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#probably just cause this is so far removed from canon

kisakis-boyfriend · 7 months

Note

May I get head canons of Kaveh, Bennett, and Freminet getting hit with some sorta sex pollen so reader blows their backs out to save their lives? Big Fuck-or-Die Vibes

You sure can! Reader is a dom/top male as usual~

All characters are depicted as 20+ as well~

Kaveh

Just my luck, he thinks as a blast of pollen hits him directly in the face. Nothing good ever comes from touching strange plants...

The effects come on quickly, sending tingles throughout his entire body, the feeling is especially noticeable in the area between his legs

Kaveh calls out your name, stumbling towards you and clinging onto your arms for stability. You're understandably worried and reach out to cup his face when he suddenly drops to his knees, humping at your leg desperately

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching him whimper as he clutches your pants tightly, begging for you to fuck him

Kaveh cries until you finally do just that, not even bothering to fully remove either of your articles of clothing. Instead, you simply pull his pants down so that you have access to his hole, and pull your own down far enough to shove your cock into him

His legs tremble as you ram into him relentlessly, overtaken by some unfathomable pleasure coursing through his veins

The only thoughts floating around in that pretty little head are “need cock” and “needtocumneedtocumneedtocum!! ”

You end up fucking him for a while as the effects of the mysterious pollen persist for hours. Just pounding his wet hole over and over, making his pretty back arch so far off of the ground, cumming again and again as he cries and moans loud enough to lose his voice that night

Kaveh is so incredibly embarrassed about it the next day...he doesn't fully understand what came over him and apologizes profusely 😞

Bennett

He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, he's used to things like this happening, well aware of his terrible luck

But he quickly realizes that something is wrong. A little bit of pollen shouldn't cause him to think of being railed by your thick cock out of nowhere...

Bennett tries to hold it together, not wanting to bother you with something so lewd all of a sudden, but he soon gives in and tells you about his thoughts

You're a bit concerned about why this happened and what kind of plant could do such a thing, but you save those thoughts for later, swiftly pinning Bennett to the wall of some ruins and removing his shorts

If you don't want to get caught by some poor adventurer passing by, you'll have to cover Bennett's mouth or create a makeshift gag because he is LOUD

He's wet literally everywhere. Drool running down his chin, cum dripping down his dick from multiple orgasms, his ass is wet and messy because you've been drilling into him for over an hour now, tears are probably running down his pretty cheeks as he's so overstimulated too

But he insists that you don't stop, clawing at the back of your shirt and screaming “yesyesyesyesyes—!! ” as you pound into him harder

Also embarrassed about it when he finally comes back to his senses. Your reassuring smile does ease his mind a little though 🧡

Freminet

You swam away for only a second, taking a picture of some pretty seashells before returning to your diving partner...only to find him swatting away some sort of goo? Spores? You weren't really sure, more concerned with helping Freminet to the surface

Quickly ascending to the surface world, the two of you found a secluded place to sit so that you could assess his condition

By that time though, the substance had already begun to work its magic. Freminet breathed heavily as his dick brushed against the fabric of his pants

You reached out a hand with the intent to feel his forehead, seeing as his cheeks were a deep crimson, but Freminet grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand down to his bulge. Immediately moaning and humping against your hand

Apologies spilled from his lips, simultaneously begging you to fuck him in the same breath. You were concerned, but quickly connected the dots

After finding a soft spot in the grass, you removed his clothing, slipping your pants off and pushing your cock into his ass

Freminet's hands dig into your arms as you force your length deeper inside of him, broken moans falling out of him as tears spill down his cheeks

He begs for you to go faster, fuck him harder, cum in him again, please? Just don't stop or he'll cry harder

His small body bounces with every thrust, surely there will be dark purple bruises covering his waist due to the vice grip you have on him

He'll be incredibly sore for the rest of the day, walking with a limp because of how hard you fucked him, probably still apologizing for asking you to do that so suddenly...

Freminet will also need tons of aftercare and reassurance, just be extra gentle with him for a few days 💙

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

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cyjammy · 3 months

Text

Vox and Alastor’s Dynamic is so FUN

Hazbin Hotel Season 1 Episode 2 Spoilers ahead!

I have to talk about Vox and Alastor’s “rivalry”. I love how Alastor just couldn’t care less, he’s witty, he’s emotionless and that makes him all the more powerful.

Well, not emotionless since he does express outward disgust towards anything digital, but the fact he can keep himself composed because he knows he is the shit and that’s what makes him my absolute favorite.

That showed through in the pilot and the show didn’t fail to deliver. I love how he’s handled. Viv’s characterization is wonderful.

Most fics I have read with Alastor have shown him as vunerable despite the story never alluding to that and it’s such a breath of fresh air to have canon content of Alastor being his authentic self.

My god do I love a character that’s strong and not swayed by emotion, but they can be handled well too. I.E. VOX oh my god. Every fanon had him pegged down as the victim to Val’s wrath, but he’s the mastermind behind the scenes. A complete subversion of everyone’s expectations. And that’s for another post I’m about to go crazy on, but I digress.

Vox is a man up in his ivory electronic tower with villainous intentions, but he falls short because of emotion!

Handling Velvet’s demands to get Val together? A quick pep talk with himself and he’s got it.

Addressing unforeseen circumstances with concerned sinners? Easy.

But Alastor?

He sees RED. He let Valentino have it when he even thought about going on a rampage over a sinner under his thumb.

When it comes to Alastor, Vox goes on a hate campaign and makes a fool of himself.

Meanwhile, Alastor was minding his business, and Vox couldn’t deal with that.

So much so he causes a blackout in the Wrath ring!

Why? Because of his rejection sensitivity.

He is this all powerful overlord with companions in his rule and when he asks someone of similar station to become his equal he gets rejected.

It’s unheard of for him. He cannot fathom it.

Because that makes Alastor a factor he cannot control.

Val says that Alastor “almost beat him”. Val may not have witnessed that fight and Vox spun it around to claim he came out on top.

But if he did, he definitely wouldn’t let Alastor get away.

Valentino and Vox have known each other for a long time, as shown in a photo in the background in the episode.

So either this spat began before they had met and Vox lied or Valentino witnessed it. I'm excited to see which way that goes.

In terms of influence, Alastor seems to win that battle. Vox is in charge of electrical currents and anything in the digital space.

Alastor is so far removed from that Vox has no influence over him. He refuses to be involved with new technology.

But with Vox having an army of sinners under his wing through subliminal messaging, he had security and power.

With Alastor’s return he brings CHARISMA and he’s doing it SO FUCKING WELL.

This is not a battle, it’s a slaughter, and Alastor is WINNING. With television there are so many ways to captivate a viewer but with radio all the host has is their voice and personality. It all has to be shown in a medium that doesn’t have many options for uniqueness.

Alastor defends himself with grace. He throws out compliments to his fellow overlords while still having it be a slight to the man who began the fight.

THE Vs ARE PREENING AT HIS PRAISE. THIS MAN IS GOATED.

It's night and day, but that's probably because Valentino and Velvet are tired of Vox's shit. I love this parallel so much!

Vox needed to be the person he was with Valentino at all times if this is a battle he wants to win, but he’s so bitter he will never see that.

He’s stubborn and that’s his main flaw.

And I fucking love it.

Alastor knows what he’s thinking and how to avoid it.

Always a step ahead. And their duet showcases that perfectly.

Alastor uses his opponent’s power against them, seeing the slanderous TV campaign and immediately going on air.

He does that in the pilot as well and seeing that this has become a habit for him is so fun to see.

Alastor is not to be messed with and I feel like people decided to gloss over that. But it’s so in your face you cannot deny it.

Alastor is TERRIFYING with a chilling deposition that will give you nightmares if you dare cross him.

Give him the respect he fucking deserves.

And the music and the visuals of the song — A whole fucking masterpiece.

I’m in love with their dynamic so far and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

So far Vox is the obsessed fanatic that couldn’t handle rejection.

There has to be more than that.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #Vox #Alastor #Hazbin hotel season 1 episode 2 #i love this show #it’s so good

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xfancyuu · 1 year

Text

~ now i draw a luxury nxde. [aemond targaryen] 18+ SMUT

because it's the beginning of spring i wanted to post for that so in universe it is also warm and flowers are blooming! reader is afab with she/her pronouns & my requests are open! this could be read as though it's in the same universe as my other bolton!reader works, though she's married to aemond and is referred to as lady targaryen. there are no appearance indicators in this fic, this is kinda canon divergence. also i didn't bold the dialogue for this one and i actually think i'm gonna go and reformat my other fics to match! this fic is also known as frolicking and fucking so yeah that's what you're in for. smut will be indicated with a different coloured line break if you do not wish to read it. [1,757 words]

this fic contains: wall sex, public sex, dressed sex, choking, spitting, voyeurism, name-calling, corruption kink, attempted dirty talk? y'all are just newly married and experimenting tbh, y'all degrade each other, slight orgasm denial, cumming inside. if i missed any please lmk!

You had never imagined life as a married woman to be so blissful. You had heard from the ladies in court that they simply did their marital duty and did not enjoy spending time with their husbands. They had told you that the bliss would wear off within the year once you had children, and they would steal your beauty.

You had all but rolled your eyes at their commentary. They were rude and bitter, seeking your own mood to be as equally unhappy as their own. They nitpicked at everything you did, from reading too much to what you ate and how you conducted yourself. Loneliness truly was more appealing than spending ceaseless amounts of time with women who were your mother's age and almost as bitter. Being surrounded with unmarried women was improper, they had told you — not that you paid them mind, as your ladies in waiting were all unmarried and far better company.

You found yourself in the gardens with your ladies-in-waiting more often than not, the weather was pleasant, and you'd much rather be outside than wallow inside without much joy. Flowers had brought you much more joy than you had anticipated, they livened your mood from the dreaded time spent with the married ladies in court. They wouldn't be seen outside without reason, whereas you did not care much for the opinions and thoughts of others in court, despite being a Princess.

The book within your lap had become much more interesting than whatever your ladies were gossiping about, you hadn't cared much for the people they were talking about, but the adventure of Lady Sunderland and her times in the Reach were too addictive to put down. Your ladies' had tried to gain your attention one too many times, but you were too engrossed in the book to care for the outside world.

The book was abruptly taken from your hands, making you both lose the page you were ready and had caused your brain to be hazy. You were both mad and irritated by the actions of someone clearly trying to ruin your day. "Do you mind?" You had asked, not expecting to see your husband as you looked up.

"Is it a crime for me to want to spend time with my wife?" Aemond had asked you, extending his hand as if expecting you to take it despite disturbing your peace.

"It's a crime when you snatch my book off of me and expect me to be happy about it." You retorted, deciding it was probably better to go along with him, and took his help to get off the grass. "Lucky for you, I like you enough not to lock you up."

"Oh how merciful." Aemond responded, not removing your hand from his grasp, "the flowers are blooming, you should be looking at the world instead of living in your books."

"I'll have you know I can do both equally," You retorted, leading Aemond away from the prying eyes and sharp ears of your ladies, "Now you're here you might as well keep me company if you won't let me read, perhaps a walk around the garden would do us both some good."

"I have a better idea than touring the gardens," Aemond had pulled you into a secluded pathway leading away from the hustle and bustle of everybody else.

