#regarding gigi

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Okay but...imagine the baby just lying on BDE's chest and babbling away, and he's just responding to them like they're having an actual conversation lol.

From how people say he behaved with Lisa I 100% believe this is entirely likely.

Animals and babies -this man has entire conversations with them and is certain it’s being reciprocated. 🥹🥰

…also look at how massive his hands are compared to her oh gosh oh my send help🫠

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #regarding gigi

[precious-little-scoundrel]

a gigi update!!! very much necessary ive been so busy and the blurb was a delight during my free time!! not to be needy but … is there any possible way we can one day get the elvis forcing gigi into clothes when the inspo comes to you?

I’m so glad you enjoyed it!! When I have inspiration you will have any and all things including that if it comes to me 💋

#love notes #regarding gigi

[lavampira]

okay but what if d’alia does actually bring sid to tural with her…………….

#it’s something gigi suggested i could headcanon while i was musing about him left behind again. and i am. tempted #like if wuk lamat needs people to fight!! and involve more diverse people!! #he’s capable of fighting and there’s not that many drks roaming around so he’s as much of a curveball as d’alia in that regard #the scions aren’t really telling each other where anyone is going unless they stumble across each other anyway #so why can’t d’alia say ‘i know a guy’ and bring her husband #especially since they’re so recently eloped 🥺 #help i think i might be talking myself into this fr?? it could be fun #dani plays ffxiv #game: ffxiv #alia/sid #6.55 spoilers #endwalker spoilers

[i-am-the-balancing-point]

friends, I dont think I ever talked about this on here but since a lot of you are Fallout fans too I felt it was important to humble brag for a minute: I just remembered the time Bethesda invited me to their local community christmas party where I got to perform. as magnolia.

and as a special guest

i brought — drumroll please — my mum

i really fucking want to go back

#it came up bc I finally want to make a vault suit but I cant settle on a design #it was fun and successful and I miss community events #I completely forgot about the meet up at gamescom and didnt gl #*go #big L for me #but yeah I hope you are a doing well #I‘m doing reasonably okay overall I just hit a rough patch in regards to relatinships #and I miss you I‘m just not a lot on tumblr atm :| #Gigi babbles #Fallout

[gigidragonbbxxx]

success story

"The opposite happening in the 3D does not mean you are not getting your desires. It could probably be part of the "how"."

I just wanted to tell a story from one of my own friends in the law of assumption community. afaik, she does not have a tumblr. I will be either changing details or keeping things vague for privacy but this story is true and just happened last week.

The quote I have above is a paraphrase from Dylan James. I don't listen to everything he says and sometimes I have conflicting opinions BUT I appreciate the knowledge that does resonate with me and when I came across this saying it had me thinking: how is this true?

Well, I got my answer.

My friend lives in Seattle. She's from a European country and here for work and school. Her sponsorship for her green card was through her work. My friend is a master manifester. She's manifested men, her move to the States, people repeating her affs back to her. She had been affirming for a while that she made a certain salary (six figures so let's just keep it at $100,000).

My friend would keep affirming "I love my job and I make 100,000"

The reality was that her workplace environment was toxic as fuck and she wasn't being paid what she deserved but bc of her green card, she wouldn't be able to leave.

BUT GUYS. What do we always affirm?

Everything and anything will MOVE and BEND for me to get what I want.

This past week my friend got fired and of course, she freaked out.

So what did she do? Did she spiral?

no reader. she's a master manifester. she cried while affirming. she cried as she listened to aff tapes. she kept on affirming. she sent me voice notes rampaging.

SHE WAS STRESSED BUT SHE PERSISTED.

and guess what unfolded?

she found a dream job that paid exactly what she wanted, had better working conditions, AND she found a lawyer who saw a great loophole for her green card. i can't elaborate further regarding that.

the funny part is her being fired versus her quitting meant she had to get a severance package so she's getting paid as she's settling into her new job.

her losing her job = the way for the universe to give her the new one

THE OPPOSITE HAPPENING DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE NOT GETTING WHAT YOU WANT THIS IS PERSISTING!!!

PERSIST.

xx, gigi

#gigiwrites #affirming #law of assumption #loass #loassblog #loassumption #manifestation #affirm and persist #affirmations #self concept #manifesting #neville goddard #edward art #void state #wish fulfilled #law of manifestation #law of assumption blog

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Big news! The US, and right after it, Canada, Australia and Italy, as well as the UK and Finland, have ALL frozen their financial support of UNRWA, following evidence presented to them that some of the UN agency's employees participated in the Hamas massacre.

To add to the news, this is NOT the first scandal involving this agency. UNRWA facilities have been continuously used for terrorist activity, UNRWA teachers and employees have been repeatedly called out for their support of antisemitism and terrorism, the same goes for UNRWA textbooks and schools, where antisemitism and terrorism are encouraged. It's even been asked why UNRWA still exists. Palestinians are the only ones who get their own refugee agency. Every other refugee, from every other country in the world, including ones suffering far greater humanitarian disasters, are treated by the general UN refugees agency, UNHCR. And unlike UNHCR, UNRWA does not look to solve the plight of the refugees it claims to help. If it's not enough that it's unclear why should Palestinians get their own agency, and why does it perpetuate the problem of Paletsinian refugees rather than help solve it, or why is there a separate definition for Palestinian refugees than for all other ones, Palestinian refugees also get more funding (through UNRWA) than any other refugee in the world. Just to highlight the absurdity, celeb millionaires Bella and Gigi Hadid, and their millionaire father Mohamed, are all still considered Palestinian refugees according to UNRWA's definition, despite obviously being well integrated into other countries.

Something I wanna add is about proportions within the UN and UNRWA employment. Globally, the UN says it directly employees 37,000 people. UNRWA's website says over 30,000 people work for it, and most are Palestinians, "with a small number of internation staff." That means UNRWA seems internation and impartial thanks to being counted as a UN body, but in reality, it is a Palestinian orgnization. It could never be impartial, like it wants to appear. But then it gets quoted endlessly by other UN bodies, as if UNRWA's data is impartial and reliable. It's been said more than once that many Hamas members are also employed by UNRWA, and in fact, Hamas has already voiced its displeasure over the funding to UNRAW being stopped. If Hamas is unhappy about it, when Hamas has been killing its own population, that says Hamas has its own vested interest in this organization.

Funding for UNRWA has been frozen before, but then restored. So that's not a solution. This time, the UN should be pressured to dismantle UNRWA, and move Palestinian refugees to the same definition, the same budget and the same kind of care and solution granted to all other refugees under the UNHCR.

Just a reminder that thanks to the anti-Israel demonization, Jews are not safe anywhere. In London, three people were recently attacked for simply speaking Hebrew. So here's your reminder that Hebrew is the native language of Jews, there are many Jews who try to learn and speak it, and targeting people for just speaking Hebrew is by its very nature antisemitic.

A new study shows that about half of the Israeli citizens evacuated from the north are suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I don't know of a similar current survey regarding the Israelis evacuated from the south, but given the massacre they survived, one can only assume the situation among them is even worse.

These are Lior (right) and his 79 years old dad Chaim Perry (left).

Lior's brother was murdered during the Hamas massacre on Oct 7, and his life long peace activist father Chaim was kidnapped. Lior was asked today what he thought of the International Court of Justice's call yesterday for Hamas to return all of the Israeli hostages, immediately and without any conditions. He said he also calls for the same thing, and it's about as effective.

This is Irena Maman.

She's a resident of the northern Israeli city of Kiryat Shmona, but when most of its people were evacuated, Irena refused to. With her husband's help, she's still working as a tailor, and inviting soldiers who need their uniforms fixed to come see her, offering her work to them pro bono.

These are Aviad (left) and Gideon ("Gigi," right) Rivlin.

Four Rivlin brothers went to the Nova music festival together, Aviad, Gigi, Yochai and Yinon. When the terrorist attack started, they were giving the wounded water. At a certain point, they dispersed, with each brother running in a different direction. Aviad and Gigi did not survive. In an interview, their father said he's stopped asking himself why did he lose two sons, and started being thankful for having gotten two back. Gigi was named after his uncle Gideon, who was murdered by a terrorist from Gaza.

May their memories be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #resources #unrwa

[morallyinept]

Nepty, im humbly asking…

… for more out-of-shape, sympathy-weight-packin, thicc daddy Fish.

So be for you ask, I know… why is this request coming from me? Well… yeah, I got two chubby Frankies percolating constantly in my noggin cottage, but your Frankie… the cannon accurate Frankie with more meat on his bones… I NEED HIM. I YEARN FOR HIM.

please, Nepty - help a thirsty thot out!

I’m-looking-for-the-sky-to-save-me regards,

Beefro👌🥩💜

Come Back To Me - A Frankie Morales One Shot

Hey Beefro! 🖤

Look, I humbly worship at your pot-bellied Pedro Boy altar! I am so not worthy, my friend! And the fact YOU love my canon-realistic thicc Frankie-boy makes this gal blush and squeal like a Red Wattle Hog being spit roasted on Labour Day, seriously... I am in awe of you. 🥹 So, can I do this justice for you, my mighty meat queen? 🤔😬 I mean, I'll give it a (one) shot. 🫣

Summary: Frankie makes you a promise and seals it with more than a kiss.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.8k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️ "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author's Note: This is part of the Frankie's Way universe. Frankie Spanish translated at the bottom.

Enjoy! 🖤

You can hear the tinkering. It's what wakes you to find his side of the bed empty. Nothing but a heavy indent in the bare sheets.

That tinny sound of metal upon metal clanking as you pad your way through to the kitchen, after checking on Gigi who's still sound asleep in her crib.

You can already hear the expletive slurs in Spanish, and grunts of frustration ebbing in from outside.

You enter the side door leading into the garage, to see Frankie going at the garage door that's rolled halfway up - or down, depending on your outlook - with a handful of tools that aren't doing a thing to appease it loose where it's gotten caught on it's damn rusted hinges again.

You sigh and you hear him growl out in a deep frustration at it.

Sweat shimmers at you from the back of his neck under the nape of unruly curls squashed to his head by his cap, and you wonder how long he's been at it.

Leaning up, his grey t-shirt rises up his back at he stretches, revealing tanned divots in the golden flesh, and a waist that's fuller and dumpy and makes your mouth salivate.

He's packed on a few pounds since settling into fatherhood, and you don't mind at all, enjoying that he might have a third helping of the meals you cook, or indulging his sweet tooth in a rogue dessert or two.

You rouse his attention when he glances at you over his broad shoulder chucking the tools down on the work bench with gritted teeth.

"Hey, did I wake you?" He says concerned, and his expression softening immediately. He traipses over to you and lets his eyes drop over the crumpled silk camisole and shorts you've slept in.

You shake your head as he presses a kiss to the side of your jaw; the soft scruff tickling gently, and his big hands settle on your hips.

"The door's gone again?" You query bleakly, and he nods looking at you with deep chocolate eyes that seem tired.

"Yeah, piece of shit. I don't know if I can fix it this time." He murmurs with a helpless shrug.

You sigh again, knowing it's forcing you to confront the obvious. It's all stacking up in odds against your resolve.

