#where are the private jet owners?
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💔💔💔
#Pakistan#floods#pray for Pakistan#climate change#where are those western politicians who say climate change is a myth?#where are the private jet owners?
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Solarpunk is not archievable under Capitalism
Okay, let me make one thing very clear: We will never have a Solarpunk future as long as we live under capitalism. Again and again I will find people, who have fallen in love with the idea of Solarpunk, but are unwilling to consider any alternative to capitalism. So, please, let me quickly explain what that just is not gonna work out that way. There will be no Solarpunk under capitalism. Because the incentives of capitalism are opposing anything that Solarpunk stands for.
So let me please run over a few core points.
What is capitalism?
One issue that a lot of people do seem to have is understanding what capitalism even is. The defining attribute of capitalism is that "the means of production" (e.g. the things needed to create things) are privately owned and as such the private owners will decide both what gets created through it and who will get a share in any profits created through them. The ultimate goal in this is, to generate as large as a profit as possible, ideally more and more profit with every year. In real terms this means, that most of those means of productions in the way of companies and the like are owned mostly by shareholders, that is investors who have bought part of the company.
While capitalism gets generally thaught in schools with this entire idea of the free market, that... actually is not the central aspect of capitalism. I would even go so far to argue something else...
The market is actually not free and cannot be free
The idea of the free market is, that prices are controlled by the concept of supply and demand, with the buyer in the end deciding on whether they want to spend their money on something and being able to use that power to also enact control on the supplier.
However... that is actually not what is happening. Because it turns out that the end consumer has little influence, because they are actually not actively participating in the market. The market mainly is something that is happening between multimillionaires. It is their demand (or the lack thereoff) that is the influence. Investors, mainly. Which is logical. In a system, where the power to buy is deciding, the person who can spend multiple millions is gonna have a lot more power, than the person who has twenty bucks to their name.
Hence: 99% of all people are not participating in anything resembling a free market, and the remaining 1% are not interested in such a system.
Money under capitalism
One thing everyone needs to understand is, that for the most part money under capitalism is a very theoretical concept. It might be real for the average joe, who for the most part will not have more than maybe ten grand to their name, but it is not real to multi millionaires, let alone billionairs. Something that is going to be thrown around a lot is the concept of "net worth". But what you need to realize is that this net worth is not real money. It does not exist. It is the estimated worth of stuff these people own. Maybe houses and land, maybe private jets, maybe shares in companies and other things. These people's power and literal worth is tied to them being able theoretically able to sell these assets for money.
In fact a lot of these very rich people do not even have a lot of liquid money. So money they can spend. In fact there are quite a few billionairs who do not even own a million in liquidated money. The money they use in everyday life they borrow from banks, while putting their assets up as a security.
Why capitalism won't abolish fossil fuels
Understanding this makes it quite easy to understand why the capitalists cannot have fossil fuels ending. Because a lot of them own millions, at times billions in fossil fuel related assets. They might own a coal mine, or a fracking station, or maybe an offshore rig, or a power plant burning fossil fuels. At times they have 50% or more of their net worth bound in assets like this. If we stopped using fossil fuels, all those assets would become useless from one day to the next. Hence it is not in the interest of these very rich people to have that happen.
But it goes further than that, because politicians cannot have that happen either. Because the entire economy is build around these assets existing and being used as leverage and security for other investments.
Why capitalism won't build walkable cities and infrastructure
The same goes very much for the entire infrastructure. Another thing a lot of people have invested a lot of money into is cars. Not physical cars they own, but cars manufacturing. So, if we were building walkable cities with bikelanes and public transportation, a lot less people would buy cars, those manufactoring factories becoming worthless and hence once more money... just vanishing, that would otherwise be further invested.
Furthermore, even stuff like investing into EVs is a touch call to get to happen, because the investors (whose theoretical and not real money is tied to those manufacturers) want to see dividents at the end of the quartal. And if the manufactuerer invested into changing their factories to build EVs for a while profits would go down due to that investment. Hence, capitalism encourages them not doing that.
Why capitalism won't create sustainable goods
A lot of people will decry the fact that these days all goods you buy will break within two years, while that old washing machine your grandparents bought in 1962 is still running smoothly. To which I say: "Obviously. Because they want to make profits. Hence, selling you the same product every two years is more profitable."
If you wonder: "But wasn't that the same in 1962?" I will answer: "Yes. But in 1962 the market was still growing." See, with the post war economic boom more and more people got more divestable income they could spend. So a lot of companies could expect to win new costumers. But now the market is saturated. There is not a person who could use a washing machine, who does not have one. Hence, that thing needs to break, so they can sell another one.
The market incentive is against making sustainable, enduring products, that can be repaired. They would rather have you throw your clothing, your smartphone and your laptop away every two years.
Why workers will always be exploited under capitalism
One other central thing one has to realize about capitalism is that due to the privitization of the means of production the workers in a capitalist system will always be exploited. Because they own nothing, not even their own work. Any profit the company makes is value that has in the end been created by the workers within the company. (Please note, that everyone who does not own their work and cannot decide what happens to the value created by it is a worker. No matter whether they have a blue collar or a white collar job.)
That is also, why there is the saying: All profit is unpaid wages.
Under capitalism the profits will get divided up under the shareholders (aka the investors), while many of the workers do not even have enough money to just... live. Hence, good living standards for everyone are explicitly once more against the incentives of capitalism.
Why there won't be social justice under capitalism
Racism, sexism and also the current rise of queermisia are all a result of capitalism and have everything to do with capitalist incentives. Because the capitalists, so the people who own the means of production, profit from this discrimination. This is for two reasons.