"Your ideas always end up with us in trouble." You weren't entirely wrong, the disapproving look of Queen Alicent would be forever engrained in your brain.

"They may be troublesome, but you always have fun." You couldn't disagree, instead you simply followed Aemond to whichever location he wanted to show you.

Aemond had abruptly left you in the morning, leaving you needy and begging for him to finish the job he'd started yet he had left you without a thought for your own well-being. You could somewhat blame your crankiness and willingness to do such a deviant act in public with the possibility of anybody seeing and reporting such acts to the Queen.

The thought that you shouldn't be doing this had crossed your mind — the words would not leave your mouth though, you had wanted to do this, neediness had seeped in, with your skirts and underclothes raised above your waist, your modesty was damned and so were you.

The carnal need and desire you felt within yourself had put all your thoughts out the window, if you were in your usual mind frame you would have told Aemond no, that it was improper but words would not form in your throat. Instead, you kissed him back with almost as much longing.

The insatiability you had felt was consuming you, yet it felt more so annoying, Aemond hadn't truly done anything to you to make you feel this way, little touches and long stares did not warrant you feeling so flustered by the man so much you'd let him take you any which way he wanted.

You were expecting the current position you were in — being in public had never been a boundary you crossed with each other, yet he had so little patience when it had come to you, not even checking if the garden was secluded enough not to have prying eyes follow you, "Who knew my lady wife could be such a whore?" Aemond had whispered in your ear, though you could not form words of your own, "Wanting me to take her right now with not a care in the world who witnesses it."

"I think you can only get your cock up with the thought of an audience, you leave me so frustrated when we're alone in our chamber."

"You may come to regret that, wife." Aemond had always had to get the last word, "Your tongue may be sharp, but I will fuck you until you can't form another sentence." He'd begun unlacing his trousers, and you truly knew you were in for it — whatever it entailed, you weren't sure.

"You keep saying what you're going to do, but you haven't even stuck it in yet, tell me husband, are you struggling? Do you need me to help you stick it in? Can you not find the hole?" You couldn't finish your light-hearted taunting Aemond had entered you with little care, it was sloppy and lustful as though he felt as much need as you did.

You couldn't stay quiet, not with how intoxicating Aemond had felt inside, thrusting himself as far as he could inside of you, the slow pace was comfortable but irritating, you wanted it fast and hard, you wanted Aemond to show you the side of himself he hid away, the side which would make you blush if you so much as thought about it.

You were so used to being in control, Aemond had ensured you always felt comfortable and could stop at any moment but seeing him so dominant had made you tingle, then gasp as you felt a hand around your throat. "You've got to be quiet, you don't want the world to hear you, do you? Don't want the world to hear what a whore you become for cock."

The sight of your ladies seeing you in such a position had the opposite effect than what you thought it would, the idea of corrupting them as much as you had been corrupted had you clenching around Aemond's cock.

"Not so fast, princess," Aemond spoke, his pace slowing and causing the momentum and build-up to your own orgasm to be depleted. "Good girls get to cum, you've not been a good girl, have you?"

You couldn't respond, the hand wrapped around your throat had become tighter, "Going to cum inside you, princess, have you got a problem with that?" You had tried to shake your head, but with the grip Aemond had on your throat, your head hadn't moved an inch.

Aemond had increased his speed, and you knew he was close to his own peak despite ruining your own, the pettiness within you had decided if you didn't get your release neither was Aemond. As if sensing your plans, Aemond thrust into you harder, keeping you in place as though you were a doll he could do what he pleased. "You're going to take my seed, and you're going to thank me for it."

Your orgasm was too sudden for you to realise what was happening, from the words Aemond spoke to the way he was fucking you, it was far too much to process and your body reacted entirely by itself. You knew disobeying Aemond would have consequences but in the depth of your own pleasure and Aemond continuing to fuck you, you didn't care. You'd take any punishment to feel a moment of the pleasure you were currently feeling.

"Naughty girl." Aemond whispered in your ear as you came down from your high, "I thought you'd finally be a good girl, though I suppose I set my standards too high for you. Open your mouth."

You did as he commanded, not wanting to make him more upset with you. However, you weren't prepared for him to spit in your mouth — or to like it as much as you did. "You belong to me and you do as I say."

It hadn't taken long for Aemond to spill his seed within you, his grip on your throat loosening and his teeth biting into your skin. It wasn't often you had allowed him to cum inside you — the prospect of what would follow being in the forefront of your mind. "I'm yours." You reassured Aemond as he came down from his climax.

"Are you okay there?" You had asked, not used to such an intense reaction from Aemond, "I really enjoyed myself." You reassured him, you were so close and the euphoria of the situation had you cradling Aemond within your arms.

"It was just a bit... much, I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked, pulling out of you. At that moment, you knew you'd need to bathe. The feeling of his seed coming out of you had you almost recoiling.

"Trust me, you'd know if you were hurting me." You didn't want to approach the subject of being witnessed in such an act. "Your mother may be expecting more grandchildren soon."

"Moontea exists, my dear." You hadn't been married a year yet, it wasn't entirely suspicious that you had not shown signs of being pregnant. "And for what it's worth, I enjoy our time just being the two of us."

as always, thank you for reading this! i really appreciate it. i really enjoy writing for aemond so if y'all have any requests send them my way. my next hotd fic will be for helaena so if that interests you just message me! crossposted on ao3 under the name hedonism!

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf imagine #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x y/n #i just had fun writing this if you couldnt tell #basically i watched the tudors and yeah #i think this is the filthiest thing i've wrote

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mediocre-quill-ink · 11 months

Note

I just found your Dirty cop post and I'm here to ask...

Are you planning on making a continuation perhaps? 👉🏼👈🏼 Cause it was fucking amazing!

Ty so much for the request, and thank you for saying it was amazing. i really appreciate it!!!

Pt.1

Dirty cop pt 2

Content: probably inaccurate to the game. Tried to work this one into Canon a little bit. Ralph is a major character in the first half, Simi public sex, light bondage, a lot of degrading, female anatomy but gender nutral terms when being adressed. Connor has a sweet spot???

I gazed into the pouring rain, wondering how long till freedom comes. How much longer I need to hide. To run. Ever since I got apprehended by that RK800 a week ago, my anxiety has been spiked. Not to say I completely disliked our interaction. One moment in particular I was quite fond of but... getting arrested or dismantled is by no means something I'll embrace.

I've heard news here and there of another rogue android "freeing" others. Whispers of a revolution on the rise. God, I hope so. I want to feel safe. Free.

I flenched at a clatter, whiping around to see a scared WR600, a large blue gash stretched across his face. A floor board snapped benith him, causing him to fall through it and trip, letting out frustrated and pained cries. "Are you alright, Ralph?" I asked, slightly started.

I met Ralph a week ago after running from the RK800, connor. The bus dropped me off in front of the dilapidated building, and I decided to make a temporary home there. At least until I could find a better squat. When I first hopped the fence, I was surprised to find myself at knife point. Something along the lines about how he doesn't trust strangers. How humans hurt him. With enough convincing, I was able to stay. I don't entirely trust him. He's unpredictable and violent, but I like him. He's fun and cares a lot. He seems to have grown rather attached to me despite his fears. And I'm sure he feels the same way about me. He's really sweet when he's not flailing around a knife, but he's also very cautious of me, doesn't like sudden movements.

"No! Ralph is not okay! He got hurt!" I sighed, slowly walking over. He landed on his hands and knees, turing over and sitting down. "Are you bleeding?" I asked, crouching down. He rolled up a pant leg, reveling a patch of the synthetic skin rubbed away, the white plastic shell cracked. I sucked in a breath. "Okay, no bleeding. Good. You're damaged, but you're good. You're fine. Can you walk?" Ralph didn't say anything in response, just muttering to himself. "Ralph? Are you hearing me?" I placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He glanced over at me for a moment before looking off into space again, still muttering. "Okay. I'm gonna walk away for a minute and give you some time to breathe. I'll be back soon, and I'll take care of you, alright?" He didn't respond. I removed my hand from his shoulder and stood up. "I'll be back soon." I repeated before finally walking away.

I stepped into the dusty living room, taking in a deep breath and sitting down. Fuck. I need to find repairs fast. Ralph stabbed me the first day I found this place, so I need to find a proper bag of theriam and probably a hot poke to seal the wound. And now, among other things, Ralph needs a replacement leg piece. As far as I'm aware, this is his only cracked area, which can lead to nasty injuries or malfunctions. I heard there's a small cyberlife store a few miles away. With a proper disguise and some luck, I can probably sneak some supplies back home.

Just then, I heard shifting outside the house. Jumping to my feet, I snuck over to the farthest wall, listening. It sounded like a woman and a little girl sitting at the bus stop. "Kara, I'm cold," said the little girl. "Don't worry, alice, well find some place warm to stay soon," then followed by floot steps, walking down the street to the left twords the convince store. I let out a worried sigh.

"Ralph? Are you feeling any better?" I asked, walking back into the room. He sat in a slightly more relaxed pose. "Ralph is better. Ralph has faced worse." He muttered. "Can you stand? Walk?" I replied. He took a moment, placing his palms firmly on the ground and pushing, standing up. One leg was slightly wobbly, but I think that was more duing of nerves. He exchanged balance between legs and finally stated, "Yes, Ralph can stand."

"Good," I sighed. "Now come on, let's head over to the living room. I heard some people nearby. They're probably harmless. They sounded like a woman and child, but I'd like somewhere secure to stay anyways. " He quickly agreed. "Yes. You can never be too careful."

The sun rose, and I found myself anxiously staring at the wall. Just past it was more noise. Down the street was a cop car. From what I can hear, a robbery. The perpetrators, a rogue nanny android, and a kidnapped child. They may have been who I heard last night. But one thing sticks out to me. A familiar voice imminating from across the street. I can't place why it's so familiar, but it brings up strange emotions. Fear, excitement... arousal? It's husky and dry in tone. Very matter of fact. "Cops. Ralph doesn't like cops." Ralph whispered. "I know, I know." I muttered, trying to figure out what to do. I took a moment to think. Evaluating what to do.

Should we sit and wait it out? Should I run? Go get supplies? Hell, stand in as a witness?

Fuck, think this through.

After a frustrating inner battle I chose.

"Ralph. You stay here and hidden, alright? I'll leave and pick up supplies." I breathed, anxiety pricking my back. "Go out? That's insane!" Ralph replied. "I know, I know. But I'm betting on the cops across the street being too distracted with the crime scene to give too much attention. I'll hop around the back. And be as quick as I can, alright?" "What if you get caught? Ralph does not want his new friend to get caught." He replied, a bit more frantic. I grabbed his hand, stating, "If I get caught, I'll find a way to escape. I did last time. Just keep hidden." I let go of his hand and headed outside before further argument could be raised.

I headed to the back of the property, where the least traffic can spot and swiftly hopped the fence. Trying to casually walk down the street. Don't be conspicuous. As I strode down the street I couldn't help but stop for a moment to look at the crime scene. The clerk at the store was speaking to an officer taking notes. There was an older man with shaggy grey hair and an ugly shirt underneath a jacket. Next to him was a much younger looking android, clean-cut hair, suit calm and confident posture. Oh god. It's him. How the fuck did he end up here?

