kudos to you 🌸 You are a very talented writer ⭐️

This was mad…I loved it

10. The comment from someone "fandom famous" who you thought wouldn't even know you exist. Exhilarating and also incredibly daunting when posting a WIP.

Ahhh the drama in this one!! Loved the James and Lily interactions. Sweet to see Alice and Lily's friendship in person for this one! Got some satisfaction from James hitting Pettigrew I won't lie lol. Glad to see Lily's not pregnant (yet)! Excited to see how you wrap this up!

11. The unexpected compliment comment. Someone paying your work a comment you weren’t expecting. I’ve highlighted a few here that I go back to when I feel like just throwing in the proverbial towel:

Hot damn, this is best court room scene I’ve ever read in fanfiction and most published novels. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time! I’ve been devouring this fic quickly because the dialogue is so freaking good- the perfect combination of fun banter but with a realistic flow- I feel like I’m reading conversations with my own friends. Also I don’t know if this makes sense but they everyone’s Britishness jumps off the page in a way that I love.

Woah! Broken can be a beautiful place to start. Mind blowing and emotionally a masterwork

Just read all of this in one sitting, love your writing! Look forward to reading more of your fics

Asfjksagf this fic is amazing!! It's nighttime here now and I thought to myself that I would just read a couple chapters and then finish it tomorrow - but I COULD NOT put it down!!! Had to devour it all together!! It was just so novel, so interesting, so fun! And the final scene with James holding and hugging Lily from behind had me positively melting the whole time ;A; incredible! <3

I’ve just found this story and I binged the whole thing \o/ Thank you so much for sharing it. The soulmate concept can be so tricky to navigate and I imagine it’s hard to come up with fresh takes on the Lily/James Patronus storyline, but all of this came together so seamlessly and the narrative is so engaging. Such a lovely experience, and I’m incredibly grateful to have stumbled upon it! Phenomenally done! \o/

#ask answered #lets get REAL writers asks #probably didn't need to be this long. but... I love commenters. #on commenting #on fandom

[andithiel]

2022 in fic

Thank you so much for the tag @mystickitten42 (you can read her answers here (which may or may not made me want to read all of them)) to post a line from each fic that I posted last year. Sadly, I didn't post as much as I would've liked. I've struggled with a major writer's block, as well as having a lot of things happening in real life. But I tried to remember my fandom wishes that I posted a year ago, and one of them was to be kind to myself, which I got to practice a lot.

Sweet Desire (Scorbus, 5,8k, Explicit. I tried to capture that feeling of new teenage love and trying out new things together)

Yes, yes, cheating by posting several lines as well as a break between them, but 1: I've only posted a few things this year so I think I can gush a bit about this one, and 2: this was the part that made me really want to finish writing this and posting it.

Here’s the thing about me: I’m not good-looking. Nor am I sexy. People assume that I am, I’ve seen the disappointment on their faces enough times to know that. It’s probably because I look so much like Dad, who is super famous, and good looks should come with that, right? [---] But here’s the thing about Scorpius: the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, it’s—it makes me feel sexy. Desirable, even.

(I'll cheat some more and include this line from Scorpius which I had so much fun crafting because i HC him as being very rambly and very into things, even in the middle of sex:)

Scorpius clambers to sit up again, eyes bright and twinkling. “Oh, good! I’ve been looking up techniques and different ways to do it, which, I’m sorry to say, hasn’t been easy. I mean these things aren’t really in any of our library books, which I honestly think is a shame because there should be at least something about having safe sex, but Alexis Fluke lent me a—well, to be honest, it was a rather graphic book, and it had—”

Sinking/Floating (Drarry, just shy of 1k, Teen and Up, sad Harry coping with the aftermaths of the war, inspired by this gorgeous art by @bluebutter-art)

My favourite line is really the last one but shhhh this is also a fave:

And it’s not perfect, not always: you still both have your scars and your trauma, and sometimes you still fight, screaming at the top of your lungs when the pressure is just too much. But however broken you and him are, somehow the ragged edges of the two of you fit together into something whole, something better.

Third Time's the Charm (Drarry, 693 words, Teen and Up. Cinderella AU I wrote for Drarropoly)

“If you don’t tell my mother about how I refused to dance even a single dance with anyone else at the festival, I won’t tell her about your disposition for adventure.”

I also did a few prompts for flufftober, but they're really too short to be able to choose a single line from, so I'll break the rules and choose my favourite drabble, which is the microfic for the prompt Truth or Dare:

“What’s the last lie you told?” Draco looks into guarded green eyes, helpless.  “No,” he finally grinds out. Playing Truth or Dare with Veritaserum was a stupid idea to agree to. “What?” Granger says, but Harry’s already in front of him, so close their lips are touching. “I knew it.”