You need a new garage door. You need money to buy a new garage door that you both don't have. You need money for more diapers and groceries that seem never-ending in their need; for new clothes as you've noticed Frankie's wearing the same t-shirts with holes in them that seem to be getting bigger and wider as he stretches them out now with his chunkier build.

You need money for the mortgage payment that's already late this month.

Frankie's putting in the overtime at the workshop, but it just isn't enough. You'd contemplated picking up some hours at a coffee shop or something to help, but he insisted you be with Gigi when he saw how upset being parted from her, whilst she's still so young, made you.

But you both can't keep struggling like this. It's unfair almost. It makes you resent that the guys don't seem to be struggling as much as you and Frankie are.

Will proudly showed off his new TV at the barbecue he threw last week as Frankie scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he flicked through the HD channel offerings, and you were certain Benny wore new sneakers.

You need the money that's buried at the bottom of that chasm in the Andes mountains to buy a new fucking garage door.

Frankie growls into your shoulder with a defeated sigh, seemingly able to read your thoughts.

You've both spoken about Pope's unexpected visit and proposal at length ever since he left the offer hanging over your heads like a precarious weight ready to crush you at any second. Discussed through all the pros and cons.

The biggest con being Frankie returning on a slab of ice like Tom did. You shudder and Frankie's arms are felt caressing at your back.

"You cold, hermosa?" He asks.

You shake your head in defeat. "We need that money, Frankie." You whisper gravely as it cuts slinters in your stomach lining to say it out loud.

It can do so much more than replace the garage door. It can give you a comfortable life, a stress-free life. One where you're not losing your hair in the shower thinking about how you're going to be able to afford to pay the bills this month.

It'll give Gigi a good start, a nest egg. Enable Frankie to get good support with his ongoing sobriety and cut back on the hours you know are killing him. But he never complains despite it all.

It's a beguiling thought that's been haunting you ever since Pope shoved it so easily under your nose, making your fingers twitch with all the possibilities. All the tempting could-be's and what-ifs.

And you want to hate him for it, for passing you a much needed life line. You want to resent the very fabric of the idea of Frankie returning with him and the boys to go and retrieve it because you know what it could cost.

You know what you could lose for the sake of some printed paper. But it's printed paper that you need to live this life with Frankie. A life that you almost lost the first time. You wonder how it would be, if it would be worth it. How he'll be when he returns this time...

You think about the box sitting on the dining table full of his Delta Force gear that he'd packed away and shoved into the attic after last time, vowing it would never come out again as you both realised that stupid expedition almost cost you everything.

You were infuriated to learn it had all been for nothing. He came back with nothing, and more of a loss than when he left.

And now, it's all there. His tac vest, his desert boots embedded with sand, his guns... all ready for him to put back on when you to say the word. Because he wouldn't commit fully to Pope, not without your say so this time. It wasn't about Pope and the others.

It was about you and Gigi. It was about his world.

Frankie nods, pressing his forehead to yours. "I know, baby." He squeezes at your hips gently.

His body is warm from the exertion of trying to fix the garage door. His t-shirt is damp around the neck and under the arms and he smells musky. You run your nose along his shoulder inhaling the salt of him in.

Things had gotten back on track with you both, despite it taking time and effort to repair the holes. He's stayed sober despite this being a trying time. You'd been proud of him for stepping up, for coming back to himself. For realising that he could put Gigi down and she'd be fine, even though most of the time she was sat on his hip as he moved about the house when he was home.

You'd both finally been able to be intimate again after so much trepidation and angst, and it was amazing. Having Frankie back between your legs on an almost nightly basis, even after Pope's damning offer.

And to lose all it all now? The thought bites horribly at your ankles and makes you feel sick.

"Promise me." You look up at him. "Promise me you'll come back."

"You know I will." He says seriously.

"Promise me, Francisco." You repeat. You only use his full name with heavy gravitas and he knows how heavy this is for you. For you both.

Your hands run over the thickness of his own hips, fingers shucking into his belt loops and pulling him towards you. "If I let you go get it, you have to promise me you'll come back. That's the deal."

"I promise. I promise I will come back to you both, te lo juro." Frankie nods.

You nod back as he presses another kiss to your jaw. He trails more up the side of your face into your hairline. Your hands squeeze at his ass, meatier and fuller after months of packing on the pounds, his jeans being tighter against it.

You wonder if this shape and weight of him now could manage such a treacherous expedition. Whether it would be a hindrance or to his ultimate detriment.

You squeeze your eyes shut willing your mind not to go there. It can't. He can't-

"Hey," you feel his fingers tilt your chin up to face him. "I'm coming back," he promises sincerely.

And when Frankie looks into your eyes, you believe him when he says he'll come back for you and Gigi. And he'll come back with the golden ticket you both so desperately need.

"There's no way I'm leaving you, okay?" He says, as you nod despondently. It's the only choice you have and you both know it. You both need this. "Do you trust me?"

"Yeah, I do. We need this," you appease.

"I'll be back within a week. Won't even notice I'm gone."

"Yes I will. I'll be worrying non-stop until you're back here with us." You say, with a faint smile ghosting over your lips.

"I don't want you to worry, baby."

"Too late," you say.

"We're doing it my way. I have a plan. For every eventuality." He confirms. "It's all I can think about. We should have fuckin' done it my way last time. Maybe if we did, Tom would..."

"Don't do that. It wasn't your fault." You say.

He nods solemnly. "I know." You see him quickly blink away the excess moisture pooling in his eyes.

"Besides, I'm always going to worry. No matter how prepared you are, or how big or strong you are..." You say, groping at the thickness of his shoulders and then down to his biceps. You groan as you squeeze them and he notices.

"You like that, huh?"

"I love it," you say with a smirk.

"It's your fault, fattening me up. You're too good of a cook."

"Just more of you to love," you giggle, as he presses his face into yours. He kisses across your cheek and settles on your lips. You can feel how hard he is as he crushes you into his arms and against his stacked body.

Slipping his tongue inside your mouth you can't help but moan and falter in his grip; like pudding slipping through his fingers, your legs buckle and you feel instantly weak for him.

"Prometo que voy a volver, hermosa," he whispers.

Your hands work his belt and zipper as he squeezes your ass.

"I believe you," you confirm. "I'm gonna miss you so much." You gasp around his lips. You can feel all the heat in your body flooding towards your core.

"I'm gonna to miss you too, baby."

"Show me," you entice.

You reach in and pull out his fat, leaking cock into your hands without hesitation. You both groan at the sight of it; swollen thick and with a flushed head and succulently wet.

You trail your hand up, pushing his t-shirt out of the way to get a better view of the tanned paunch he has settling over his hips. You run your fingers across it, skimming gently and making him shudder before taking a handful of his belly and squeezing gently as you jerk him slowly in you other hand.

He whines, his own hands pulling down the straps of your camisole and taking your freed, puffy nipples into his mouth.

"Mmm, Frankie..." you groan, as he latches on, sucking and nipping across them both hungrily. "Fuck me," you plead.

You need him. You need him inside you filling you up with more than his promises.

Quickly, he pulls you to him and pushes you against the work bench. Turning you so your back is against his chest, and pulls your shorts down as your hands reach behind you, knocking his cap off and clawing through those sweaty curls desperately.

He reaches forward and swipes his fingers between your thighs finding a slick, wet pool waiting for him. You arch your back and groan out as his fingers tease through your folds, circling on your clit making your thighs shake.

"Fuck," he moans into your hair. "Siempre estás tan lista para mi."

"Baby, I need you," you sigh, reaching round for his cock that's leaking more wet strings onto your butt cheek as you grind against him.

You feel his stomach crush into your back as he groans when you touch him. He's so heavy against you and you pulse at the thought of his weight sinking you into the mattress beneath him when he fucks you hard in bed.

He lines himself up, sliding his thick head through your drenched lips, once, twice before he sinks himself into you, stretching you open again around him.

You both cry out, a little louder than you probably should with the garage door rolled up halfway. Anyone passing by on the street at that moment would see both your bare legs and know immediately what's happening. But you don't care.

You need him. You need Frankie like this, all thick and heavy and crushing against you with his warmth and heavy belly as he buries himself deep into your sopping cunt from behind.

You need to remember the feel of him like this on your body whilst he's gone.

His arms wrap around your stomach holding you tight against him as his hips shunt up and fuck you deeply. Every breath catches in the back of his throat as he does it, and your whines and moans only grow louder.

Twisting, your lips find his as he sucks in breaths with each hard thrust, his hands sliding up to massage and grope at your breasts. Both of you locked tight together, squeezing and gripping on to one another.

"Mmm," you groan around his teeth. He feels so good, filling you full of him. His thick thighs hitting against the back of yours, the weight of him against you making you safe and warm. Knuckles bruising against your own as you scramble for one another and lock fingers.

His digits on his other hand play with your clit, circling around that buzzing hub of nerves as your thighs shake again, and you can't help but bend forward into the pleasure of it all as it builds.

You feel it at the back of your skull, blooming like a flower with petals unfurling that blind you. "You feels so fucking good, don't stop!" You whine as you hold onto the work bench.

He grips onto your hips and fucks you harder now; thighs now slapping against your ass as he bottoms out continuously, filling the deepest parts of you with him.

Frankie leans over, kissing over your shoulders and neck. You feel his teeth indent and bite as he sucks the skin there. "Fuck, baby." He whines close to your ear. "Want you coming over my cock," he hisses.

"I'm close," you pant.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me." He smirks as he sucks more of your skin into his mouth like he's starving. "You feel so good, I can barely stand it, baby."

You stand up, pulling from him and turn, sitting on the bench as you wrap your legs around his waist. He pulls you closer to the edge as he slides back into you.

You cling onto his shoulders, your face pressed against his as he fucks deeper and slower. His cock hitting against that spot that makes you dizzy and absolute putty in his hands.

You watch as his belly ripples each time he flexes his hips and you can't help yourself but to reach down and stroke it. He chuckles as you paw at it mesmerised somewhat by it's jiggling.

"You're so fucking sexy, Frankie." You moan as his hand joins yours, guiding it down to your pussy where he makes you stroke your clit for him.

"Not as sexy as you," he says, slipping his tongue back into your hot mouth.

You rub your clit as he thrusts deeper and you're almost there, right on the cusp. Feeling it build and pile up behind your abdomen as your thighs and legs tense and your mind goes hazy.

"Fuck, Frankie!" You wail, your voice escaping under the garage door and into the street.

"Come for me," he says and it's all you need as you burst, gasping out and shuddering as he holds you tightly and fucks you through it. "Baby, come for me."

"Come back to me, Frankie," you gasp clutching onto him.

"I'm coming back to you," he promises again.

"Don't leave me."

"Never."

"I need you back here inside me like this," you croak. "Fucking me like this with your big, thick cock... oh fuck!" You cry out as the wave subsides, leaving you shook and rattling.

"I'm coming back... fuck, I'm coming-" he stutters "I'm-I'm gonna come, baby... shit!"

You feel him tense and then gush, filling you full of warmth as he slows with a choke at the back of his throat. You stroke over his belly again, pinching the sides of his rounded hips gently as he smirks into your hair.