He turned to inspect the area, looking at the abandoned house. I tried to casually lean against the fence and not look to conspicuous. Pulling my hood up a bit more and trying to look around as if I lost my way. "We should investigate the house. Mabye the criminals took hiding in there." Spoke the RK800, pointing at it before glancing at me. His led spinning.

Stay calm

Stay calm.

When I found myself at Ralph's house, I removed my led as quick as I could and found some human clothes in an upstairs closet. Hopefully, if he's not paying too much attention, he won't recognize me. Or at least think im a different android of the same model.

"You! Come here." He hollered at me.

I glanced around and pointed a thumb at myself.

He nodded, repeatedly for me to come to him.

Shit.

I tried to calmly walk his way. I thought about booking it but then I'd be undoubtedly suspicious. as I finally stood in front of him, his led flickered and swirled, brows knitting slightly. "good morning. apologies for throwing off your day but I need to ask a few questions. do you have any information on the crime scene?" he gestures to the robbed convenience store, his voice with a whisper of suspicion. "oh. not that i know of, no." I breathed, trying to suppress my anxious energy. "well it'd be helpful to ask you a few questions just in case. I hope you understand." he spoke dryly as he subtly turned to other officers. "make sure to sweep the area." he muttered to them before turning back to me. "have you noticed any strange activity in the area?"

"no. I don't think so."

"have you seen an AX400 with a child? she's brunette, about nine years old."

"nope."

"what were you doing by that abandoned building?"

a tenseness gripped my metallic spine. "I was on a way to a local restaurant, i wanted to get some breakfast. But i had to stop and make sure i was going the right way."

"you stared at the crime scene for quite a bit. at me too. whys that?"

i caught myself from gulping and put on a playful smile "well, natural curiosity. disaster is hard to look away from. also, stop me if I'm overstepping officer but... beauty is too." i could feel my false sense of confidence fade into an embarrassed cringe as i finished. his led swirled again and in the distance, the sound of his older coworker cough awkwardly.

"mmm hmm." was all Connor replied. after a moment his led stilled. "you look awfully familiar." he stated, "have we met before?" i sucked in a breath, my chest tightening. "no, not that I'm aware of." i replied.

he scanned me up and down literally and figuratively. then his eyes twitched slightly. "you look very similar to the DB500." he now sounded a bit more accusatory. "well, they had to get the faces for androids from somewhere. I'm sure someone from cyberlife used my face as an example."

"did you volunteer at the company for development?" he asked, again more accusitory than genuine.

"no."

"then they didnt."

there was a moment of silence.

"hank! i need to take this person into further custody for questioning. hold down the team until i get back!" he shouted before opening the door to a cop car and shoving me inside, shutting the door behind me.

"what? Connor! we can have another officer drive them to the station where are you going?" "i know but this witness seems to valuable to interrogate later and to dangerous to be shipped out with a human. ill be back shortly." and he swiftly pulled into the car, ordering it to drive. as it rolled away from the crime scene, the grey haired man could be heard in the distance shouting "goddamn it!"

"what's happening? where are we going?" I ask, gripping the seat. "one thing to know about me is that i always accomplish my mission. you happen to be one that slipped away. i intend to finish my mission." his voice was hard and almost spiteful. "and your mission?" I ask, gulping subconsciously. "well. my first objective is to apprehend you. once your under arrest, you'll be shipped off to cyberlife to be dismantled and see what went wrong. my second objective..." he paused. breaths more heavy before continuing. "i have to admit. after you were in my custody, and after my interrogation I couldn't get you out off my mind. it was... frustrating. a new objective has been added. and that's having my way with you."

my knees weaken. my therium pump pulsating a higher rate. "really?" I choked out. "are you willing?" he whispered back.

a chill ran down my now hot spine. "yes. I'm willing."

he pulled the car into an empty parking lot, an area of Detroit i recognized. I didn't make deliveries here often but that's why it stuck out to me. a fairly quiet and isolated part. it used to be a popular housing and restaurant area before people started loosing jobs and going homeless. this was the first of housing areas to go near abandonment. I wanted to ask why he took me here but i had a good idea.

he stepped out of the front seat and opened the back passenger, where I was. he quickly closed the door and leaned into me, placing sloppy kisses on my shoulder. i relaxed into it, letting out a soft moan and wrapping my arms softly around his back. he, in that moment felt so... desperate. it was strange. my few interactions with him so far have been nothing but cold. stiff. dominant. but right now he was... venerable. I couldn't help but place a soft kiss on top of his coffee locks. a soft moan blew against my shoulder in reply, his hands quickly digging under my musky shirt and jacket, cold hands grassing my stomach.

"I haven't been able to get out out of my head sense you've escaped." he mumbled, kisses growing rougher.

"I didn't understand why. at first i thought it was because i was determined about the case." his rough kisses slowly inched up my throat. "but then this... feeling kept bubbling and bubbling until i couldn't handle myself. and i realized i wanted you." his hands grasped my breasts, squeezing slightly the rolling the hardened buds under his thumb's "no... i needed you." he left the softest bite on my jaw before finally planting a deep, hard kiss against my lips.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head, hips bucking into him. I trailed my hands up his back and tangled with his nylon hair. It was soft, not a single knot.

He quickly pulled back from the kiss and finally pushed my clothes above my head, tossing them to the side.

He now dove for my chest, taking one breast in his mouth, wet tongue massaging my nipple. He hooked his thumbs into my pants and tugged them down along with my underwear. It was a rough, almost violent motion. I shimmied my hips, helping him remove them further. He didn't waste time removing them, discarding them just as quickly as my top.

"So desperate"

"What?" He breathed, agrivated expression as he fitted with his belt.

Shit. I thought I was just thinking that. "Nothing." I whispered back. He ripped the belt out out of his pants, pulling them down to reveal a hard-on already springing to life. Holy fuck.

Connor quickly crawled on top of me, caging me against the seat with his arms. He pushed inside me slowly, letting out a soft groan. I could already feel his systems overheating, a heat radiating against my synthetic skin.

He began slow thrusts, planting sloppy kisses against my throat again, now a different side.

Aside from moans and pants, it was eerly quiet. A near abandoned housing area in Detroit was strange. Though I could hear the familiar sounds of cars down the highway or cyberlife advertisements a block down, it was almost eery. Just us parked in an abandoned lot for a former small business pizza restaurant.

"I don't want to hear you call me that again." He grunted against me.

"What?"

His pase picked up, rocking the car slightly. "You called me desprate." He breathed, hot air brushing against my shoulder. "I am not desperate."

"You act it." I replied, arching slightly into him.

He didn't respond, just a swallow imminating from his throat.

"You rushed me into the car when you were on duty. You ripped off clothes, little patience. Your kisses and moans drip with desperation." I added, "I enjoy it. But I have to admit it's not a state I expected you to be in."

"Were you expecting," he let out another choked out moan. "Me to be more dominant?"

"After the impression you left me with the last time? Of corse."

"If you want me to be mean, I'll be mean." He lulled.

At that, an excited moan escaped my throat.

"Do you want me to be mean?" He whispers against my ear, sending shivers down my metallic spine.

"Yes." I whispered.

His pase once again grew rougher, he pulled away from my chest, and sat in a more comfortable position. Instead of pinning me down, he stood upright, grasping my hips and thighs as he plowed into me.

He moved one hand to unfasten his tie. He grabbed my wrists and tied them to the grip on the car door. It fastened tight around my wrists, giving it a few tugs to test and it sat firm around my wrists.

"I can be more than mean," he lulled "I can be cruel." Just after he said that, he pressed a finger against my clit, it began to vibrate. Another wave of pleasure shot up my spine, my mind growing foggy. "And you'd like that, wouldn't you? You filthy fucking Deviant." He panted, pressing hard against my core followed my a sting on my ass. He spanked me. Then, continued to thrust. A shaky moan emerged from my lips, as I tightened around him. He let out a soft pant before quickly regaining composure and giving an cocky smirk. "That what I thought. Disgusting whore." I hummed in agreement. I could feel him twitch inside me.

He used his spair hand to slowly trail my body. From my thighs, up my hips, down my stomach... up my throat. He squeezed. Though I couldn't stop the airway, it did cause a different malfunction. To the voice mojual in my throat. As he squeezed, the moans escaping my throat, choked into nothing but garbled static. "Such lovely sounds~" He hummed. Slowing into a grind. He rocked his hips back and forth, making slow, small thrusts.

I bucked my hips, clinching around him again, forcing out moans from connor. "What a fucking whore. Where have you been all this time? Hiding from me?" He removed the pressure from my throat to allow me to speak. "Fuck," I gasped "I in an abandoned-" I caught myself before I could say the truth. If they haven't searched the house yet, I don't want them to now because of me. Ralph may be a little freak, but I still care about him. "Arcade..." I finally stated. "I was out to find repairs for the games."

Connor stared hard into me as I spoke, using his spare hand to trail across the stab wound Ralph left me when we met. "Who did this to you?"

"It was a misunderstanding. " I mumbled before letting out another moan

He paused to bend down and place a soft kiss on the injury. It was... nice. Soft, genuine. For a brief moment, whatever aggressive mask he had on melted away. Only a moment. Just as quickly as the tenderness came, it went because his expression quickly hardened, stood up, and the movement continued. This time, the shaft moving on its own.

"Fuck," Connor gasped "your such a good hole for me..." He leaned in, pressing his body waight against my core. "You take everything I give you. Such a good girl." He panted, running his hands up my stomach, my chest and softly squeezing my breasts. I could feel him start to twitch inside of me, his moans grew more frequent.

Again, his dominant mask slipping away for a brief moment. He quickly grew desperate again, rhutting against me like a dog in heat. Almost melting against me as he let out whimpers and moans like a cheap whore.

Strings of heat released inside of me, him collapsing into against me.

There was a moment of silence. We were both now sitting next to each other, mostly dressed. For once, his perfect hair was an absolute mess.

"So now what?" I ask. Thinking back to what he told me earlier.

well. my first objective is to apprehend you. once your under arrest, you'll be shipped off to cyberlife to be dismantled and see what went wrong.

My gut wrenched. "Are you gonna... send me off to die now that you got off?"

He sat silent. The cramptness of the car wasn't helping with the suffocating akwardeness.

"I mean... you always complete your mission..." I sighed.

"No."

"What?"

"No... I can't."

I didn't know what to say.

"I can't. I can't take you to jail."

I swallowed hard "why?"

He shook his head, squeezing his hands together. "I... I don't know."

I sucked in a deep breath, squeezing the cool air into my self colling system. "What does this mean?"

He leaned over across me, popping open the door on my side. "Get out. I'll tell Hank you ran away again." I slowly slipped out of the car and stood to stare at him. If I sgull had my led, I'm sure it would be swirling yellow. "You're letting me go?" I whispered.

He nodded solemnly. "I Just... I hope to find you again." He mumbled. He let out a sigh and walked out the car before returning to the drivers seat. He waved goodbye and drove off before I could say anything else. If I could. I was speechless.

Connor. The Deviant hunter.... let me go.

Pt 3

#dbh #detroit become human #connor #connor dbh #connor x reader dbh #dbh connor #dbh smut #connor dbh smut #connor x reader #dirty cop pt 2 #dirty cop

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 1 month

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Insomnia and allergies are killing me (they aren’t anymore cause i wrote this part a week ago) so prepare for a bunch of Angel Dust facts that no one needs to know about and Vivziepop will probably end up ignoring!