I've been in and out of tumblr for the last months or so, and I have no idea who's done this (and also, is it maybe a bit late?), but on the off chance that someone wants to do this, I'll go ahead and tag @sassy-sassy3 @drarryruinedme7 @crazybutgood @julcheninred @evaeleanor @fictional @mags0607 @rei382

#2022 fic wrap up #if you can call it a wrap up with this meager outcome #drarry #scorbus #andithielwrites #not extensively but she still writes

[rotisseries]

i have no idea what scriptgate is and im too scared to ask anyone else pls pls explain bestie

oh god. this is how I know you don't look at all my posts (which is fair) but basically. there's this website 8flix that has LOTS of tv and movie scripts, including some stranger things ones. so byler fandom LOVES analyzing the scripts, bc they include like stage directions, and characters inner thoughts and stuff sometimes, and we've gotten some nice wins out of that, ("will isn't looking at the cute girl, he's looking at mike" you will always be famous)

so midway through july the dear billy script was being given out to donors, and it had some interesting stuff in it, so everyone went nuts and wanted the rest of them, so it's then announced we'll be getting the papa script on august 1st, again, only to donors. cool.

And then, it gets pushed back, to august 5th, last friday, (I can't believe it's already been a week) so this guy (nick) is making cryptic tweets about 4 chimes eastern time or whatever, and we all pick up that the script will be getting emailed out at about 4 pm est, and he's also been interacting with bylers a lot specifically and hyping it up bc we make up like 95% of the donors, and it's already been decided that those who are paying will immediately screenshot the important bits and post them, so comes 4 o'clock, and we're all refreshing the byler tag like crazy, but it's not out immediately. and at first we're like, yeah ok, this guy has to send the emails, AND then people have to post screenshots, so we'll wait a bit.

but then it's been an hour.

and then two hours.

and then three.

next thing we know, comes the announcement that he's having technical difficulties, and it will be released on saturday instead. same time. so saturday comes.

and we wait.

and we wait.

nothing.

here comes the announcement that YET AGAIN technical difficulties, he's going to work through the night, it will be emailed out sometime on sunday, but to hold us over, he posts a screenshot of a snippet of the van scene, which is what we all REALLY wanted to see. (the man knows his audience)

it includes the line "his [will's] own words cut deeply to the core. I hate who I am" as you can expect. sends the fandom into an ABSOLUTE frenzy. then, at like 6 in the morning, the full script drops, we spend all of sunday analyzing it to hell and back. we're finally happy. moments of peace.

then comes monday.

the twitter account for the stranger things writer's room says, and I quote, "PSA: any "leaked" season 4 scripts or script pages are FAKE. Do not pay anyone for scripts as this is a SCAM" (they also say that they'll start posting official script snippets of whatever we want to see)

so now we're all really confused? they didn't explicitly mention 8flix, but what else could they be referring to? #bylerscript has been trending on twitter for days now. but why didn't they mention it sooner? why didn't they say anything about pursuing legal action? why did people get copyright strikes for posting the 8flix scripts online? and 8flix looked legit? it's been running for years, it has thousands of scripts, and it's considered a valid resource for multiple ivy league film courses.

people are sending nick death threats, the mi|evens are laughing at us saying they knew it was a scam the whole time, all social media is a hellfire.

nick claims and continues to claim that if the scripts are fake, he didn't know it and also must've gotten fucked over by his source, I believe him, but his and 8flix's reputation is ruined now.

come wednesday. stranger writers twitter account runs a Twitter poll asking what we want to see. among the options is the van scene, we all vote for it, even though we think it's likely that they'll edit it before showing it to us, if there's even any evidence in there, and that option wins, we are now waiting for them to post it.

#you can scroll through my #scriptgate 2022 #tag for the full saga in meme format #stranger things #byler #ask #hi hella! I'm so sorry hella! #also sorry I probably could've given you a short version #also can I ask what kick-started this? #I've been posting about scriptgate for like a week now #why do you only ask now? #WAIT I JUST REALIZED THAT MAYBE MY EARLIER REBLOG IS JUST THE FIRST TIME YOU'VE SEEN ONE OF THE SCRIPTGATE POSTS?? #HOW?? #YOU'RE SO LUCKY #I was blogging about it constantly and you just kept managing to miss it?? #so sorry to break your streak ig #at least you weren't online for the sock anons either #you're so lucky byler nonsense keeps lining up with when you're offline