"You really like that, don't you?" Frankie says, watching as you grope his belly fat gently, lovingly.

He's noticed the extra love and worship you show his more wobbly parts these days. And it warms him to know it doesn't put you off. He knows you have hang ups about your own body since giving birth, but he couldn't find you more beautiful; stopping to lavish attention over the jagged lines and stretch marks on your tummy and hips when he goes down on you.

His cock falls from you, dripping his creamy spend onto the garage floor at his feet. You can feel it drip out of you too. He runs his forehead against yours sticky with sweat and hums contentedly into your face.

You kiss his soft, pink lips as you rub his stomach more. "I'm going to miss this the most whilst you're gone," you say with a dreamy smile.

Smiling at you, he knows it'll be alright. He'll make sure of it.

He's coming back to you.

🖤

Spanish Translations:

Te lo juro - I swear

Prometo que voy a volver, hermosa - I promise I'll come back, beautiful

Siempre estás tan lista para mi - You're always so ready for me

FRANKIE'S WAY | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #chubby!frankie #triple frontier fic #francisco catfish morales #jett's asks #jett's writing

[moonshynecybin]

oxley bom podcast saying they have a very reliable source claiming gigi wants marc in ducati. um. putting aside all the material implications of that (potential championships etc) pecco and marc teammates oh my. poor pecco marc is going to psychologically destroy him without even realising he's doing it. and don't get me started on the rosquez of it all

i think it will literally be so funny because. if marc smokes his ass (he’s literally never not smoked a teammate. literally never. and it’s different now but not. THAT different. anddd pecco almost got got by jorge martin last year lest we forget) pecco i fear may not recover. like pecco rules he’s SO good at riding the ducati because he looks at it like this super methodical machine that he understands inside and out and studies the data and is in general very cerebral about it vs marc “raw talent intuition and adaptability” marquez potentially coming in and shaking his identity concerning what it means to be the number one down ducati rider to. the core. potentially a very fun saw trap for leedle peccochino. kind of specifically designed to ping all of his little neuroses. what happens when studying is not enough and someone (who you DO not like but CANNOT HELP holding in high regard because of his talent) comes in to yourrrrrrr team and potentially stunts on you. what do you even DO. and pecco i think tries really hard to be mature and above it all but. HES REALLY NOT

#really funny. good stuff gigi i WOULD enjoy that. #motogp #callie speaks #asks #marc marquez #pecco bagnaia #like pecco is SO talented and winning two titles is not an accident. but he’s never been the most naturally talented! #and i think this would. haunt him if it goes badly…

[obstinaterixatrix]

Lady of the Shard is a comic about an acolyte in love with the goddess she serves. 

Note: This comic contains content that may be objectionable to some readers.  Discretion is advised. 

[Spoilers] Content warnings include:

body horror imagery sexualized manipulation/mind control forgiveness for an abusive character

happy femslash february here's a... webcomic-type thing with a lot of pages, but I'd clock reading time as definitely probably under half an hour (?). it's a classic, ggdg released it in 2016 and it kind of defies description. like the summary says, lady of the shard is about an acolyte that falls in love with a goddess. they are also in space. the art is very unique and super cool--ggdg formatted it for fullscreen desktop itchio viewing, and they use the medium VERY well with color and composition. there's a lot of truly superb tonal dissonance with serious life-or-death stakes and the acolyte being just a little guy that endears herself to like. every powerful woman she meets. it's so funny. it's SO funny. I think all the time about the end where [redacted] just goes 'wow you're pretty stupid huh.' lady of the shard is a very striking story that posits: sometimes being cute and stupid is enough. if it's one you can read I definitely recommend checking it out.

regarding the warnings, heed them in general? it gets somewhat heavy but I'd say the tone overall lighthearted without what I would consider gratuitous focus or depiction of the content warnings. I'll also clarify that the abusive character that gets forgiven is not the love interest.

ggdg is currently on tumblr at pallisia but that account isn't centered on their work as ggdg--at the moment they're working on a vn, which I'm looking forward to ^^

#femslash february #yuri #femslash feb recs #ff recs #recs #I've been looking forward to this one... if you've missed this classic it's absolutely worth checking out

[riddles-n-games]

Spoiler Warning: The Brothers Hawthorne Epilogue and The Grandest Game Theory

Guys, I think we should talk. For those of us who read The Brothers Hawthorne, it's rather obvious that Eve is still at large and based on the epilogue we got, she's going to become a major threat again. Now, we know that clearly Grayson's half-sisters are going to get swept into this and I'm pretty sure it's evidence of Eve's vendetta at Grayson directly and indirectly at Avery. I'm sure that Savannah will be the Grayson sister that's mostly involved as the bait while Gigi goes to her older brother for help. But that's not really concern of this post.

What is the concern is that Eve knows Avery's secret regarding the whereabouts of Sheffield Grayson. She knows he's dead and that Avery is among the last people that saw him and also knows what happened to the man. In The Final Gambit, she was under a vow of silence because her great-grandfather, Vincent Blake, lost to Avery and under her conditions as winner, the secret of what happened to Grayson's father would be kept under wraps. With that, supposedly, our Hawthorne heiress gets her happy ending; none of the people she loves is in danger anymore except Toby, the year is up, she gets her inheritance, donates a bunch of it, creates a charity, travels the world with her boyfriend, done deal. Ideal, right? Whelp, not anymore. TBH concludes with Vincent Blake passing away and Eve was his designated heir so she now has complete control over the family fortune. Uh-oh, what does that sound like? Someone's in danger again of having their secret spilled. Eve is no longer tied down by Vincent's agreement with Avery and by all means, she could expose Sheffield's mysterious disappearance. And the thing is, I think she will.

Why do I bring that up? Because I think a fairly good foreshadowing of this in TBH is when Avery goes to talk with Gray near the end of the book and they have a moment of reflection on the aftermath. They both said that even if it was a big media circus, they could have dealt with it and that probably would have died down anyways. However, in their reality, they have not, they covered it up and have to continue keeping that secret or everything unfolds and Avery becomes liable. Which is exactly why I think that this is where part of Eve's involvement in The Grandest Game and further on in the series will lead up to. The epilogue shows from her perspective how much she envies Avery and how she is surrounded by the Hawthorne brothers but I think what stings her most is Grayson's loyalty to her. She thought she had at least him to manipulate and when the truth was out, he left her too. We know that she doesn't really have anyone's loyalty from Blake's personal security, only Slater but even he seems to be potentially set up from the get go to leave her with the obvious hints of a romance subplot with Gigi. Maybe he'll be at odds with Grayson but for Gigi, he could easily leave if things turn too dark with what happens to Savannah, if anything does, that is.

But yeah, that's my theory for TGG and I hope you enjoyed it. What are your thoughts on this?

#evelyn shane #eve #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #the brothers hawthorne spoilers #the grandest game theories #the inheritance games theory #tig theories #the inheritance games rant #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #tig #thl #tfg #tbh #tgg

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Okay, just…imagine Elvis playing peekaboo with his babies and Gigi coming into the room to watch him lol!

I am so soft 🥹 we need more babies + BDE

#I’m gonna be the change I wanna see in the world #regarding gigi #elvis fanfiction

[precious-little-scoundrel]

im so happy you posted that gigi blurb i missed them so much 🥺

Baby 🥹 I’m so grateful y’all are so kind and accepting of even my hasty productions, it brings me such joy to be able to give back to y’all a little. I’m such a rampant perfectionist that I don’t want to give y’all anything but the best and most interesting pieces, but that leads to paralysis and not releasing anything at all, but then going ahead and sending out something I’m not happy with demotivates my writing as a whole.

Oh the woes of a writer! Ha.

So anyways, thank you for the love note and for being along for the Gigi ride, your message has certainly prompted me to go ahead and start compiling some more half baked thots. 💋

#love notes #regarding gigi

[w0lp3rtinger]

@biolover9 <3 eeeehehehehe - @lambpaca and I have talked about this. Like, even outside of the parameters of Shadow and Amy getting together. This is just general conversation.

I've mentioned this a bit about it before on the sideblog, but I just... never could see Shadow ever wanting biological children. Truthfully, I don't think he could have them even if he wanted to, not without a massive amount of medical intervention.

Like... if you're making the ultimate weapon, the ultimate life form, why would you ever give it the ability to make more of itself? That lessens your control over it and runs the risk of causing your enemies to get their hands on a weapon of their own. You don't want that.

(I'm saying 'it' because like... that's how GUN viewed Shadow. 'It'. Even Gerald viewed Shadow as 'it' in the end in his diary. What Shadow wanted didn't matter to them. )

Beyond that though, I can see Shadow looking at their own biology and not wanting anyone else to have to endure it. Especially working off of the idea that they're still young and all the ramifications of genetic testing and mutation on them haven't really come to fruition yet (looking at you, 'immortality'). Why would he be selfish enough to pass a potential curse like that along?

That's not to say Shadow doesn't like kids. We've seen them be extraordinarily patient with characters like Cream, Tails, and Charmy both in-game and outside of game. I think for them to want kids though, they'd need to have certain needs met. They'd need to be free from GUN, they'd need to feel safe, they'd need to make a lot of peace with themselves and grow as a person. Essentially, they'd have to go through hell and then also a lot of soul-searching before reaching the conclusion of, 'I want to be a parent.'

But Amy? Oh without question, I think Amy wants kids. Doesn't matter if they're hers or someone else's. I've joked about her having a vision binder listing out three kids and names and everything. Amy also has been shown to want a domestic future after she's defeating Eggman. She wants to enjoy the peace and the every-day magic of just existing to exist. I think a lot of people agree that Amy would want kids to be a part of that domestic bliss.

Personally? I think there's also this idea that kids are hope for a future. Amy has spent her entire childhood fighting. There's no way to get that time back, no way to undo that which she has seen and had to experience. She forced herself to grow up quickly in order to protect both herself and the world. Amy wouldn't have kids unless she felt safe enough to do so.

I also think Vanilla being Amy's main parental figure that we see in almost every iteration of the Sonic franchise helps. Vanilla is, by all accounts, a loving, kind parent. That would have made a positive impact on Amy not only in regards to who she becomes as a person, but also, her own expectations on what being a parent entails. Seeing someone who wants to be a parent, who likes being a parent, who likes their kids (both their biological kids and the ones they pick up like a wet cat off the street), that means something, you know?

All the Sonic Gang solidify that family is what you make it, family is a choice, but Vanilla shows that parenthood is also a choice, and one that can be done with joy.

How does Gigi factor into this? Well, I kinda touch on it in The Home You Make, and then I show it in Late Evening Talks, but effectively- Amy and Shadow both make each other feel safe, they help the other grow, they help the other be their best selves, and in the moments they struggle, they're there for one another. This creates an environment for the two of them that allows them to entertain and discuss the notion of being parents. Without question, I can see them covering it before they even really start dating. Shadow in particular, not wanting to mislead Amy, would make his stance/circumstances abundantly clear, but now, fully committed and comfortable with one another in a way they were not previously, the subject would come up again not as a nebulous 'well maybe' but as a 'are we gonna do this?'