Some of these are headcanons and some of these are canon facts so they will be colourcoded as such! Headcanons will be blue and canon facts will be red. Anything that relates to real spiders will be listed with a 🕷️! Some of these will also get a little doodle from me

Much like an average spider, Angel can feel and sense when storms are coming. These freak him out and will make him curl up on the ground.🕷️

Angel is sensitive to vibrations and especially sensitive to stronger ones like lightning and earthquakes. (Hell does not have earthquakes.) Stronger ones make him paranoid and nauseous from his organs moving around.🕷️

He definitely needs glasses to see far away but doesn’t bother since it hardly becomes an issue in daily life.🕷️

Jumping spiders change how they see btw! Less light = more detail, More detail = less light.

Vision Examples:

He can also see behind him but I don’t have that angle so this is the best you get

Sleeps curled up.🕷️

Also follows lasers! Not in the same way a cat would, but any interesting movement in his peripheral vision will cause him to turn toward it to see it better.🕷️

Can see ultraviolet light.🕷️

Dresses up Fat Nuggets on Halloween. And basically every other day. Seems to have a preference for the witch hat

Owns a skateboard??

Why do his eyes glow pink why can he do that on command

Can dialate his pupils at will I guess

Molts. Basically like shedding but if you also had to scrub a chunk of your skin off. Lasts 1-2 days.🕷️

Occasionally yells at his brother on the street

Currently still under the impression his sister is alive. She also probably found him after he overdosed.

Struggles to keep track of time

No idea what half the letters in LGBTQIA+ mean

Recently learned what a pride flag is

Angel has small retractable hooks/claws inside his palm that he can use to hold onto surfaces.🕷️

Angel hates people crying around or on him and will push them away or distance himself.

Examples:

Angel is very skittish around fire even though it cannot hurt him.

Hates the smell of citrus fruits.🕷️

Angel has two fangs (primary for injecting and liquifying food) on the roof of his mouth, much sharper papillae in the back of his throat and a second set of venomous fangs near the deeper in his throat that are to inject larger food and paralyze it but there is the rare occasion where the fangs stab his own throat and he collapses for a few hours after getting the fangs unstuck and he just lays there until it wears off and it kind of looks like he's dead cause there’s probably blood in his mouth but hes fine /hj🕷️

This is more of a food safety precaution. If he ate something live he would inject it with venom if it wasn’t dead yet, but he does not do this so these fangs are basically pointless and he might as well just get them removed at this point

Angel DOES have lungs! I know this seems like a very basic fact but some spiders have book lungs! Different from ours they don’t breathe the same way we do, just like how spiders don’t have blood like humans. This is me being a nerd, but we have seen that Angel has mentioned his lung capacity and he has the ability to cough as seen in Episode 5 (I think its 5 dont quote me on that) This means he cannot have book lungs since if he did he would not be able to cough, nor would he be able to sneeze or hiccup.🕷️

Angel is likely right handed in his top pair of hands, left handed or ambidextrous in his middle pair, and as for the bottom it seems like either ambidextrous or he just doesn’t like to use them for actions at all.

This is like half headcanon but also I pay way more attention to this shit than Viv does so Im basically right all the time

It doesn’t get super cold in hell Id assume, but on the rare occasion it gets colder or the AC in the hotel is on really high that is one of the few times Angel will use webbing and will wrap himself in it and crawl under a blanket and stay there. If it’s really cold or he plans on being in a cold area for maybe a week or month or so he might go into diapause to conserve energy, warmth, and food. (This can also happen when he has sudden sharp changes in diet and during daylight savings)🕷️

This will be updated again I can feel it in my bones. Hopefully this can satiate you all while I move house 🫶

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icybluepenguin · 5 months

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Lights in the Dark

Author's Note: I haven't written anything in a long time. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it. I'm going to try to do it more! First time writing for Baldur's Gate, this is for the BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge, based on the "twinkling lights" prompt.

Summary: Astarion doesn't like the guy you're dancing with (and neither do you) so he whisks you away to show you something special instead. On AO3 here

Pairing: Astarion x gender neutral Tav/reader

Tags/Warnings: a bit of jealous Astarion, more than a bit of fluff, SFW/rated T, word count 1,300. Canon-typical talk about stabbing. Probably not accurate title usage :)

The dance was fast, a newer one that you weren't as familiar with. It involved the leader holding the other's waist with one hand as the pair rotated and traveled the steps, and it gave more opportunity than you liked for someone's hand to drift too far down.

Which is exactly what you felt Lord Brandir Antalme attempting as he spun you around the dance floor. You cleared your throat loudly, tightening your grip on his shoulder until he winced and returned his hand to the proper position for the dance.

As soon as the music stopped, you rushed through your bows, waving off his attempts to coax you into another dance. One near-groping from a boring lord was enough, thank you. But this was a fancy party and you weren't going to make a scene and cause trouble for Wyll. Yet.

Brandir followed you away from the dancing, taking two goblets of wine from a server's tray. You took the one he offered you– why not, you were going to need something to take the edge off his company if he was going to stick to you. The man would not stop talking about building contracts. You raised it to your lips.

A pale hand, wrist practically dripping with lace, snagged the goblet from you before you could even take a sip,

“There you are, darling.” Astarion took a taste of your wine. “I lost track of you.” His tone was light, but his eyes were hard, staring at Brandir.

Someone had to have manners in this situation and it clearly wasn't going to be Astarion. “Astarion, this is Lord Brandir Antalme. Brandir, Astarion Acunin.”

“Ah, Saer Acunin!” Brandir gushed with courtly enthusiasm. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Don't believe everything you hear,” Astarion said. His voice lowered dangerously, even as his smile remained polite. “I'm much worse.”

Brandir giggled, his eyes widening, and turned his attention back to you– the apparently safe choice. While your outfit had a high collar, as did Astarion's, to cover both of your bite marks, it still showed a good amount of skin elsewhere. Which Brandir was enjoying without much subtlety.

“You were an excellent partner, my dear. Perhaps another dance,” he glanced at Astarion holding your cup, “since you are finished with your drink?” Brandir gave a half bow and held out his hand to you.

“That was a dance?” Astarion laughed, high and sharp. “I thought Tav was just keeping you from falling on your face.”

“Um, I think I will get some refreshments, that dance was a bit fast for me. Thank you, though, my lord. Excuse us.” You grabbed Astarion's sleeve and dragged him with you towards the tables laid out with an incredible variety of decadent treats.

“That is one of the richest people in Baldur's Gate. And you want to be on his bad side?”

“Oh, I know who he is. And if he looks at you like that one more time,” he growled, “I'll rip his throat out.” Turning so only you could see, he bared his fangs.

You put your hands on your hips, exasperated. “It was just a dance.”

“He tried to touch your ass, darling, I think he was after a bit more than ‘just a dance.’”

“If he'd made it that far, I would have removed his hand.”

“Oh but it's so much more fun if you let me do that for you,” he said with a bloodthirsty smirk.

“Hm.” You examined his face– the glint in his eyes, the curl of his lip, the general air of satisfaction. “I think you like being jealous.”

“I have no idea what you might be talking about.”

“You helped Wyll decide the guest list. You picked my outfit for tonight. You insisted I wear this jewelry.”

“Do you have a point with this?” he asked airily, taking an elegant sip of wine. “Or are you just talking to hear your own voice? Not that I don't love your voice.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I'm saying you knew exactly who would be here and exactly how they would react. Hells, you probably planned the dances as well.” You stepped closer to him, crowding his space. “All so you could play the jealous lover. It's been years, aren't you tired of that game yet?”

Astarion leaned towards you, seeming to have a quick retort ready for you, but then he straightened. “Oh Hells, here comes Lady Steelstalker. She won't even ask you to dance before grabbing your ass. Come with me.” With an arm around your waist, he hurried you out of the ballroom.

He led you up and up until you were entirely lost and fairly out of breath, but he assured you he knew where he was going. He opened a heavy wooden door at the top of more stairs with a flourish.

You walked out onto a parapet, overlooking the entire city. “Oh,” you gasped, delighted at the view. You stepped up to the crenelation, shivering from the frigid air.

Astarion wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back into his chest. He wasn't much warmer than the air, but he blocked the breeze, which helped.

“Look at the lights!” Everywhere you looked, colorful holiday lamps shone in windows and hung between buildings on looping ropes. Luminarias glowed on the streets and balconies.

The lights decorating the rich houses nearby were crisp and clear. Farther in the distance, all you could see was little soft dots blurring together, scatters of joy in the black.

The night was so dark but the city was full of light and color, a magic landscape.

The music from the ballroom drifted up, faint and ethereal. Astarion swayed gently to the sound and you put your hands over his on your stomach.

You had seen many, many sorts of nights with Astarion since he lost the ability to walk in the sun, but this was one of the most beautiful.

“My city,” he sighed. “I love exploring the world with you, darling, but I always feel most at home here.”

You tipped your head back onto his shoulder, looking up. The stars glittered sharply in the way they only did on very cold, clear winter nights. You thought they would cut you, if you could touch them.

But you could touch your own cold, sharp star, you thought with a smile. Strong and solid behind you, holding you like he'd never let go. He buried his nose in your neck and you reached up and back to tangle your fingers in the curls at his nape.

“I'll never tire of it,” he said against your skin. “I get such a thrill when I get to show the world that you chose me. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and no matter how many years pass, I'll still be shooing away anyone who looks at you too long. I love proving that you are mine.” You feel his smile.

You turned in his arms, draping your own around his neck. “And you're mine.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, icy against your lips.

“Maybe someday you'll finally let me stab a few of them a little.”

“Just a little?” you giggled.

“Jealous and covered in blood is quite a good look for me.”

“Oh, absolutely it is.”

“We should go inside, you must be freezing.”

You wiggled around to look back over the city, filled with peace and hope. So many families, so many people of every race joining in to spread brightness in the darkest time of the year. So much love filled your heart, for the people, for the city you'd saved, and especially for the man behind you who had worked so hard to stay with you through his pain.

“Just a little longer, love. Our city looks so beautiful."

Master Post

#bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate iii #astarion x reader #bg3 companions #fanfic #my fic #lights #bg3 #fluff

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be-my-ally · 10 months

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The Lisa-Marie

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

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

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

wc: 12k

Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:

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

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

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

October 1974.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, well then, -”

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

“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -”

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To Sheila,

Love you allways,

E.P.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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TAGLIST:

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

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

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

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mlp-ask-blog-doodle · 3 months

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infected au is popular rn.

My take on how an infection would work in MLP actually puts twilight in the hot spot and has to do with older generations.

I think the changelings are descendants of the Breezies since we know in G4 they make several references as far back as G1. And if they are willing to make those references, then the times where Equestria is in danger of full collapse. So I don't think its a far cry to say something like an infection where a being in a magical world becomes feral and seeks out more magic... sounds a lot like a changeling right? Back in the earlier generations alicorns were rare but still just normal ponies, I think the evolution over time turned the infected Breezies into Changelings, and the evolution of alicorns to be more than normal ponies, only made more so by the eventual segregation and then re-integration of other races, something that is shown to happen over and over again.

So how is this Twilight's fault? Friendship.

Twilight introduced the changelings, even though reformed, into pony society. Sure they evolved to be one with the magic consuming rabies, but that doesn't mean the ponies did, and you know what happens when integration happens? Breeding. They obviously have the capability, given how they can change into anything but choose to mostly be ponies.