And they decide, 'yes.'

They'd take the adoption process slow, looking. They’re not really looking for a hedgehog- the species doesn’t matter. It’s the kid that does. I don’t even think the two of them really know what they’re looking for when they start. I mean, how do you put parameters around this sort of thing? Ultimately, Gigi wins them over. She’s funny, she’s creative, she’s sweet even if she’s a hellion, she’s protective, she gets into fights- she’s them. They see her in them. They get this kid. The child care staff warn them about her being 'stubborn and standoffish,' and overall ‘difficult to work with’. That pisses Shadow and Amy off royally. Not like that's unfamiliar territory- they’ve been this kid, frankly. When they meet Gigi, they’re smitten, and frankly, them coming from a place of understanding with her helps her warm up to them. When they fully decide to go for Gigi, they take the process slow, letting her get to know them, letting her decide if their home is the place she wants to be.

And she decides, 'yes.'

#sonic fankid showdown #gigi the parakeet #shadamy #op rambles #sth #biolover9

[marinas-drafts]

but then…Gigi

Part 5

Warnings: the usual for this universe with crass language and descriptions of bodies (flattering and negative) with use of the words fat, etc. some heavy petting and kissing and talk of blow jobs, age gap, mentions of drugs, mentions of and an actual enema described in the most respectful and vague way that I could manage? strictly caretaking in tone and help regarding serious health concerns

Rating18+: Mature for some sexual language, some sexual scenes, subject matter, dark thought processes and health specifics

Word Count: 10k 🤭

Special Thanks: to baby girls @stylespresleyhearted & @eliseinmemphis who’ve breathed this universe into being and for my friends who gave their input and assurances for this chapter. And to all of y’all who said to go full real and raw in this one, incorporate the hard and ugly parts with the soft and lovely -just like life. Thank you, this urging has helped me go ahead and write something I’m very proud of and hope touches y’all, too.

Graceland at night will always remind Gigi of the first time coming, seeing the house all lit up at the end of the drive's curve, window lights twinkling at her and the promise of his presence inside filling her with butterflies.

Tonight Elvis’ hand is heavy on her ankle and its little chain instead, as it lays in his lap as he drives them up and around back himself, the garage opening like witchcraft without Gigi noticing a single employee besides Sam down at the gate. What a change a week makes.

It’s his home, she thinks fondly at the sight of the back kitchen door. Seems ages since this afternoon when he sent her out here to wait in the garage as he took care of business. They must both be thinking the same thing as they loiter in the Stutz for a little while after he turns the engine off, as if scared some remnants of ghoulish Alden’s might remain inside.

She slips her hand into his big paw at last and he seems to startle out of a reverie in order to give her a tight smile. His sweaty skin glitters from the garage light and it’s muted and pretty as a painting. “Thanks for bringing me home, daddy.” she whispers and if a kid ever got the chance to be brought to the North Pole by Santa, Elvis ain’t sure they’d be more grateful than this shimmery eyed girl child in his seat.

Who the fuck didn’t want this sweet little thing? Who made her so desperate she’s coming home with a washed up old man who’s notorious for having a revolving bed? Elvis chuckles mirthlessly at the thought that even he is so beat that right now he is more preoccupied with how to distract her so he can slip away and do a damn enema.

Life is rarely fair, but it definitely ain’t fair to poor Gigi. The least he can do is tell her,

“Stay put, baby girl.” as he gets out on his side and limps over to the passenger door and opens it for her like his mama taught him, hoping he doesn’t look as stiff as he feels.

He must fail at that. No sooner does she duck her head and emerge from the car, one long leg at a time, than she’s by his side with an arm looped around his waist as if she could support him were he to tumble, kicking the passenger door closed with her still shoeless foot.

Nasty habit that, going around barefoot, he’s gonna have to break her of it, this lack of shoes, and she’s gonna have to shower before getting into bed, no way he’s gonna have grimy sooties in his sheets.

Gigi pulls Elvis’ arm over her shoulder like they’re two marines headed up a beachhead and he’s had his leg blown off, her smile is the only thing keeping him from shoving her off to prove just how fine he is. God. Why?

“What’re you doin’?” he asks instead keeping his feet firmly planted, blinking owlishly at her and she gives in to the temptation to swipe the mop of hair off his forehead. She thinks he looks so distinguished with it swept back, each of his striking features lifted by the volume. She spies some gray roots in the glow of the back door light and it makes her smile, she wonders if she can talk him into styling it the old way again, or a version of it. The way it naturally fell when he was licking her.

“I’m helping ya.” she replies with confused cheeriness.

“I don’t need it.” he insists while squeezing her waist in an attempt to make the blow land softer.

She gives him the closest thing to a suspicious look that he’s ever seen out of this guileless creature. “C’mon in honey.” he changes tactics and taps her butt, getting her to move up the few stairs to the kitchen and willing himself not to wince as he bends his knee.

Gigi is watching him like a hawk and it makes him feel very decrepit and he can just hear the ribbing from the guys about coming back hobbling after taking out a young lady a few years too vigorous for him.

That thought makes him pull his arm off her shoulder and he goes back to squeezing her waist. Which now that he thinks of it, she’s very skimpily dressed still. Just the panties and his jacket. Elvis hopes most of them have gone to bed inside or are out.

The house is far more homey when there’s less people in it, Gigi thinks, as they cross the threshold and no booming bass hits their ears or the tinkling den of party guests. Just the gentle clatter of cutlery and quiet hum of low conversation which ends up being Mary at the sink and Lamar still sat where Gigi got the keys from him at the kitchen counter, eating his burger in between sharing it with Dinah. Dinah who’s making chewing ground beef and onions an art form of seduction. It’s a little off putting if Gigi is being honest which she tries to be but Elvis makes an outright noise of disgust at being met with this in his own home.

“Fuck’s sake Lamar,” he grunts and his friend drops his bun in surprise at the sudden apparition of the two runaways, “don’t ya need to polish a windshield or somethin?”

“I’ll help polish your hubcap, baby.” Dinah purrs into Lamar’s ear and Gigi’s eyes bug about as much as the driver’s.

“Out, both of ya.” Elvis snaps his finger towards the door and Lamar lumbers by with a murmured

“Sorry EP- just sorta happened…”

as he goes with Dinah skipping past them with a wink and a tipsy gait that suggests smoking too much grass in one day.

“Jesus.” Elvis mutters, wondering what the hell is up with this group of friends and holds Gigi tighter lest she pick up on bad behavior as they venture into the den and past it to the living room, seeking out humankind.

There are no Alden’s to be found but unfortunately there is a scene unfolding on the couch of two frizzy blondes clawing at each other while unhinging their jaws like mating hippos, the better to lick each other’s tonsils. Dodger sits to the side in her usual spot in the rocker with her pipe, heedlessly crushing her crossword opposition.

“Tammy!” Gigi gasps in glee at her friend’s scandalous public behavior and the way her red acrylics have torn poor Jerry’s shirts to literal shreds, biceps and fuzzy golden pecs on almost-full display. Not that he seems to mind with the way his hips keep pumping up and his hands are wedged in the back pockets of her cutoffs.

“Jerrah,” Elvis thunders after her exclamation and only then does the hippo-love-fest- cease and Dodger raise her head in order to look Gigi up and down from the anklet on her footsie to the crown of her pretty blonde head, “the hell you doin’?” Elvis demands of his friend, “Comin’ into my home, fuckin’ up the place with b-b-barbecue sauce and ruinin’ d-dinner while y-y-yer at it a-and now neckin’ on m’couch? It’s new, man, got it last month!”

His irate voice turns into a whine at the end and Gigi rubs her hand against his chest in soothing commiseration. “Yeah Tammy, it’s new.” she echoes him.

“Who’s this?” Dodger asks, blatantly ignoring Elvis’ plight.

“I-its Gigi, grandma, ya met her earlier?” he prompts with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows that Gigi finds as cute as a little boy and she gives the unimpressed dame a little wave.

“So many girls in here I can’t keep straight.” she huffs around her pipe.

“Speaking of, uh, how’d it go? Ya know with-“ with Ginger, Elvis means, as he runs his hand down from Gigi’s waist to grab her hand and hold it.

“Oh uh,” Jerry rights himself on the couch and clasps his hands like he has some shred of professionalism left to him in that ribboned shirt, “it’s been handled. Wasn’t pretty but -well, the termination was pretty obvious. Ya gotta be a little more than delusional to push it when your ‘fiancé’ has left to go … out to eat.”

Gigi bites her lip to stall her giggle at his phrasing and burrows closer to Elvis while looking up to see his reaction, follow his lead. The man couldn’t look less sympathetic for her Predecessor and some guilty little cloud that has been hanging over Gigi all evening dissipates under the bright light of his justification.

“Good,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t want it all fussy, jus’ wasn’t meant to be. Was wrong about it all.” and that seems like a very gentle and kind concession for him to make, just as he doesn’t seem to regret the fact it is very much over.

“Well, uh, now that’s been handled…” Jerry trails off in the manner of those waiting for recognition of a job well done. He doesn’t get it. And so he continues after a beat, “Now that’s done I’ll just be uh, on m’way-“

“-No!” Elvis protests urgently and suprises evryone with his vehemence. “I-I mean don’t go, I need ya man. I-I mean, ya just got here, ya know? A-a-and where’s everybody else gotten to?”

There it is, Jerry thinks with a sigh, he’s needed since the house is empty, it’s got nothing to do with being missed. “Well, Hodge and Ricky spent most the afternoon clearing Ginger’s stuff out at her request and tidyin’ up the master for when ya get back. They’re takin’ the last of her shit over now.”

“Oh.” Elvis accepts this with a thoughtful nod, “Thas good.” he declares softly. “Well, don’t go man, not yet. Not till they get back. You just stopped by and I ain’t seen ya and we can play pool?” Elvis tempts him.

Jerry tries to ignore the way Tammy’s hand has crept into the back of his jeans and is wiggling a finger at his crack. “Uh, ok, yeah I mean- ain’t you tired, Boss?”

“Oh jus’ need a lil refresher, then I’ll be back down, right as rain. I’ll smoke ya.” Elvis replies easily and Jerry picks up on the reason for his insistence like a well trained hound.

A refresher. Be right back down.

Jerry glances over at the cute little stage five clinger holding onto Elvis like he’s a teddy bear she won in a striptease carnival and he gets the memo loud and clear.

“A-a-and it ain’t gentlemanly, you leavin’ Tammy after such a display, a girl’s owed more than that.” Elvis gets desperate enough to pull that one out and Jerry hides his laugh with a dry cough.

“Yeah, yeah I wouldn’t wanna miss seein’ you.” Jerry agrees, “Came just to see how ya were.” he admits the truth of it. “I’ll be down here when you’ve freshened up.”

“Alright.” Elvis nods.

“What’d you two get up to anyway?” Jerry starts a conversation and looks to Gigi for an answer, she doesn’t seem inclined to answer, favoring petting Elvis’ chest instead, but when he doesn’t say anything she picks up the social cue and replies for them both since he seems tired,

“We went back to my place.” she admits breezily, “The only place we could think to hide out. I’m not dressed for anything much.” and she pouts in a way that suggests she thinks she is but an executive decision was made to hide her.

“Ya went to the apartment?” Tammy is grinning wildly and she scoots closer to Jerry, patting at the seat next to her for a juicy retelling. Elvis shuffles the Siamese twins that he and Gigi have become over to the couch and gently disentangles her to sit next to her friend, exchanging a vehement look with Schilling.

“Yes we did!” Gigi is glowing with the memory and his heart aches.

“Who’s this again?” Dodger repeats, too distracted by the sight of a panty clad woman on the red couch to go back to her crossword with full mental capacity.

“This is Gigi, Dodger.” Jerry repeats gently but with more volume as if that’ll sink in better.

“Yes, I’m Gigi.” she’s eager to make a good impression, bless her and her full cotton-crotched display. Elvis starts to creep away in a stealthy little meander from the couch now that Gigi is facing away from the stairs.

“You from Memphis?” Dodger asks sourly, and this plays well into his ploy, Dodger has two moods -not giving a rat’s ass about what happens around her or else being a goddamn one-woman inquisition.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Born?”

“In Memphis, ma’am!”

“Your parents?”

“Mama’s French but Daddy is from Hardiman county.”

“French, hmph.” Dodger picks out the one unacceptable nugget and latches on, “I went to France once…”

Elvis can taste the inquisition coming on and it should buy him a good thirty minutes. Thirty minutes should work if he can just relax and not fuck it up with nervous retention. A ticking clock always makes him clamp up. He bites his lip and reminds himself just how awful it would be for Gigi to learn what his regimen requires. He takes the first step soundlessly, then the second. He’s made it to the third by the time he hears a distant-

“Oh Gigi!-“ from Jerry and the feel of a soft hand on his elbow. She looks so at home on his stairs that Elvis feels like marveling, like she was meant to go up to this sanctum-sanctorum that he trusts so few to see. Not for the first time today he feels as if he’s being looked at with eyes as unconditionally loving -and presumptive- as his Yissa’s.

“Are we going up now?” Gigi asks in a giddy little whisper and Elvis wonders if she really just tore out of the living room and Dodger’s chat in order to be with him. Not even housebroke, this one.

“Gigi, it ain’t polite leavin’ Dodger like that.” he rebukes gently and the glee fades into consternation.

“S-she knows I went to help you!” she whimpers in protest and behind her ear he can see Schilling get up and whisper something to Tammy. It better not be any particulars.

“That’s real sweet darlin’ but I’m gonna be right down,” Elvis soothes, his hand cupping her cheek, “be right down, and family’s very important to me, Baby Girl. I’d like ya to get to know my people.”

It’s a thin excuse with one of those people being her best friend and the other his friend. He imagines it’s not the most appealing thing to sit and be grilled on genealogy by Dodger but Gigi is just gonna have to bear it.

“Can ya do that f’me Gigi?” he prods like it’s a great commission and she’s got watery eyes again and he really cannot believe someone is this sensitive, like God sent her out into life half baked with too thin a skin.

“Yeah, daddy.” she agrees softly, glancing up the stairs to where he’s barred her from going after inviting her up just this afternoon -it makes no sense to her.

He’s never seen a more dejected creature than Gigi as she slinks back to the living room, much to Jerry’s relief and encouragement, and takes her seat beside Tammy with crumpled cheerfulness. Elvis sees her wipe her eyes with the back of her wrists, like a kid, before perking up and turning back to Dodger with faux investment in the conversation.

Elvis climbs the stairs and wonders how he’s gonna manage this night after night. Hell, some mornings he needs it, too. Suddenly the irony hits him of wanting a girlfriend to stay only to now find the reality of that much too oppressively clingy for his pride. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do about it but for now he opens the padded doors to his room and notices with satisfaction the orderly sanitation that Hodge conducted on the place. He leaves his door adjar, no fear of intruders in this house with its well worn habits and spoken and unspoken rules. He calls up Yissa first and foremost, and while she’s in the middle of something she drops her project and they eat up a good bit of his thirty minutes with conversation. Not that he minds or counts. He’d sit on burning coals every night if that’s what had to happen to talk to his little girl. When she has to go he hangs up the receiver and goes about setting up his routine in the bathroom.

Below him, Gigi crosses and recrosses her ankles under Tammy’s smirking scrutiny and tries to listen to Dodger’s questions with due attention even as Tammy whispers filthy questions in her ear about her time with Elvis.

“Haven’t you got any shoes?” This is Dodger’s most recent concern.

“Yes ma’am I do.” Gigi patiently insists.

“Never see you in any shoes.”

“Well I- it was a pool day, you see?”

“If ya got shoes you should wear them.” Dodger moralizes and Gigi can see her point, even if she doesn’t agree.

“Yes ma’am.” she murmurs as her heart wanders upstairs where she’s seemingly not allowed.

“Get my grandson to buy ya some shoes.” Dodger points at her.

Tammy, who’s not even bothering to act like she’s listening to Dodger, starts to crack up in laughter at this berating of the point, she catches Jerry’s eye in her mirth and like lovers often do, they set each other off into a series of giggles that soon lose their context and Gigi is left more alone than ever.

She looks about the place and thinks of a million things she’d like to ask Elvis’ grandma, if he had a normal grandma. One of those cuddley, gingerbread types that the world had led Gigi to believe were ubiqtous. Instead there’s just this aged artifact from another century, smoking her pipe and staring at Gigi like she’s the oddity.

“Is that weed?” Gigi asks hopefully, nodding at the pipe’s smoking bowl.

Upstairs Elvis had slipped into a plush blue robe he uses exclusively for these purposes to keep the chill away, and having ordered his accouterments, had proceeded only a small way into his routine when the damn intercom blared to life and spooked the ever lovin’ crap outta him. He fumbled with his tools and lost his progress, angrily washing his hands so he could buzz back.

“Elvis, come get yer floozy,” Dodger was saying over the loud speaker, “she’s cryin’ in the den.”

Of course she was, he seethed and felt like breaking the glass in his frustration over no one being competent enough to wrangle a single teenage girl from intruding on him for half an hour.

“Gigi, she don’t mean nothin by that!” he could hear Charlie’s voice faintly in the background and the fact that even with reinforcements they couldn’t handle this made Elvis laugh in manic hopelessness.

“Tell her to grow up, Goddamnit, or I’ll send her home.” he roared through the intercom, punching the button with a vicious jab.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. Fed up and miserable with pain, Elvis stepped away from the button and grabbed another enema bulb and poured in the saline, warming it in the sink and slicking up the catheter with a lubricant that used to remind him of happier times -now his mind associates it with this. He released the button before hearing the response - downstairs Gigi’s sobbing whimper and Tammy offering her friend support by calling him an ‘ass.’

Unable to get the angle right he gave up his attempt to do it standing and grabbed his allocated mat for these purposes, fluffing out a black towel over it. This activity was something he did more of the set up for than anything else in his life. In decades. Having his crew carry the cases of supplies around was humiliation enough, he didn’t need anyone around him to get a firm impression of the details, which laying out towels and lubing up tubes inevitably gave. Mystery was important for respect, and there weren’t no mystery here. And little, if any, dignity either.

Elvis got down on the mat with a brutal pop of his left knee. He heard his own whimper and it sounded like a wounded creature, not at all himself. It was cold down here on the tiled floor with just a thin mat between him and the marble but he could lay down at least and reach behind himself and make his tense body relax enough to accept and dispel what it needed.

Getting up and to the toilet from the ground was the hard part. And he’d bite that challenge off when he needed to.

“Daddy?” he heard faintly outside his room, through the barrier of a wall and half closed door, but while his sight suffered and his body failed him, his ears were sharp as ever and for a brief moment his heart leapt at the unexpected joy of his Lisa coming early. Then he heard again, “Daddy?” And that wasn’t Lisa at all, she didn’t call him daddy and she’d never be so tentative upstairs.

Too committed to his procedure and unable to interrupt it, Elvis held his breath like he was playing hide and seek as Gigi repeated his name closer, inside the bedroom, gently but with so much sadness in her tone.

So she’d ventured up here anyway.

He tensed as she drew closer to the bathroom, drawn by the light under the door in the otherwise darkened room. This tenseness was gonna screw up his enema, he was gonna retain at this point.

“Elvis, you in there?” she asked gently on the other side of the wood and he let out a shaky breath at the inability to deny any longer, fearing she’d try the doorknob of he was silent and in his trust of his home’s stable order, he hadn’t bothered to lock it.

Gigi turned everything topsy turvy and he felt like a young kid again, getting overwhelmed when changes came to fast and nothing familiar would remain just so. He felt his breath coming fast and his vision starting to spot. Such silliness for a man in his forty’s.

“Yeah baby girl, I got in the tub for m’head.” He lied, counting on the compassion she had previosuly shown for his ailment to bolster his story. He has no body of water to splash for emphasis so he stayed stock still on his side on the cold floor and waited with baited breath for her to accept this. “And I had’ta call Lisa.”

“Oh good!” she cooed from outside, and he smirked at the confirmation that he still knew how to play ‘em. “You coulda told me, Daddy! I’d be quiet as a church mouse and coulda run the tub for you and washed your hair for you so you didn’t have to strain your shoulders.”

Did she think he needed to wash his hair? He put his hand to his head and felt grease and immediately regretted it as part of that was now lube. “Aww, you sweet thing.” he complimented her kindness vaguely even as he panicked at the thought that his lie would require a wet head. God he was so tired, he came home so he didn’t have to pretend and here he was on his bathroom floor, puttin’ in a Oscar worthy performance with a half quart of saline up the ass.

“You shouldn’t be so silly, Daddy.” she scolded sweetly and he rolled his eyes, thinking ‘if she only knew.’

“Oh?”

“I love to help you.” she insisted and she must’ve had her lips presssed to the door gap, she was so breathy and close, he could picture her smushed face now and he wanted to tear up at the sweetness. “Will you let me wash your hair, Elvis?”

He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw the door handle wiggle like a hand had put weight on it. “N-n-no, I-I,” he stuttered out urgently, “I-I-I ain’t comfortable w’that.” he begged, “Not tonight i-I-i’m shy, Gigi. Believe it o-o-or not I-im shy.”

And that at least was a God’s honest truth.

“I know.” she murmured back and sounded like she was smiling herself, “I noticed. I didn’t expect that of you, but I really like it. Makes you cuter somehow.”

And being considered cute was a real heartening thing for a fella to hear, tipped on his side as he was, like a beached whale. Elvis grinned into his hand and let himself savor that. The feeling came again that Gigi really liked him as he was, except for his temper, maybe, and he could hardly fault her for not enjoyin’ it. But she liked him. As he was.

“I’m just gonna sit outside here and be with you.” she declared gently and to his alarm he heard the sound of shuffling like someone sitting down in front of the door, “We don’t haveta talk if you wanna be quiet. I understand, with your head hurtin’. I just couldn’t be away from you any longer. Please don’t make me be away from you, Elvis. It’s all I want, to be with ya.”

Elvis stared unblinking at the caulk line at the bottom of his tub. It was right at eye level down here and the varied thickness of it made him irrationally annoyed, he reached out and picked at a gloop of the dried stuff with his bitten fingernail.