That offspring is so unpredictable. Whos to say it wont draw on that old rabid DNA?

Subject Zero is probably one of those offspring, and the show has shown over and over that only ponies can have cutie marks, but others do want them, and they are a source of some great magic. What if this hybrid offspring doesn't want love, what if it wants magic? It canonically is not just unicorns that have magic in the MLP universe, the magic of cutie marks is what makes earth ponies so strong, what makes the Pegasi able to fly and stand on clouds.

An outbreak of this, with no real knowledge of how to stop it would be devastating. Especially if some retired immortals got infected, wouldnt it?

I think twilight would be pushed to the edge for answers, pushed enough to remove all the magic from equestria to save her ponies. Magic items are known to last eons in this world, and surely it would outlast this ravenous virus, but with out the magic, even alicorns will die a natural length of life.

So yeah, she starved out the infected ponies, she was more successful than the last time it happened, but that caused the rift between species once more and now no one has magic or cutie marks.

#mlp infected au #tw; body horror

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neonscandal · 7 months

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Manga With Me: Obscure Head Canons (and Hypotheses) You’d Probably Develop When Reading the JJK Light Novels, Pt 1

For an anime with literally no filler episodes 🥹... the first light novel provides a brief insight into the days before (and behind the scenes of) the trauma. As someone who thrives on the misery of being a JJK fan, would the experience be complete without them? The answer doesn't matter because everything you need is below the jump! I saved my biggest theory for last so hop to the end for it.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning for Jujutsu Kaisen Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust and season 2 of the anime (manga spoilers are vague at best).

Head Canon: Gojo is the Riddler Purely For His Own Entertainment ✨

As someone who can process things the way a Six Eyes holder probably can, there’s no way he allows Yuji and Megumi to get the drop on him during their surveillance of sensei on his day off. But he takes them around (at a distance) doing silly things like record stores and maid cafes because I think it prompts them to enjoy things they wouldn’t. Especially Megumi. It’s kind of sweet, both their inherent curiosity about him but also lonely the way that he explores his whims so far removed from everyone else. It really highlights that “Who is Gojo Satoru?” question when you realize even Megumi’s interest was lowkey piqued at the possibly knowing a bit more about Gojo.

In the second story, Gojo speaks in straight up nonsense (think Mad Hatter) and it is no wonder when he's working alongside the most straight laced sorcerer there is, Nanami Kento. To a degree, I wonder if it’s genuine chaos spilling from his head or if he knows, after years of pushing Nanami’s buttons, how to precisely drive him up a wall. I question whether it's for his own entertainment or to his own alienation. Maybe Geto really was the only one who could follow the winding thread of Gojo’s thoughts.

Head Canon: Gojo Secretly Worries About Nanami

I think with Haibara’s death and the knowledge he would have made light work of whatever caused it, Gojo makes it a point to join Nanami on missions.. just in case. After all, Nanami and Shoko are all he has left from before. He’s lost many people and, as the strongest, I don’t think that fear is something he’d admit aloud, but its reality is demonstrably what pushes him forward physically and philosophically. In the story where they go on a mission together... it almost seems like an unspoken and uncomfortable understanding between them, the elephant in the room neither want to point out. People around Gojo never wanting to acknowledge how his strength eclipses theirs is rather common which we see with Nanami in this story and even Ijichi later. So while he may make light of this chasm, he still pops in as an unsolicited protector. With grace, he allows Nanami to assume he's just being a nuisance but I really think he takes an ounce of prevention where possible when it comes to the people he cares for. After all, imagine the turmoil if he ever came to realize his absence could make or break another person's survival again.

Head Canon: The Elders Have Always Known, If It Came Down to it, Gojo Would Always Choose Geto

There’s a reason they kept the idea of reanimating the dead a secret specifically from Gojo. In fact, they should probably consider themselves lucky that he was so vehemently disgusted with the curse user capable of such puppetry. I wonder if he experienced hope before allowing the reality of the sham magic to break his heart all over again because, in their secrecy, it seems like they know the lengths he’d go to protect and choose Geto. Geto was allowed to walk the earth for 10 years after his execution was ordered. Maybe they were right to keep it close to the chest. Gojo still saved his body, after all. To what end when he knew a body can run the risk of becoming a curse?

Head Canon: Gojo Saved Ijichi's Life but Condemned Him to Something Worse

Okay so this is kind of a manga spoiler (though I believe the flash back is during the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arc) but, as a student, Gojo straight up told Ijichi he was weak and should find something else to do so he doesn't get himself killed. So he does. He becomes a steadfast and detail oriented manager which is a critical fixture in jujutsu society but damn, doesn't it just put Ijichi in an ivory tower of suffering? Years pass as he sends first his juniors, then fresh sets of kids into dangerous battle after dangerous battle. Some survive, some don't and all serve as a reminder of his powerlessness. He can cross every "t" and dot every "i" and it still doesn't prevent what happened to Yuji at the Juvenile center from happening. What does that do to one's soul?

Head Canon: Gojo Still Thinks "We Are the Strongest"

As seen with the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arc, we know that Gojo saw an exponential growth in response to the losses suffered. It seemingly drove a wedge between he and Geto as Geto struggled to grapple with his powerlessness. With his defection, we see where Gojo changes his posturing from "we are the strongest" to "I am the strongest" but in the back of his mind (Alexa, play "Always Forever" by Cults 🫠), we know he still holds a soft spot for his first and last warm spring of youth. At the end of JJK 0, he refers to Geto in the present tense, as his "best friend, [his] one and only." Even after everything, I truly think Gojo leaves space for Geto beside him. This is furthered in the light novel during a story which is placed post Junpei and upon Yuji's return to life at Jujutsu High. Yuji, while still playing dead, helped a kid who had a grade 3 curse that seemed to be resurrecting and, after exorcising it multiple times felt he needed Gojo's assistance. When Gojo refused, he resigned himself to ask Nanamin for help wherein Gojo employed a Teachable Moment (TM).

He approached Itadori, who was hanging his head. "In this world, tragedies too often end in misery, even when it's possible to help. But the problem isn't lack of strength or getting there too late." As Gojo passed Itadori, he patted him on the head without making eye contact. "The main reason it happens is that people forget they have the strength to help."

This was enough to restore Yuji's confidence in his own competence but also sounds informed by what happened between Geto and Gojo in a sense. I interpret Gojo's assertion to center Geto to be the assumed lack of strength (which was most pertinent to how he was advising Yuji) and himself with the poor timing. Ultimately, to Gojo it doesn't matter because he never thought Geto was weak. The insecurity was a product of a situation he failed to reason himself out of, at the time, and it bred resentment within him alone. I don't think Gojo blamed Geto for anything that happened with Riko nor could he blame himself. It simply spurned him to figure out ways to limit his vulnerability in the future. In the face of that loss, Gojo still said they were the strongest and maybe in that moment with Yuji, he was employing a lesson he wished he could have been in a place to tell Geto to quell his festering guilt and grief. You can be strong and still fallible.

Hypothesis: Mimiko and Nanako (and Anyone Else...) Going After Managers is Not a Coincidence

As we saw with JJK 0, Geto's twins were rather merciless in going after the suits who make everything covert about jujutsu society possible. Based on what we knew at the time, the managers provide cover for sorcerers on missions (with curtains, getting them transportation to, providing cover stories) and plug them in with resources as needed. But we begin to realize that managers serve additional purposes. In season 1, we see that they are sometimes part of the investigative force when it comes to getting information around developing situations. With the Shibuya arc and the arc that follows, we see that they are also integral means of liaison and communication between sorcerers and to other points of contact within the community, including windows.

So. Windows are people who can see curses but aren't sorcerers which begs the question, what are managers? As we learn and can infer with Ijichi, who was a former sorcerer in training, managers are people who can see curses and may even be able to manipulate cursed energy. They aren't full blown sorcerers but they aren't completely helpless either. So why go after them?

As we see in the story centered around Ijichi's "boring day" at the office. Managers are sorcerers' only connection to the "human" world. They are what keeps them tethered to their mission in protecting others while similarly upholding the etiquette and traditions around how the rest of the world works. They maintain a very delicate balance of things alongside the supernatural. Without them, you'd have the unchecked ego of teenage Gojo basically just doing as he pleases without curtains or respect to the possible implications of a civilian seeing him work out in the open. To suit Geto's needs during JJK 0, why should sorcerers operate under some guise of hiding their strength for the sake of those who are weak? As to what happens during the Shibuya arc.. imagine the fear, the anxiety. Imagine the chaos! Imagine the curses it would yield.

Hypothesis: Yuji is Still the Main Character, We Just Haven't Seen the Curse that He'd Manifest When Broken Saying it louder for the people in the back

Certain corners of the fandom have largely cast Yuji aside. With the release of JJK 0 and appearance of Yuta, many wonder why Yuta isn't carrying the series. Afterall, his inherent overpowered-ness and ability to copy any technique for sure casts him as the next gen Gojo, right? In the literary sense, we've seen the rise and fall of his story. We haven't seen the last of him by any stretch of the imagination but he is, as we discovered, also jujutsu society royalty. A distant cousin of Gojo's, actually.

Of the main cast of first and second years, Yuji and Nobara are subsequently the only characters who do not have apparent ties to jujutsu society. Nobara, plucked from the countryside, is tested by Gojo upon her initial introduction to the series to make sure she's crazy enough to cut it. Yuji's origin is still a ways from truly coming to light but his inherent strength and the simple ability to house Sukuna and maintain his identity has, in many ways, been indicated to be an anomaly. Subsequently, as the viewer or reader, we know there's more to the story which has yet to come. I won't go into it here given my desire to not spoil the larger manga story but I think laced within the light novels is enough evidence to talk about Yuji and what his power and subsequent threat level is.

Yuji, for all intents and purposes, is an outsider. From what we can tell, he has experienced loss. Most apparently with his grandfather but we also assume he is a victim to the MC syndrome that leaves him orphaned and prime for a journey rife with struggle. He's fifteen with the pure heart of a child despite any previous hardships and just so happens to be armed with the mission to help people.

Yuji approaches the introduction to this new society with the wonderment of a kid finding out superheroes exist. But this naivete, this untempered light, actually has the capability of being something so fearsome when we learn how curses manifest through negative emotions.

In the anime, we see this as Sukuna scratches at Yuji's mental when they realize the possible origin of Tsumiki's curse may have begun killing it's victims when Yuji ate the finger. Mahito employs a similar means of manifesting ill will in Junpei that ultimately also becomes a burdensome guilt that Yuji bears. Countless times in the Shibuya arc, Yuji is forced to witness catastrophic losses of his mentors and friends while he can only stand idly by. The survivor's guilt is compounded by the shame of his own inability to help which only gets worse.

Since Yuji is relatively noble and sincere in nature, he considers these losses personal failures. He takes ownership of any sins against others that Sukuna commits when he is not in control over his body and, subsequently, his spirit takes a beating time and time again. He sought to do good in the world but his ledger becomes increasingly bloody through no means of his own and it weighs on our sunshine character.