“Ok.” he answered, utterly terrified.

How the hell was he gonna get off the floor, hobble to the John and do his buisness without the sound of any convincing bath effects -and her sitting right outside the door. How the hell. He figured it would be better if she were distracted.

“Tell me ‘bout your French mama.” he requests the first distraction that comes to his mind.

Gigi eagerly takes off on a tangent about her mother who was an artist and rarely in one place, how she had been born in Normandy and credited their breasts to good Norman cow milk, how she painted replica Monet’s on commission and was accordingly sued and how Gigi enjoyed being taken overseas to visit her French relations and go apple picking in the orchards and swimming in the sea -and Elvis listened to the narrative, told in her sweet voice, and allowed himself to be lulled, trying to relax before he made the effort to finish this business.

“-the seashells in Normandy are gigantic, some as big as my palm!” she was telling him as he sneakily turned over and raised himself on his knees, “Of course they wouldn’t be so big in your hands, your hands are so big and beautiful and could hold two of mine but -but they’re big. Does hawaii have big seashells?”

Elvis grunted in effort of holding it in until he could get where he was going and he still had concerns about noise with her right there. “Mm, pretty big.” he grunted out and a thought came to him as he gripped the edge of the tub for leverage to stand, “Water’s gettin’ cold, hold on sec I’m gonna top it off with some hot, won’t be able to hear ya.” he fibbed and reached to turn the handle so it gushed out a roar of water.

Satisfied with his cover, Elvis grabbed again at the tub’s edge and anyhting else that might aid his poor knees in getting off the damn floor. This is what trying to cut back on the pain meds got him, such debilitating pain that he could hardly get off the floor when just a few months ago he was able to kneel down for kisses on stage with only veiled discomfort. Not this agonizing ache and strange weakness in his limbs. He clutched at the tub faucet with it’s handled shape and pushed up.

He was a few pounds too much and after some strain and little progress, the faucet snapped out of its fixture with a deafening clatter that sounded like the ceiling had caved in, reverberating around the tiled room like a thunder clap. He fell back on his kneecaps with a searing thud.

“Lord have mercy!” he heard Gigi exclaim clearly over the roar of the empty tub, and that was because she was right beside him, having burst in with all that loving presumption at the first sound of distress. “Oh daddy, what happened? Ya slip comin’ out?”

She couldn’t get a good read on the situation with it so dim and simultaneously shiny in here, besides the confusing aspects of Elvis being dressed in a robe and dry headed as if having been out of the tub for awhile and him crouched beside it as the absent faucet still roared from its pipe against the empty porcelain. His bathroom was mainly gold, with flecks of black in the tile and accents and it disoriented her, so busy and gaudy she didn’t even notice the mat beneath her feet, assuming the spread out towel was another odd addition that went with the solid gold faucet lying wrenched from its place in the tub.

“Elvis, here, my hand!” she turned the tap off so he could hear her better and tried to get him to look up but his face was turned down with his hair hanging into his eyes. “I’ll help ya up, daddy.” she assured again, and stepped closer, crouching to brace her track hardened thighs for the ordeal of hefting such a sturdy man onto his feet.

On her way to him Gigi stepped on a clear little carton, rather like a baby bottle but far more collapsible. It was empty and squished under her foot, she picked it up curiously. “What’s this?” she asked him innocently.

He looked over at her then, up through a fan of golden lashes so thick and stiff you could hang your hat on them and answered in a dejected growl, “It’s a goddman enema, Gigi.”

She squeezed it once more till the empty thing wheezed and realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, duh.” she laughed and chucked it aside without a second thought before offering her forearm as a handle for him to grip, he rather dazedly let his hand curl around her tan flesh, “If you’re in here doin’ those ya really oughta have somebody nearby to help.” she berated him and once again he thought of Lisa and was beyond glad that it wasn’t his little daughter seeing him like this. No, it was just this big tittied sweetheart who he’d remember fondly through a haze of shame once she leaves him tonight. “Ya should have someone near to help ya get up if you’re in trouble,” she went on, “I know you’re shy. But it’s just me! I’m shy too and I let you see my pussy.”

Like that’s remotely the same as helping a man shit. “Girl,” he rebuts solemnly as he staggers to his feet with her help, feeling the liquid slosh in his gut, “some things are best left between a man and his toilet.”

“Yeah ok,” Gigi conceds, then strikes back right away, “but right now there’s nothing but a lotta distance between you and your toilet. Let me help. C’mon. This is a really pretty robe, by the way. You should always wear blue. And red, I suppose. You look so good in red. Well then there’s black, you’ve always looked good in black,” Gigi babbles and before he knows it he’s sat on the porcelain throne as she tugs the aforementioned blue robe away in the back for him, Gigi herself, lost in a world of the photos she’s cut from the papers of him at his concerts as she continues on “-and I like you in oranges, too. Never thought yellow was the best but I’ll have to see it in person. Pink makes you look kissable-“

“-Gigi,” Elvis whispers in a small voice, “could ya turn around, a’least?”

“Oh! Of course!” she spins around and faces the open bathroom door that she walks over to and shuts, confining them both in here. He means to ask her how she got away and made it all the way up here without interference, he has a buncha pussies for bodyguards. He doesn’t know Gigi was personally escorted upstairs by Dodger who was fed up with the girls tears, who pointed out the master bedroom doors and everything.

“You need to wash your feet, been in the garage and walkin’ in the street’n’shit.” he says for lack of anything better and to minimize the utterly irregerous ordeal of having a woman here for this. Bathrooms just don’t get shared for this shit. They just don’t. But here he is, losing control of one more aspect of his life. All he can focus on right now is letting the thing do it’s job so this ain’t a waste.

“Ok.” Gigi answers obediently and starts shucking her clothes without preamble, stripping down to her naked state in front of him for the second time today and she gives him a bashful grin over her shoulder like she should be the shy one before standing next to him again and turning on the shower tap. The tub and it’s damaged faucet is separate and he’s glad of the patter of rainfall that fills the room and after feeling it for temperature, Gigi soon steps in and begins a faithful lather of her body, starting with her feet.

Elvis watches transfixed as she sudses her little pink toes and the well formed shape of her heel and thumbs at her arches. He wishes to God he was in there doing that. As it is, the little show makes him forget his surroundings and he finally relaxes more than he had been able to all night. Suds are dripping off the curve of her titties like a chocolate fountain splashing off strawberries and he reaches behind him to flush without tearing his eyes from the sight, grateful for the distracting sounds of Gigi humming one of his songs and the fizz of the shower.

Whether the noise alerted her or she’s just intuitive, Gigi glances up as he gathers his robe about him and braces to stand up. “Daddy, I said Let.Me.Help.” she punctuates her sentence with aggravation that bounces off the shower wall like she’s in a stage play. She’s stepping out of the still running shower, all shiny and dripping, before he can protest, and she stands in front of him bare and gentle and he could weep at the sweet expression on her face, so devoid of anything but affection and determination to be of help.

He wonders if this is how mama felt, when she got tipsier than she’d ever have the courage to admit, when he helped her up stairs or into bed and ignored the smell of the alcohol and the slur of speech. The staggering ineptitude of a parent whose child has suddenly had to take over caring for. Mama always used to pat his head in the morning, a silent acknowledgment for his kindness but also his silence, covering her nakedness like Noah’s faithful sons.

He wants to cry. He misses mama so much, misses her assurances and her approbation that she sees him trying to do his bestest. He finds his forehead leaned against Gigi’s slick belly before he means to and finds he’s weeping with her hands in his hair before he can stop it.

“Daddy, sweet daddy, you bear up with so much.” she’s murmuring in broken hearted tones and he hears her sniffling too, and maybe it’s her saying it but it’s his mama talking though her, he’s sure of it. Here in this Gethsemane of his pride and dignity, he weeps at being found out and instead of scorn he gets warm flesh melding into his own and soft messages from his mama.

“Gigi -Jesus! -I-I dunno what to say.” he gasps, ragged and hoarse.

“You don’t? I don’t, more like.” she whispers fiercely, “The whole nation would apologize to ya if they knew how bad it’s gotten. And you never breathin’ a word. Lord daddy, you’re stronger than anyone I ever seen.”

He doesn’t feel very strong, staring at the broken faucet lying in the spatter of shower drops.

“Do ya need to do another?” she asks gently, soothing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I’ll get it ready.” she offers.

“No, m’set.” he mumbles.

“Be honest.” she warns.

“I swear, m’done. Just beat.”

“Maybe the fennel oil helped?” she hopes and maybe she’s got a point, this was easier than some.

“Maybe it did.” he’ll give her that and smiles against the curve of her belly.

“Why aren’t you usin’ coffee in the enemas instead?” she inquires much to his bewilderment, “It’s good for your liver and less abrasive on the gut. Saline just shreds you.”

“Really?” he grunts, this cute girl knows a thing or two after all, “Never heard that.”

“We’ll have to see if they help, get you a bucket and tub too, they’re easier to manage.” she decides and he wants to protest that she doesn’t get a say in such things but the fact she’s talking about a future where she’s here and meddling with enemas makes him a little woozy with hope. Gigi makes a mental note of calling up a friend who’s majoring in nursing and asking for any and all books and tips that could help in a situation like this. “Let’s get you washed and put to bed.” she encourages him, scratching at the base of his head and feeling the steam roll off of him, inflammation and exhaustion pouring out from his skin, “no way you’re up for shooting pool with Jerry.”

“Oh that was just to get him to keep an eye on you.” Elvis laughs as she helps him stand, never once planning on playing pool tonight of all nights.

Gigi rolls her eyes at him and pouts at his deviousness, Elvis is just glad she’s focusing on that and not the surrounding accouterments any longer, “It really hurt me you didn’t want me with you.” she informs him with grave maturity that somehow makes a mockery of her nineteen years, she looks more fragile than ever, even in this attempt at communicating her needs.

“And I don’t want ya seeing me do this.” He replies as gently as he can as the shower roars next to them and fills the room with billows of steam, “Like I said, some things are between a man and his toile-“

“-and his toilet, yeah. But I’m me!” she explains with a wide smile and he’s really got no clear, available arguments against such impregnable, optimistic, self-exalting while at the same time being utterly selfless -logic.

It’s like arguing with a very pretty lunatic, one with ripe tits still shiny from her shower and crooked little front teeth behind full lips and eyes that could convince him of anything at all -and Elvis wonders if this is how folks feel with him. Is he this infuriating? Do they get a thrill of confusion and reward in doing what he asks? Is it some sorta weird ass loop over and over that has them denying then agreeing right after, again and again?

“Let’s get you in the shower daddy.” Gigi is saying with a roll of her eyes at *his* silliness and Elvis watches in a sort of disembodied trance as she undoes the thick tie holding his robe closed.

This is another thing he was gonna take slow. Getting naked, touching and being touched no faster or intensely than what he directed and allowed. And…well, there it goes, his robe and his resolve opened up and pushed off his shoulders as slow as a strip tease while this perfect young thing has her watching face transformed from caring into something so hungry and admiring he actually feels his pulse quicken.

That’s more like it, the natural order of things is somewhat restored when the caregiver shifts from viewing him with solicitude to viewing him with the divine and fathomless want that is feminine arousal.

But still.

Sweet Jesus, it’s been forever since someone reacted to his body that way. The face sure, the man -yes, and the legendary presence is a given. But that’s all outliers of him, of poor little ole Elvis alone in his own room, in his own house, without the trappings. Nobody in a long while has taken the trappings off and moaned like a paid whore at the sight of something so utterly human and a little faulty as his body now is. A body Elvis has fought and lost against for well over a decade now.

The robe puddles around his feet and he expects it’s time to get in the shower if Gigi would pull her eyes up from his protruding gut. She’s already seen it once today when she unzipped his jacket. After an overly long review where he can actually see her crane her head down to try to see his pecker -jokes on her, the gut hides it- and up his treasure trail to his chest and his neck and his chin and his lips-

-Gigi throws her arms around his shoulders and kisses him. The sight of him naked and hairy, manly and huge, with a hanging belly too much for her to hold her desires back any longer.

Elvis is as warm as she remembers and with his body unimpeded by a tracksuit or a robe she can now fully press her body against his, standing toe to toe with their heights not too dissimilar, making it wonderful and easy to kiss him as she presses herself to every inch of his tacky skin, so much muscle and discipline polished beneath the soft and hairy bulk. It makes her feel small, just how wide and broad and large he is in comparison to her, tall and lanky as she is, she’s never been little before, but with this bear of a man she could curl into his barrel chest and pull the hairy curtains closed and be tucked away from it all. Like a fairytale princess in her favorite oak.

“I want you to crush me.” she moans in his ear as she curves her body to align with the pouch of his belly, her ass stuck out for optimal contact and Elvis groans in response, seeing the pair they make in the fogging mirror.

Something in him responds to the rightness of the image presented, fogged by the steam and softened where they’re two pink cherubs caught in an embrace, her soft breast resting on the dome of his furred chest.

Both complimentary but untraditional in their combination, - a sorta Gainsbourg and Birkin vibe where everyone’s left wondering how exactly the gargoyle got the maiden -or the thickening rockstar got this sweet piece of ass- but nobody doubts the sex is blazing hot.

It’s sexy as hell and the temperate side of himself that health and Ginger had been striving to coax into the fore, plummets into a lava filled grave at the primal, loin swelling satisfaction of Gigi and her nakedness pressed to him, writhing against him, reveling in him and trusting in his masculine abilities to satisfy her.

He grips an ass cheek in his hand, spanning from hip to crack, and crushes it to him meanly, pinching her soft skin with hsi rings, his other arm flung about her ribs and pressing her nearer there, too. Gigi lets out the happiest cry of completion at him granting her request. It’s breathless and short from the lack of air left in her lungs.

“This how ya like it?” Gigi hears him rumble darkly in her ear and she feels herself dribble at his voice alone, finding the feeling of all his strength and power pressed to her more overwhelming that any self-brought pleasure.

She can only nod her head frantically in agreement, his grip too hard and tight for anything else, she feels like she’s floating and somehow that’s more grounding for her than anything else she’s ever felt in her life. He must feel her shudder as he responds with one of his own and readjusts his grip on her butt, fingertips grazing the underside of her cheek and teasing the folds that lead to where she’s a wet mess for him.

He teases there for a moment, tiny, ticklish little swipes to the back of her waxed pussy lips and then he curls his fingers again and grips harder than even before, into her plush ass and he lifts her up to her tiptoes by the hold, making them level before slotting his mouth against hers, the closest thing to sloppy in his kisses that she’s yet experienced from him.

It delights her. This gritty, unmeasured side of him that doesn’t take things in measured and calculated amounts. She wants to be mauled and squeezed and have the crescent indentions of his fingernails on her ass. She wants to be irresistible to him, she wants him to appraise and enjoy her like she’s both precious and objectively the only thing he wants to squeeze and fuck for the rest of his life. She’s ready for that life. Gigi mauls him back, careful to be gentle with her pressure but she kneads his soft sides and the thick cording of his neck, so full of strength but also inflammation -and she suddenly recalls the shower.

Having broken their kiss, they both glance over at the pattering water. And it’s better this way, neither having to break up the moment, they both just seem to agree and proceed to amble over in a waddling embrace and step into the lavish shower.

Gigi has already washed but she won’t be the one reminding Elvis of that as he squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hands and grumbles about her stupid drugstore lemon shit. That wanting to have him paw at her and be a little sleazy in his touches is gratified by the way he spends too long on her boobs, something that is traditionally a rather clean body part. But his boyish little smile and the single minded lostness on his face he suds up their heavy weight and let’s her large pink nipples slide through his knuckles, his pink tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he gently jiggles the slippery firmness of them, makes Gigi sigh in dreamy delight that she can bring him joy by standing in the shower and letting him wobble her boobs, clapping them together one minute and jostling them the next to make the soap suds slid and back and forth along the runway to her nipples. They might have stayed at that game all night, both quite invested in never letting one little congregation of bubbles slip off the Cherry red cliff onto the shower floor. But Elvis yawned once and just like that they decided it was time to wash him and go to bed. With a sad kiss goodbye to one of her large nipples, Elvis allows for the roles to be reversed.

Of course washing him was strictly utilitarian. What was she on about, lathing his shins and his thighs and squeezing his ass like he was a nineteen year old girl? And what was it about Gigi rubbing his shoulders as she went and then turning him around into the spray to wash it off as she started to work at his front, giggling to herself as she swooshed his chest hair into certain patterns with the slippery soap. She even hefted his own boob flaps up, something he fuckin’ hated even existed right now, and she did it with heavy lidded eyes and bitten lips like she was getting off on this, on swishing suds around his large belly before squatting to get her first peak at lil Elvis.

He was still soft, or mostly so, but what shocked Gigi was how thick he was even in repose. Laying heavily on his thigh, his length was nothing much, decent but not particularly matching of his long limbs, but his thickness was to a degree that she wished she did have the stupid Lemon Up shampoo to compare it to, it wasn’t too far off. She didn't know dicks came in that size, the sorta size that makes babies heads coming out seem like not much of an escalation. Alright maybe not that big but he was large, very thick and cutely stubby and Gigi wondered if maybe it was swollen like the rest of him, if it changed with age or weight, if his pink and vulnerable little head was always peaking out of its tan sheath and if his stones were always so large and heavy, asking for the same treatment as her boobs got.

She cupped them with a dollop of shampoo in her hand and jostled the heavy sack gently and with joy in her heart. Elvis lurched forward to lean his forearm against the shower wall to steady himself.

“Gigi, honey, be brief.” he begged and if he’d have commanded her, then she might’ve popped the heavy balls into her mouth just to show him what she thought about him always denying himself any fun, but Elvis was begging and above her his belly heaved with his labored breathing and much as she wanted to see him swell to life, she cared more about seeing him rested.

Reluctantly she finished with a swipe and rinse to the back of his sack and between his crack which made him jump like a critter ran up it instead of a diligent hand. Gigi liked it when he was boyish and shy like that. It makes her press a kiss to his floppy little dick, so heavy and promising in its shrunken state and he lets out a scandalized groan at the feel of her nibbling at the tip with her lips.

“No, no honey don’t.” he begs and gives her a hand to pull her up, she remains steadfastly on her knees with a hand on little Elvis like he’s a handle of some sort. “Good girls don’t do such things.” He explains gently but with firmness, “There ain’t no need, that’s not somethin’ I need from a sweet thing like you.”

Gigi is far from relieved. In fact, if the shower spray weren’t so universal he’d think her eyes were welling with tears for the zillionth time tonight.

“What?” he barks in absolute confusion.

“But I wanna suck you!” she begs, hoarse and throaty and -she’s definitely back to crying again, sweet Jesus, he’d gotten himself a huge tittied young woman who cried over not being allowed to have his cock in her mouth.“I practiced just for the odd chance I ever met you!” she pleads in a desperate cry.

“What?” Elvis looks down at her perturbed and has to admit, unsettled as he is by this, she sure does look pretty right at cock level.

“I practiced with a nice guy who was cut so I had to pretend.” she explains mournfully and Elvis hauls her bodily up by her elbows against the tile to understand this riddle.

“Thought you said you were a virgin, baby.” he chides in confusion about the aspect of practicing for him.

“I am!” She swears, “But I practiced for you! See, I can-“ and she sticks her fingers back to her tonsils with only a small gag that makes Elvis’ masculine heart twinge in admiration.

But he’s better than this. He’s beyond appreciating her gag control and needs to know about this so called nice guy. “Darlin’ who’s this feller?” Elvis has a knack for recalling names and he’s gonna shoot this sonuvabitch if he can find him.

“He was a sweet trucker,” she explains with dreamy reminiscence, “about your age or older, and he fixed my flat tire when it popped near Jackson last year. He was real sweet and I wanted to thank him. He shared his Sundrop with me and he had one of your albums on the radio in his cab. So we talked about you and I told him how I loved you -this was a year ago- and how I wished I could meet you and show you how I loved you. And he lived in Meridian, see, and he sounded a little like you and he had dark hair and this gorgeous belly and when I sucked him I listened to your voice singing through the radio and pretended it was you.”

She finishes this saga with a simple head nod, like that’s all real tidy and normal. Elvis just gapes and a million feelings rush through him, horror at the fact she’s this gullible and unprotected, followed by burning pride at the idea of having been a preoccupation of her’s for so long. Some of this smacks of psycho stalker fan and he should probably run for the hills but Gigi pretended to blow him a year or so ago with a flabby truck diver and Elvis has a vision of that happening again if he somehow screws this up and she ends up on her own again.

That just can’t happen. He shuts his mouth and coughs, realizing that just can’t happen. “Do you like fat men, Gigi?” he asks soberly.

She looks a little hurt by this before replying with wounded devotion and a wobble of her wet lip, “I only love you.”

Elvis sighs and shakes head in astonishment and presses a kiss to the top of her wet head before turning off the shower stream. She likes it when he rolls his eyes at her but doesn’t push her away, Doesn't say she’s silly, just kisses her into compliance. She likes that.

She likes it even better when he was wet and large in the shower grinning down at her, wrapping her up in towels they had to waddle to the drawers to get in dripping pairs.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby.” he tells her but never says it’s too much. She’s waited all night for him to tell her she’s too much it she’s too clingy or she’s too effusive and he hasn’t said it yet.

Gigi helped him step into his silk pajamas pants, he was strangely meek and appreciative of this sort of help and it made her sigh with relief, letting her guard down as she did up the buttons of his sleep shirt under his smiling gaze. She had to ignore the chill of the room on her bare skin, gooseflesh pricking beneath chilled droplets, but it was worth it for the way his eyes ravished her with searching adoration, every single part of her.

Elvis offered her pajamas of her own, too, matching his own. She declared she never could sleep in clothes and the shocked little O of his mouth made her giggle, then he looked hurt and tried very hard to persuade her to try it for him.

“C’mon baby, everybody needs ‘jamies.” he sweet talks to her, holding open the waist band.