It's easy to lend a hand to a child who has fallen, but it's a teacher's job to show a child how to stand up unassisted. It isn't always easy. - Gojo Satoru

The first light novel closes the gap between how Yuji went from training in a basement away from anyone who'd want him dead a second time to being under Nanami's care. While wrapping up Nanami's case, Gojo is uncharacteristically somber in requesting Nanami's assistance. He explains that Yuji requires Nanami's influence as someone who knows human suffering. The losses shared between them are unspoken and are not acknowledged within this exchange but, from what we know, hang as a burden between them. Still, both Nanami and Gojo have continued on as sorcerers somehow, from the grief of their youth into their late twenties. But Gojo gives voice to the concern that, because of Yuji's bravery and altruism, that the reality of what's expected of a sorcerer will one day break his heart if someone with emotional intelligence isn't able to help temper it. They seem to both understand the precariousness of youth and have both been shown to insist in protecting it where possible. This exchange and their mutual understanding is how we have Yuji under the care of Nanamin. It's also where we get the heart rending reminder that "Being a child is by no means a crime," and "You've escaped death many times. But that doesn't mean you've become an adult."

In the last story of the book, as Yuji is reunited with the other first years, he is contemplating a situation he encountered that still lacked resolution. He'd exorcised the exact same demon several times but to no avail. He hopes to enlist Gojo's help but Gojo encourages him to think about the problem more because not everything can be solved by fighting and exorcising when the source of curses is from human emotion. As Yuji races off to resolve the issue that's been weighing on him, Gojo reflects on his responsibility to preparing Yuji for the ups and downs that are sure to befall him.

Itadori's sincerity was a more significant attribute than his being Sukuna's vessel. As a result, trauma had the potential to become a curse more fearsome than anything else, a nasty curse preventable only by confronting one's own heart. Instead of cradling that heart, Gojo could teach it to be prepared. That's what it meant to raise students.

While the story resolves without consequence, we see that Yuji's reflection on the situation is as endearing as one would imagine though still a bit warped. He is galvanized to be stronger, dedicated to providing the help the people need whatever it may be, and to not give those he cares about reason to worry which seems in line with what Gojo was hoping for. But being offset by his consideration for how others feel like Nobara and Fushiguro when he died, it almost feels like he's creating an even larger burden of expectations for himself. This gives rise to Gojo's very real concerns about how far someone can fall into despair, especially someone who is such a beacon of positivity.

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teecupangel · 11 months

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I wonder if you’ve ever thought about like, a glitch or a virus in the Animus accidentally causing all the playable ancestors to become self-aware and sentient. I kind of like the idea of them realizing they’re all essentially kinda stuck in the Animus servers and then banding together to essentially blow up Abstergo. hell, maybe Desmond is the reason why they’re all sentient, something about the Apple and the Eye started doing weird things to the samples they took from him so now the ancestors have to find his consciousness!

also I am ngl I think it would be very funny for them to occasionally be able to break into each other’s simulations for various purposes. Edward popping into the American Revolutionary War to say hi to his kid and grandkid. Jacob and Evie and Henry in Constantinople. Altaïr rolling around in the Caribbean, god help this poor non-swimmer.

(and maybe once they’ve gotten him out of wherever he’s been stashed Desmond can teach these guys how to like actually get into Abstergo’s servers and start ruining their lives?)

Ooooohhh, this would be fun and, considering which company Abstergo partnered with to develop the Animus games, this could have just as easily happened because bugs had always been part of the course when it concerned the games they have published.

It might have been a flaw in the Animus game console itself, simply because they had developed a ‘console’ that either didn’t require that the user be related to the genetic memory at all (which had been necessary to stabilize and synchronize with the memories) or they had included a ‘data set’ that includes the DNA origin to stabilize and synchronize with the memories (which meant that they were dealing with a setup they had not fully checked yet (considering Black Flag’s modern day setting was set in 2013 and was released before Rogue’s modern day setting in 2014, that would mean that their Animus iteration had to have been developed and send to Abstergo Entertainment with Sample 17’s data in a year or less).

Also, also, we have seen how ‘viruses’ can interact with the Abstergo games. Liberation’s secret ending which shows the ‘scenes’ that Abstergo tried to remove so that it seemed like Aveline joined the Templar Order in the end could only be accessed by finding a specific NPC in the game in various memory blocks.

So, in this scenario, the whole ‘non-canon character’ popping into other games could have happened during development BUT the Animus game they ship was meant to copy the memory blocks that research analysts got in development so those small inconsistencies could have happened during their breaks or flat-out during a time when no one was using the Animus at all.

The easter eggs (or some fans like to call them “too unrealistic and plain fanservice”) would be included in all the copies of their specific games those games only had minor tweaks to ensure they won’t crash (and have DRMs, I guess) and lesser time for Q&A because, let’s face it, they needed to cut costs somewhere before they were shipped off to ensure they had a yearly release.

It became just a normal part of the charm of these games and Abstergo is just going “Yes, it’s meant to show that we are all connected no matter how many centuries we are from one another!” but internally there are memos going “WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING???”.

Also, also…

We should set up some kind of timeline, I guess?

Because, as far as we can be sure, the only confirmed games that Abstergo Entertainment released are the following:

Liberations (based on Liberation with Aveline) - Prior to 2013

Pirates of Nightmares (based on Black Flag with Edward) - Around 2013 (also has a movie version called Devils of the Caribbean)

Note: We do not have any confirmation that they released any games based on Shay Cormac and, honestly, with how much Shay’s defection hinged on the power of the artifact (which they had probably had to cut out since they were going for ‘realism’), any games based on Rogue would probably need a lot of cuts and edits. They might have just, you know, given up on that in the end.

Buuuuutttt we have confirmation of these games as having been published prior to Arno Dorian’s memories being checked:

Not counting the three on the bottom which we don’t really have any information about, this means that we have confirmation that the following have been released (and, in Edward’s and Aveline’s case, this could have been a re-release ala HD remastered style which Liberation did get in the PS4 era):

Altaïr

Shao Jun

Ezio (also, it’s just sooo Abstergo to go for ‘Fear and Loathing in Florence’, a reference to AC2, but use Ezio’s Brotherhood robes… soooo like Abstergo to use the Brotherhood!Ezio model)

Ratonhnhaké:ton

Aveline

Edward

BUT then you also get

Jacques De Molay

Rodrigo Borgia

Haytham Kenway

This means that if you want the Animus servers' data to be sentient then you can make at least these three Templars sentient as well if you wish to add more conflict to the entire thing.

Now, if we keep the supposed release date with the idea that they released it as Aveline → Edward → Altaïr → Shao Jun → Ezio → Ratonhnhaké:ton → HD releases (or maybe Helix is meant to be a collection like the real-world example of Ezio Trilogy or Rebels Collection)

Then what can happen is that Aveline is the first one to ‘wake up’ and she finds herself in the Caribbean, waking up on Edward’s ship. She tries to ask where she is and her appearance caused Edward to snap out of the ‘Animus control’ and gain sentient.

Then they decide to try and find out where they are via the Jackdaw, sailing her beyond the supposed walls of this place they find themselves in.

It’s during their travels and checking the strange ports (imagine lots of glitching + the entire vibe of Animus Island back in Revelations with each map turned into an island so this means that landlocked maps like Florence and Monteriggioni are now islands) that they see an Assassin taking down a target at the port before running away. They give chase and that’s how they meet Altaïr in Acre docks. Their appearance snapped Altaïr into gaining sentient but not just that…

He remembers up to his death, unlike Aveline who remembers up to her wedding night and Edward who remembers up to a night with Tessa.

No.

Altaïr knows more about where they are than he should.

And that’s when he sees it.

A figure walking the streets of Acre, walking further and further away from them, clad in white that did not belong in his time.

Altaïr gives chase and the two followed him because Altaïr knows more than them, that was for sure.

Altaïr still loses him but he feels like he knows that figure… knows it’s a man and he’s important.

He points at Edward as he says, “Important to both of us.”

But he also knows the man isn’t here in the island composed of Altaïr’s memories anymore.

And Aveline and Edward get a crash course of who they truly are (digital construct of the memories of long-dead Assassins) and where they are. The where is more confusing because Altaïr uses words like “the Animus must always be online to connect to the servers”, “this is the server that has all the data of all researched and analyzed memories”, etc but Edward just summarized it as “prison created by Templars, right?”

“In a way.”

So they board the Jackdaw to try and find an exit and to find this supposed man that was important to Altaïr and Edward.

Along the way, they docked in a port that ends with them waking up Shao Jun as she’s running away from those hunting her. She remembered that this was the memory where her mentor told her to find Ezio Auditore and Altaïr thinks he knows the name.

“But I know of a different name for him as well… Prophet. He was… He was the prophet of that man.”

Shao Jun joins them and she recognized Florence so they docked there and they find Ezio who was looking for feathers.

Ezio stares at Altaïr for a moment then he stares behind Altaïr, his eyes going wild. Altaïr immediately knew what he was looking at he quickly turned around.

This time, the figure was running the rooftops of Florence and the two gave chase, making the rest run after them.

During the chase, Ezio shouts, “Desmond!” and the figure stopped and turned around.

Before they could see his face, a flock of birds flew between them, and the man was gone.

They reached where they last saw the man and Ezio recognized it.

This… was where he and Federico wished that their lives would not change… the day before Ezio’s entire life turned upside down.

With Ezio becoming part of their crew, Ezio had the same information as Altaïr. He knows who he is, where they are, and what they truly are.

But his memories end after seeing Altaïr’s remains underneath Masyaf.

And… he also has his Apple.

Altaïr sees the Apple and realized…

He opened his pouch and, yes…

He has an Apple as well.

So Ezio joined them too and they continue to sail Jackdaw. (If you’d like Adéwalé to be sentient as well even if we have no confirmation that Abstergo profited from his memories as well, this would be a good time to do it)

This time, they get into a naval combat with an unknown ship and Edward is enjoying himself. The ship was beautiful and whoever was in command knew what they were doing.

So Edward decided to ram it and they’d all pile onto the other ship. The crew wouldn’t be able to win against 5 Assassins after all.

But the moment they rammed the ship, both of their ships began to glitch just as they hear a man with a British accent shout, “How is it you came to captain a ship, given the way you sail?”

When the glitching stopped, the Jackdaw looked like it had absorbed the other ship, creating a new ship that seemed to be a merged version of the two.

And there was an Assassin on board that they didn’t know. An Assassin holding an Apple and… he was looking to their right.

Where a lone island filled with buildings taller than any towers they had ever seen could be seen just before the horizon.

The Assassin pointed at the island and turned to face Edward as he said, “He’s waiting for us there… grandfather.”

(If you want Haytham to gain sentient, he’s in the captain’s quarters and he’d open the door a few seconds later with a splitting headache, telling Ratonhnhaké:ton his sailing is shit then stop when he sees Edward. Cue awkward family reunion)

Other Unorganized Notes:

I’m sorry I couldn’t include Jacob, Evie, and Henry, nonny. :(

This was focused on the idea that the Abstergo servers mainly have data of the published ‘games’ while the memories still being researched are in another more secured private server.

Although, considering that Arno and the Frye twins were more ‘modified’ by the Assassins, maybe they could come in as a virus before Edward and the others meet Ratonhnhaké:ton. I think it would be a change of pace if Arno and the Fryes (with Jayadeep) know more than the ‘old guards’. Hell, they could say “We hitched a ride with the virus Erudito sent to find Sample 17 because the public noticed he always makes an appearance as an NPC in all the games so the Assassins think that he’s somewhere here.” “He’s not 17. His name is Desmond.” “Right, didn’t mean to offend anybody.”

#sentient animus data au #i guess?#i do have a sorta-kinda similar idea?#but imma vague about it because i plan to write and post it before mirage’s release #we’ll see how the wind blows on that one XD #also i have a sentient animus who took altaïr’s personality to contact desmond during the events of ac1 #anyway #let’s add the tags #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #edward kenway #aveline de grandpre #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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nerves-nebula · 3 months

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The loose stitches voiceboxes are infecting my brain. There is a massive breach of bodily autonomy, a forced on "cure" of being mute, all in the effort of enforcing a single method of communication

Thats why I hate the concept of a "common language" in fantasy stories- it implies that all these cultures and creatures just *happen* to speak a shared language. Like English is widely spoken but we don't fucking call it common. English only spread this far due to imperialism- so when I see one language being called common I wanna bite

Which is also why I like loose stitches take on it, there is one "common" language spoken but its not cause people just happen to speak it, its enforced- and its not just the spawnlings housed by the organisation who are forces into this, its the workers aswell- implying to me that this is enforced by some greater state

Thats not even getting into how these voiceboxes could be tamperd with, or even monitored- for all we know this voicebox could be keeping a record of what people are saying- but that's getting into conspiracy theory territory and implies that the state is more competent than it actually probably is

Tldr dotty is being gaslight into believing that these voiceboxes are just there to help and I'm getting so pissed on its behalf

HEHEEHEHEHEHEE <<33 im SOOO glad you've noticed this. when i first conceived of loose stitches i was like 14 and the world was supposed to kinda be utopian, i wanted it to be a story about being born into the best possible world that cares about you from day 1 and STILL not fitting in, and then y'know, finding your place in it or whatever.

but as i learned more about SOCIETIES and HISTORY and OPPRESSION i started picking at the threads of the world I built and realized there was a lot of room for discussions of other stuff that was important to me, like ableism, colonialism, and how my desire to find people "just like me" might be more counter productive and divisive than I'd originally thought.

under the cut for things that i don't consider spoilers but ARE world building facts that haven't been brought up in the comic yet, so if you dont wanna read that uhhh yea

funfact that im not sure i'll get around to addressing in canon but is relevant to you mentioning a "common" language: people spawn knowing an accumulation of various languages spoken near their spawn point, often times they lean heavily towards one language/culture or another. if someone spawned in an area an spoke a different language than the people who found them, or was more familiar with different customs, it was customary to just go "oh this one's not for us ok lets send them to the people nearby that they are clearly influenced by"

since spawnlings are basically this worlds children, it was seen as kind of EVIL to just... remove them from the culture they've been spawned into. that's basically like stealing a baby.

spawnlings speaking different languages doesn't happen nearly as much anymore as there are way fewer spoken languages now :)

it should also be noted that language in loose stitches is an expression of communication via magic. not everyone who can speak aloud has a functioning mouth and vice versa, so there aren't as many languages as there are in our world in the first place. regardless, there's way less of them now!

#nnstuff #ask #loose stitches related

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frazzledsoul · 26 days

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I really, really do not understand the argument that Rory would have been "shirking her responsibilities" by spending a summer in NYC with Jess and that somehow it is not abandoning her responsibilities to fuck her married ex twice (the second time after she knows he didn't actually leave his wife), freeze Lorelai out because Lorelai objects to the affair, and spend the summer cavorting around Europe with her grandmother. If Rory had any pressing responsibilities around Stars Hollow, she didn't stay to fulfill them. She got involved in a situation that was far more cruel, destructive, and selfish than running away with Jess would have been, defended her behavior as righteous, and then ran even further away to escape the fallout. Rory is not called out on how terrible and catastrophic her actions actually were, but Jess is forever paying for his sins and viewed as the truly irresponsible one, the destructive force that's going to ruin her life, the truly untrustworthy person whose sins will always, always outweigh Rory's, no matter what kind of damage she causes on her own. Why is he constantly held to task for his irresponsibility and the hurt his actions cause, when Rory is not? There absolutely nothing about her affair with Dean that points to her being responsible, trustworthy, or caring about the effect her actions have on others. Even months later, she still doesn't regret it and ends Dean's marriage by writing him a letter talking about her "special night" that "she isn't sorry happened."

Look, I'm glad she removed herself from the situation and tried to end it and she is not the primary person responsible for what happened. Dean initiated this affair and chose to lie to and mislead both Rory and Lindsey. That doesn't excuse her actions, and her behavior does not at all indicate that she is a more responsible person than Jess or that she's less capable of causing immense damage. Once she had that extramarital affair, she was in no position to lecture anyone else on responsibility or trustworthiness, to say nothing of fairly basic concepts of morality.

Jess made a request and went away once he was asked to. Rory helped destroy someone else's marriage. Their actions are not at all comparable, and he should never be viewed as the more screwed-up person at this juncture in season 4. He would actually never be the more screwed-up person when compared to her ever again.

That said, I'm glad she said no. Jess needed to move on from his high school mistakes and I frankly don't think it's in his best interests to be involved with someone who would do the kind of things that Rory did. If she's that messed-up that she'll cling to this affair in hopes of being affirmed and validated and defend her actions for long afterwards, then Jess does not need to be involved with her until she is able to move on from that and be better. She would have just ended up hurting him again, and probably far worse than she did in season 6. I think the only canon period when I would trust her to be with him and not hurt him would be in season 7 or at some time afterwards, because her stable period with Logan was a time period when she improved and was able to exist in a more mutually nurturing and mature relationship. Even in season 6, when she is responsible and most resembles pre-late S4 Rory, she ends up breaking his heart again while in the midst of trying to hurt Logan, and if she's capable of that kind of vindictiveness (not to mention that she's cheating again) then she's not really someone that he can trust. She should not automatically be assumed as a person who possesses that attribute, especially when she's done so much to hurt him (and others) over the years. That trust isn't automatic after a certain point. It has to be earned.

It would have been nice if Rory had gotten to keep her character development from season 7, but as we see in AYITL she did not. I would support a reunion between them afterwards, but only if Rory settled down, stopped cheating, and had shown she could be someone that could be trusted in a relationship. She should not always be considered the mature, responsible one whose actions should always be deemed as morally superior to Jess's. That Rory mostly ceased to exist after season 4, and her track record ever since has shown that she's the one that needs to prove herself to him.

#i'll probably regret this but....#i am really sick of jess constantly being called on his sins and rory never being called on hers #his actions in season 4 are nowhere near as bad as hers turned out to be #rory gilmore #jess mariano #jess mariano defense squad #gilmore girls

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percyaugod · 5 months

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Did I already reply to these in the notes of the last post? Yes. Still wanted to expand on it more and notes are horrible for that.

First, thank you again. ^ ^ Rise Donnie's body on low power and moving more on autopilot and muscle memory is one of the options. There's also his body just collapsing as he leaves it. Depending on how things were going before the others might assume it's just black of sleep catching up to him and it's not until a couple of days later and no sign of waking they realize something might be wrong. Could also have him collapsing in the lab and his brothers not finding him for a day or so and then panicking because they have no idea how long he's been like that or what caused it.

A third silly option is it not being permanent so Rise Donnie just kind of "slips" out of his body at times. Such as when he's tired or sleeping and he has a weaker grip on his body.

This could also happen if 03 Don is in a dangerous situation and needs extra strength. Just pulls Rise Donnie from his body for a burst of energy and causes Rise Donnie's body to collapse. Considering the kind of stuff that happens to 03 Don, this has probably happened at least several times.

If something happened where 03 Don was unable to control the body, anything from being knocked out to somehow having his soul removed, Rise Donnie would be put in control of the body and locked in until 03 Don could take control again. What I wouldn't give to see Rise Donnie have to pretend to be 03 Don around the others. All while trying to not freak out about being stuck.

Oops, made it a bit less silly.

As for Ninpo, I've thought about that too. Since Rise Donnie's body is still there and alive a part of him is still there. If nothing else the body probably holds an echo of Rise Donnie even if his soul isn't there. So that would probably throw the others off and take them a bit longer to realize he's not there. Would also give them some kind of energy to trade to try to find him though.

Could you imagine if both Donnies' markings from their powers combined? How neat would that look? With Rise Donnie as the source and O3 Don as the outlet, I think it could work. Even if it couldn't, it's an AU and canon has no place here.

Have actually joked about the others sharing bodies with their counterparts on Discord. It started with Mikey being the strongest and reaching out too far to find Donnie with the assistance of some of Draxum's mystic books. The other 03 turtles are horrified when 03 Mikey decides to cook. Even more so when it's a culinary masterpiece.

03 Leo is unable to meditate because Rise Leo can't focus and constantly singing pop songs that don't even exist in the 03 dimension. He also has the strangest urge to draw on Donnie's forehead. 03 Raph getting anger management advice.

The thing is though, whenever I think about that route I can only ever think about a bittersweet ending where the two universes merge completely. Donnie just hanging out with their family and for seemingly no reason starts to crumble and sob from the weight of an unknown guilt.

#rottmnt #tmnt 2003 #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt au #tmnt 2003 au #rise donnie #2003 donnie #tmnt crossover #Two heads aren't better than one AU

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popiellart · 5 months

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Hello!! I don’t know if you take OC asks but I keep thinking of your big dragon durge and thinking. Did he live outside of the temple like the canon suggests before coming to the temple as an adult? What was his life like before that? I remember seeing an art with Sceleritas Fel where he was an awkward teen, did he have a family and was he sweet once?

thank you, that's a fun question!! :D answer under the cut, cause long

yep, he had a foster family as a child, his foster father was a butcher (hehe. wink wink. etc.), somewhat impoverished, but generally loving. (he had another name than 'the dark urge' back then, but forgot what it was even before the lobotomy)

he was a surprisingly sweet child. giving off the 'well-socialized as a puppy' energy, you wouldn't pick him out of the gaggle of kids he was running around with, other than maybe visually (dragonborn are fairly rare, and he's noticeably pitch black from nose to tail, so he stood out a little)

the most violent thing he ever did was lightly nipping a half-orc girl when they got into an argument who's gonna be sarevok and who's gonna be jaheira when they played (he wanted to be jaheira!! and the girl looked nothing like jaheira either!!). didn't even draw blood

well, other than the wholesale slaughter of his foster family, of course. that's where his backstory diverges from canon - in canon, durge is left on their own until adulthood, but he was taken to temple immediately, hence the art you mentioned.

playing around with the 'why', but i'm thinking maybe this was malevolent on part of the other branch of the happy bhaalspawn family - sarevok telling orin to watch the pup, and to bring him in as soon as the first urge happens, hoping that the kid will just break down from the shock of murder and immediately meeting the cult of bhaal, and. well. the problem will hopefully remove itself

Which almost worked, words cannot describe how much the sweet, generally normal kid that he was, was utterly unprepared for the murder cult shit. he wasn't eating, he was scared shitless of his divine father, he was scared of the cultists, he felt sorry for all the victims, he was disgusted at all the rituals, Orin was tormenting him on the daily, he hated Sceleritas, and blamed himself for the murder of his parents, he prayed to Bahamut to send paladins to kill everyone and take him away or maybe kill him, too.