“I can’t sleep in them! It’s got elastic!” she sounded like a child forced to eat collards.

“Gigi, wear some pajamas,” Elvis tried sternness, “do it for your daddy, now.”

She sobered up at that, while remaining dried eyed much to his relief. With a slowness of movement and a grimace of distaste that showed her dislike, Gigi took the pajama top from him and slid it on.

It hung there unbuttoned with her bare cunt out and her belly and tits and legs and everything nearly, except for her covered arms, and then she smiled at him with self sacrificing serenity in her eyes while murmuring, “Only for you, daddy.”

And that’s how they ended in bed with Gigi in nothing but an open silk pajama shirt, sans bottoms, with an embroidered E of her right yam.

“I can’t believe they expect you to tour like this.” she muttered as his sweet expressions turned to grimaces and groans upon stretching out on the mattress. Tired from just entertaining a girl and her friends. The closest to angry he thinks Gigi is capable of as she scrunches her brows in frustration and he finds he has to hide a smile instead of telling this little girl to mind her own. She’s frustrated for his own benefit.

“I got good days and bad days.” he explains, turned on his side and stroking her face where it lay on their shared pillow, the room dark except for a lamp on, showing them in the mirror above. “Today were tougher than some, not ‘cause of you but jus’-“

“You woke up with a migraine.” She recalled and he is touched by that.

“Yeah, and had to take more pills for it.” he agrees, “and I gotta take s’more before I can sleep.” he warns her but Gigi just hums and keeps on kneading the back of his neck in a way that is liable to make him start drooling.

“When do we leave for the tour?” she asks, setting in and slinging her naked leg over his hip comfortably.

His heart skips a beat at her presumption. Then it plays catch up and bounds so hard he feels winded as he gasps, “September.”

“We’ve gotta get you better by then.” she mutters, “And you’ll have to help me with midterms, it’ll be crazy trying to pass long distance.” To herself Gigi ponders on whether she might have to push back school in order to be with her Daddy, the thought troubles her none because she’d fail it a million times in order to get more time with him. As long as he’ll have her and even then she knows she’d never be able to leave him as compliantly as Ginger had.

Elvis contemplates the fact she’s willing to risk college for him, that she depends on him for midterms and his belly tightens at the thought in anxious hope.

He turns on his other side, hoping for some relief from the belly ache. Without fail she follows and curls around him,seeking to understand he can’t take the heavy pressure of laying on it, and she is jetpacking on his back like a clingy koala, legs and arms woven around him until he’s half laying back on her.

“Baby Girl, I’m gonna smother ya.” he resists a little laugh as she has him in something close to a wrestling pose, legs wrapped around his hips from the back and arms over his belly, his back smashing her boobs.

She lets out a happy moan instead, “I want you to.” Gigi insists and sounds close to climax at the feel of his weight on top of her. She keeps her hold on him tight, content with feeling enveloped by him as droplets of water drip from his hair onto her chest.

Pretty lil weirdo.

“S’like a elephant layin’ on a junebug, we can’t sleep this way.” Elvis finds himself grinning at the comical image reflected in the mirrors above.

“But it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” she begs, “I’ve dreamed about this. Take your pills daddy’s and we’ll go to sleep now.”

Compliant in his bewilderment, Elvis props up and measures out his doses in his palm, swallowing them down dry before lying back, trying to aim for the mattress but Gigi wriggles beneath his bulk again and he prays he doesn’t get another lawsuit on his hands come morning for smothering the life out of a teen girl.

“Do you want a burger?” she asks softly in his ear, right as he starts to relax in her protective hold. He’s got his arms criss crossed across his body to hold her own as they hug him.

“Uh, umm, no -I-I-I’m -I’m sleepy.” he drawls, torn at the lovely idea of a burger after such a long evening but then again, his head is pillowed on boobs and Gigi’s fingers are swirling shapes in the hair on his belly under his shirt. He doesn’t really feel like ever leaving. She makes a better mattress than any amount of money could ever buy.

“Ok, honest?” she whispers in his ear and he smiles into his pillow at her childish earnestness.

He presents a wobbly pinky for her to witness his solemn oath and she happily hooks her littler one with his and they curl round each other, it feels like a promise of more than just midnight burgers. A promise of him helping with midterms and her never having another man in her life.

To his surprise, just as he starts to drift off, Elvis feels Gigi’s hand slither beneath the waistband of his silk pajamas. He thought she’d gotten the message he’s not up for it, the preliminary little snores from the sedatives underscoring his point, but all she does is cup his soft package in her palm, like it’s the most precious wobby in the world for her, and promptly starts snoring little snores herself.

Elvis tries to savor the feeling of her holding him through the night and as he slumbers, her voice manages to break through the fog of dreams talking about midterms to come, about his tour in September — with his surety in their future aided by the promise of their still clinging pinkies, sleep comes easier than it has in years.

———————————-

I hope y’all enjoyed, thank you for reading and thank you for all the prompts that got us here! We are working on a prompt list because after his chapter we open it up to jumping around with prompts. But don’t feel like you’ve got to wait till then, go ahead and send in whatever you’d like and I’ll see what I can cook up! 🌷 xoxo

#repost from main #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis #but then Gigi #Gigi #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #baby elvis #elvis fandom #70’s elvis #70s elvis #big daddy #big daddy elvis

[gigidragonbbxxx]

regarding mental diet

discipline. consistency. THIS IS HOW YOU MANIFEST.

it is the discipline and consistency in acknowledging the things in your 3D that you want and ignoring the stuff that you do not identify with.

Yes Gigi, we know that why are you saying something EVERYONE says?

bc dear reader and loass community, i'm gonna say something that might be known but I don't see stated enough:

To be a master manifester, you break your old realities and create new ones - AND A LOT OF PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME GETTING ON THIS LEVEL BECAUSE THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LET GO OF HABITS THAT DO NOT SERVE THEM.

AKA = YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

You hear me???

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

AND THIS IS WHAT MENTAL DIET IS: NOT GIVING IN TO EVERY TREND, EVERY LIL SONG, EVERY TV SHOW, ETC. IF IT DOES NOT HELP YOUR MIND BE SATURATED WITH BEING IN YOUR FAVOR.

I'll cite an example many of us go through: a friend who doesn't know the law and only wants to talk about how horrible men are. This friend is also addicted to complaining. What have so many loass practicing people have said? They've either 1) told that friend they don't want to talk about that stuff or 2) spent less time with that friend.

it's an experience so many in the community go through and many benefit from limiting their exposure to that type of person. because what is the point of spending time affirming lies like "life has to be hard" "life is unfair" "I always get treated like shit by men" "I'm never first choice" like EW!? guys, learn to get the ICK from this type of talk!!! there is no benefit from this energy.

YOU GET TO DECIDE WHAT YOU WANT TO EXPOSE YOURSELF TO. SO STOP MINGLING WITH ENERGY THAT DOES NOT SERVE YOU. IF YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK BADLY, YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK POSITIVELY!!!

Be willing to WALK AWAY. Be willing to be the one to say "This is not for me" if a convo is full of limited beliefs. Be willing to not participate in trends like making tiktoks about self deprecating jokes or tweet about toxic things. Be willing to say "Oh i never say those things about myself."

Let me explain what prompted me to write this:

I saw THE CUTEST lil key chains or cases made by a small business. I love to reblog cute things on my main account on twt (not my loass burner) and tbh I've manifested getting some of those cute things by making a lil placebo that whatever I retweet is mine/fact.

The first case/keychain thing was "Tummy Ache Survivor" which I thought was hilarious as I have a lot of Virgo energy in my life but the second image showcased another that said something along the lines of "Daily Dose of Dumb Baby Juice".

Guys.

Please.

Does a master manifester drink dumb baby juice? Or is she the operant power full of knowledge and wisdom leading a fulfilling life?

Now, I'm not a limiting typa gal okay? You can totally be "baby". You can totally live a soft live. Be a baby. Hell, I love being baby in a relationship. What I'm saying is even seemingly "harmless" things like that phrase...you have to have discernment in what could be unfavorable influences in your life.

Again, Gigi isn't telling you how to live your life. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I'm a dumb baby AND I manifest!" go ahead. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I can consume ANY CONTENT I want and manifest!" GO AHEAD.

BUT LETS DISCUSS SOME OBSERVATIONS IVE MADE ABOUT THE BIGGEST LOA COACHES/ACCOUNTS WITH THE MOST SUCCESS:

all of them. 100% of them. are careful about what they expose themselves to/say about themselves.

BECAUSE DOMINANT BELIEFS ARE WHAT MANIFESTS. SO WHY WASTE TIME CONSUMING CONTENT THAT GOES AGAINST WHAT YOU WANT YOUR DOMINANT THOUGHT PATTERN TO BE? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!

and I get the resistance to cut off things you mightve enjoyed. But i said it before and I'll repeat it again.

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

things gigi had to cut off:

sad songs on daily playlists

reality tv glorifying toxicity in relationships

accounts on twt that leaned heavily on "men are trash" mindset

conversations that were self-deprecating

and more but those are a few examples.

and you know what I have more time to do now, reader?

I have more time to affirm, to listen to subs, to write on this blog.

Because Manifestion is a Lifestyle. It's not a quick fix bc the outcome depends on the SOLIDITY of your BELIEF to enact CHANGE on the 3D.

so pls don't drink dumb baby juice. drink pretty girl juice. drink intelligent master manifester juice. drink "in my favor" juice.

with laughs and love, xx, gigi

p.s. I do not believe that this is an excuse to remain ignorant about world events and news. I encourage you to remain informed, intelligent people who do not lack awareness and instead are fully immersed in the nuance of balancing high self-esteem and understanding the political climate.

#law of assumption #gigiwrites #manifesation #loass #loassblog #loassumption #manifestation #affirm and persist #affirmations #self concept #manifesting #law of manifestation #master manifestor #neville goddard #positivity #self care #self concept affirmation #affirm #robotic affirming #wish fulfilled #living in the end #edward art #placebo #placebo effect #mental diet #shiftblr #shifting #reality shifter #desired reality #reality shift

[hearthown]

TGG Theory!!!

In the NOVL's post about the Hawthorne Vault (regarding TGG), the caption and the clue to solve the password was "opposites attract".

In the most recent teaser post, the caption mentioned "enemies to lovers". What if these captions are related to the potential relationships that might blossom in TGG?

Gigi and Slate would obviously be the grumpy x sunshine couple (hence, opposites attract!)

Rohan and Savannah would most likely be opposites attract and also enemies to lovers because... did you see the teaser today 😭 - plus, Rohan has that roguish and charming vibe while Sav is serious and doesn't like playing around.

Gray and Lyra? Something tells me that Lyra Kane is very different compared to anyone else (any girl) that Grayson has known before. This one might be enemies to lovers because... Lyra probably hates the Hawthorne family (or at least dislikes them) because of her father's death. Grayson probably won't trust her easily either.

Anyways, I dunno, this was just a sudden thought I had 👀

#the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #gigi grayson #rohan #savannah grayson #lyra kane #mattias slater #gigi x slate #lyra x grayson #savannah x rohan #the grandest game #the hawthorne vault