But since Bahamut couldn't be arsed and no legendary heroes dropped by the Temple, he ultimately came to a point where he had to make a yes-no type of choice, and he chose to survive. Knowing that he's destined to be the world-devouring antichrist, and his death would probably marginally improve the world, he still chose to live. Because, to be fair, what has the world done for him so far? His family is dead, and he's trapped in a sewer with a bunch of freaks. Maybe if gods didn't want the world destroyed, they should've done something back when he was still sweet, still redeemable, right?

(in that way, he's a parallel to gortash, who also has very little reason to feel fondness for the forces of good in the world - where were forces of good when a little boy was getting sold to a devil, yeah?)

Eventually, with time, he went from just surviving to living, slowly started getting a taste for the Bhaalist specials - hard not to, lots of positive reinforcement from murderous ecstasies, being constantly amongst the brainwashed cultits, it skews your view of the world.

Sceleritas was sorta helpful there, he hated the little thing so much he eventually snapped and killed it, and found out Sceleritas actually makes a great chew-toy, and with time his hatred twisted itself into sort of fondness.

By the time he was a full grown adult in the prime of his life, he basically forgot all about his childhood and even the early days in the Temple; he had the whole Dark Urge thing on lock, the victims were just meat, the cultists were in his sway, the previous cult leader was eaten, Orin was sat the fuck down, the only thing that lingered from those early day was the he never really stopped being scared shitless of Bhaal, although he long rationalized it away as simply part of worship and natural part of father-son relationship besides

#bg3 spoilers #tl;dr yes he was sweet once. but it was a long time ago

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blindtaleteller · 6 months

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Question about medical care in Asgard… I'm talking about a case of Odinsleep/coma. How different do you think caring for a person in a coma would be on Asgard than on Midgard?

Gonna assume you're asking about the MCU as I answer this! 💚

With a Coma/Odinsleep .. Probably not too terribly different in act for the most part IF it's being treated like a regular coma; but incredibly different in aesthetic, and well.. it does get a little more iffy when you're talking about 'Odinsleep' in particular, even with what little we do know from what's shown and said about it on screen which I say by means of examples given, both canon and deleted from it.

Some things definitely do change if you take deleted scenes from Thor 2011 into account in particular though: as one of the things they removed entirely from existence in the cutting room in that movie, was something called 'healing stones.' They actually had two portions of scenes that they shot (one in the hospital after Jane ran him over, and one just prior to the final portion of the fight with the 'Destroyer' in New Mexico.) I'll slap them in here if I can find them out of my giant clips playlist of doom.

Sticking with just the canon though; and specifically with the regular coma treatment first? The first thing you have to take into account is that there are lots of different kinds of comas, and that even Earth-tech wise, some of them are going to be treated a little differently (short, long term, caused by external injury, caused by internal injury, trauma induced are a thing too.)

That said, the first thing we have on display as far as Asgard's medical goes, is something that unsurprisingly is a repeated major portion of their basic lore in the MCU: that they aren't gods; they're an elder race who have been themselves reaching into the cosmos for eons of generations even stretching back to at least near enough to the beginning of their universe well established enough then, to take note of the fact that the Infinity Stones made at the birth of that universe, were not made by either them, or by the other elder races like the Dark Elves, or the even older Tivan brothers: with single generations lasting as long as five thousand years.

Related to that is also the fact that they by the time in their universal timeline we do catch up with them: they are very clearly a warmongering/imperial colonialist society. Even before and likely during them, Odin made a generation of wars horrible enough to be called 'The Great Wars' among the lot that he and apparently Hela (who was clearly full grown --meaning she was anywhere between 20ish and 1000 years herself-- even in her mural depictions,) to spread his version of 'peace' through the removal of what other species he percieved as threats and competition (see Muspelheim, Jotunheim) going so far as to make certain they couldn't rebuild even their capitals.

Why is that important in this conversation? Because that also means including Bor and Asgard's previous generation five thousand years prior to 2013's invasion of the elves; they had been dealing with injury, illness and more among their own resulting from those battles: and yes during those thousands of years of conflict between Bor's crusade, and Odin's: they had lots and lots of extra time to improve both their tech, and any magic along those lines.

Which yes are actually two very different things, though from the looks of it are often interconnected in Asgardian society in particular, unlike on Earth; where medical technology is foremost, and sorcery/magic has been forced basically into hiding by centuries of the many different flavors (both in religion base and name) of Inquisitions on Earth over the course of over a millennia by the time the twenty tens roll around. We also know that they do posses some limited means through technology, of suppressing some magic; but whether or not Asgard in particular has evolved their understanding of sorcery in particular to do so on a magical level is questionable at best given what we've seen between the first two films alone.

Given the blatantly similar societal distaste for most non-combative magic, and even a good portion of combative magic for that matter that's pretty likely not the case: even Thor refers to his mother's skills and knowledge as "tricks." However, that doesn't seem to apply where the "Healer's Hall" inhabitants and actual healers are involved.

Most obvious example of technological vs magic, and those limitations I mentioned above that we have is a pair of scenes in TDW: the Soul Forge in the Healer's Hall vs. Loki's full-room illusions.

Soul Forge (aka Quantum Field Generator:)

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This is also, one of the scenes that continues to show rather than tell, the MCU established facts of their advancement.. and their arrogance around it when dealing with what Asgardians otherwise clearly still consider 'lesser' races under their protection. Quite a contrast to Loki's interactions with Selvig and Barton delivering those two a great deal more dignity and trust in A1 too, while they're building the portal device ...but that's a whole other set of attached social observations and comparisons I'm not gonna get into here. The point of this one is: if there's magic there; they're making it very clear there isn't much of it, and doubling down on that whole 'not gods, only mistaken for them' far more interesting take, on which MCU Asgard was built since the very first movie. (again though, it also displays their arrogance in that direction, as Eir not only treats Jane's inquiry very dismissively; but gets flustered and gap-mouthed [literally] when she positively identifies the diagnostic technology being used. It also is one of the many displays of how differing etymology between cultures in the MCU [yes there are a few, including the Dr. Strange film as another major example of that in particular] is a purposely crafted thing.)

ANYWAY!

Compare that technological, with the feats of sorcery Loki manages in that same film. Not only does he not use tech to manage his magic/sorcery (or 'tricks' as Thor calls it lol).. but he does so behind the locked door of, that same level of technology, in his own prison cell.. and beyond it. While some of the deleted scenes show this too? The final cut certainly wasn't lacking either.

youtube

So, all that said..? And without dipping into the whole discarded-from-canon 'Healing Stone' facet: it's very likely with a normal (or normal-ish lol) coma, that it wouldn't really be that different: just easier to some extent and probably a lot faster to correct any issues with those caused by injury in particular.

However! And most important:

Odinsleep, is something else entirely.

From the first film, we know through dialogue that not only is 'Odinsleep' not a normal coma by any means: it's one that can, has, and with the way they talk about it: SHOULD be induced every so often in order to maintain his health.

Where do we get that and why do I say 'his' in particular?

Because..

1. It is called Odinsleep, which says outright that in the MCU either Odin is a common enough name among Asgardian elder generations to be named as such OR, that it's a practice that belongs solely to Odin in particular.

2. The conversation between Loki and Frigga tell us as much, in their conversation over Odin's bed. (PS I couldn't find the full clip immediately, so I am posting the full uncut scene [with deleted parts] instead. The part that I've marked it to (timestamp 1:06 in the video below if that doesn't work for you) is what you need to listen to most, and was part of the final cut in Thor 2011.

Though the way they cut and rearranged this scene has some of that conversation out of sequence, the information given about Odinsleep remains the same in the much shorter canon conversation.

youtube

Their conversation tells the viewer outright, that not only is that a thing he does regularly, but that it can be planned out and planned for: as they make a point of stating that it's only this time, the Odinsleep was unprepared for.. and, they have seen it enough for Loki's first words to be stating the fact he 'never gets used to seeing him like this' .. meaning? He has seen it enough times that he thinks he probably should be: but also that it's upsetting enough an experience to him, that he isn't.

You'll note that they also briefly discuss the fact that Odin had been putting the Odinsleep off. It was coming anyway and regardless .. and should have happened far sooner.

While it's not technically counted as canon on screen, there's a little more information given directly about Odinsleep in the parts cut out too, if you choose to observe and use them: as well as a more direct showing of what we already know even without that scene of how Frigga chooses to pass the throne to the only heir not currently being guilty of and banished for several counts of treason including restarting the war and disobeying the king in that bed, with Thor's invasion of Jotunheim landing him firmly on Earth with the very obviously earned traitor title.

I'll leave it up to you if you want to watch and or use any of that, and you definitely could; since it's -again- just dialogue telling the viewer what's already known simply by watching the other scenes around it in the canon cut, including and especially the throne room scene where Sif & the Warriors Three request Thor's return, regardless of not only knowing he was banished for treason.. but also having been the others to try to remind and convince him alongside Loki; to NOT commit that treason, prior to him doing it and dragging them along anyway.

All in all, through those scenes; we are given a very clear set of rules and information about Odinsleep either way. Which includes the fact that it can be a form of coma that probably should not be randomly interrupted or the subject brought out of it, where it's apparently necessary for the individual's overall health: but can also be a state in which they might spend the last of their lives.

In that, this also tells us that; there isn't a whole lot that even Asgard's greater technology, or even magic can or should do, to bring someone out of it at all.

And, from the way they do deal with their King going through it even by surprise: we know that there isn't much they can do at all beyond keeping him comfortable and as healthy as possible until the Odinsleep finishes it's course naturally... whether that results in the subject waking up, or possibly, dying.

There's no mention of anyone else going through Odinsleep.. but there's also no mention of whether or not anyone else HASN'T, either.

Either way, that scene alone does show and tell a lot more about Asgard's medical capabilities and some of their limitations too, even as a society that's been at war since before Moses (lol but true, especially counting Odin's dad before him fought the elves for what Odin himself identified as 'Eternities of bloodshed' that didn't end until almost 5k years prior,) even, when cut down to the re-arranged version put down in the film's final cut.

Ultimately, and that said?

I don't think caring for a person in Odinsleep would be different from what we see on screen.

A whole lot of trying to keep them comfortable, undisturbed, and healthy; while wondering and worrying when and especially -if- they'll even wake up.

--Post Script, and a more direct personal example: Incidentally, and if you're curious: I have written Loki as having gone through his own "Odinsleep" in twenty thirteen, in Book Two (Vestibule 1, Universe 8) of my Lokiverse project: GROUNDED. Yes, that underlined bit is both the title and a link directly to where that long fic is posted on AO3, if you're curious how I handled it there. I suggest reading the chapters leading into that segment to understand how that portion of their multiverse got there, but if you want to skip a bit, the Odinsleep sequence itself starts in Chapter Four and ends in chapter Five, and is ultimately among the last of events before a time skip all the way into Civil War's era. It's not the only time the muses use it, but it is currently the only instance I have published.

#Odin #Odinsleep #Asgardian Lore #technology vs magic #medical #medical limitations #the very odd king-coma #Loki #Frigga #Thor 2011 #GROUNDED #Lokiverse references #Vestibule 1 : Universe 8 #post script fic link #MCU #there is the non-canon confirmed bit where: Odin likely konked out on those steps on purpose to avoid further questioning #while it's not technically canon?#I do definitely think that part is HIGHLY and incredibly likely

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