For once having marginalized people creates groups that are easier exploitable. Due to discrimination these people will have a harder time finding a job and living quarters, making them more desperate and more likely to take badly paid jobs. Making it easier to exploit them for the profit of the capitalists.
A workforce divided through prejudice and discrimination will have a harder time to band together in unions and strikes. The crux of the entire system si, that it is build on the exploitation of workers - but if the workers stopped working, the system would instantly collapse. Hence the power of strikes. So, dividing the workforce between white and non-white, between queer and straight, between abled and disabled makes it easier to stop them from banding together, as they are too busy quaralling amoung themselves.
Why we won't decolonize under capitalism
Colonialism has never ended. Even now a lot of natural ressources and companies in the former colonies are owned by western interest. And this will stay that way, because this way the extraction of wealth is cheaper - making it more profitable. Colonialism has never ended, it has only gotten more subtle - and as long as more money can be made through this system, it will not end.
There won't be Solarpunk under capitalism
It is not your fault, if you think that capitalism cannot end. You have been literally taught this for as long as you can think. You never have been given the information about what capitalism is and how it works. You have never been taught the alternative mechanisms and where and when they were implemented.
You probably look at Solarpunk and think: "Yeah, that... that looks neat. I want that." And here is the thing: I want that, too.
But I have studied economics. Literally. And I can tell you... it does not work. It will not create better living situations for everyone. It will not save the world. Because in the end the longterm goals are not compatible with a capitalistic system.
I know it is fucking scary to be told: "Yeah, change the world you know in massive ways - or the world will end." But... it is just how the things are standing.
You can start small, though. Join a local party. Join a union. Join a mutual aid network. Help repair things. Help people just deal. Our power lies in working together. That is, in the end, what will get us a better future.
#solarpunk#anarchism#anti capitalism#unions#environmentalism#save the planet#explanation#sustainability#renewable energy#end fossil fuels#communism
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In early July 2008, Samuel Alito stood on a riverbank in a remote corner of Alaska. The Supreme Court justice was on vacation at a luxury fishing lodge that charged more than $1,000 a day, and after catching a king salmon nearly the size of his leg, Alito posed for a picture. To his left, a man stood beaming: Paul Singer, a hedge fund billionaire who has repeatedly asked the Supreme Court to rule in his favor in high-stakes business disputes.
Singer was more than a fellow angler. He flew Alito to Alaska on a private jet. If the justice chartered the plane himself, the cost could have exceeded $100,000 one way.
In the years that followed, Singer’s hedge fund came before the court at least 10 times in cases where his role was often covered by the legal press and mainstream media. In 2014, the court agreed to resolve a key issue in a decade-long battle between Singer’s hedge fund and the nation of Argentina. Alito did not recuse himself from the case and voted with the 7-1 majority in Singer’s favor. The hedge fund was ultimately paid $2.4 billion.
Alito did not report the 2008 fishing trip on his annual financial disclosures. By failing to disclose the private jet flight Singer provided, Alito appears to have violated a federal law that requires justices to disclose most gifts, according to ethics law experts.
Experts said they could not identify an instance of a justice ruling on a case after receiving an expensive gift paid for by one of the parties.
Alito Took Unreported Luxury Trip With GOP Donor Paul Singer — ProPublica
So Harlan Crow owns Thomas, Singer owns Alito. Who owns Kavanaugh and Gorsuch? We know the Handmaid’s Association Of We Are Totally Not Fundamentalist Fanatics owns Coney Barret. And all of them invent law to get the result their owners want.
Our Constitution establishes a Supreme Court to uphold the principle that all are equal under the law, not a Star Chamber where a six person cabal create law to support the always white supremacist and christian nationalist goals of its secretive, billionaire owners.
The current SCOTUS majority, these six, unelected political operatives who wrap themselves in the cloak of justice are corrupt, undemocratic, illegitimate, and must be nullified by expanding the court and impeaching these plainly corrupted so-called Justices.
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Hiding on a Greek island
Eduardo was a successful entrepreneur, running a chain of gyms in the southern part of the country. However, Eduardo had a secret side business involving steroids, which added an element of sketchiness to his otherwise perfect life. Eduardo maintained his physique by working out in his gyms daily, and during the summer, he engaged in various outdoor sports while in winter he indulged in winter sports.
But Eduardo's life took an unexpected turn when his father, a wealthy mafia boss, decided to leave him alone and keep him out of the dangerous mafia business. Despite his father's wishes, Eduardo couldn't help but be drawn to his father's world. Little did he know that fate had something else in store for him.
One day, Eduardo's father warned him to lay low for a couple of weeks, revealing that he was making a tax deal with the government in exchange for some valuable information. He urged Eduardo to hire a bodyguard named Massimo, a former undercover military personnel, to ensure his safety. Following his father's advice, Eduardo hired Massimo to protect him during this uncertain time.
However, things took a dark turn when threatening letters arrived at Eduardo's gyms, warning him that if he didn't pay up, they would come after him instead of his father. A few days later, tragedy struck when his father was killed in a car bombing. Eduardo was devastated by the loss, but he suddenly found himself the main heir to his father's fortune and, reluctantly, the mafia business.
Eduardo made the decision to follow in his father's footsteps but with a twist: he decided to help the government take down criminals instead. As a result, many criminals lost their source of income and were arrested, leaving Eduardo feeling increasingly isolated and vulnerable. The gyms suffered as well, as the steroid trade came to a halt due to fear of police raids.
Eduardo considered hiring more bodyguards to protect himself but Massimo advised against it, warning that it would make his whereabouts known to more people. Instead, Massimo suggested going underground for a few weeks. So Eduardo and Massimo took a private jet and escaped to one of Eduardo's luxurious houses in the south of France.
Life in the French mansion was pleasant, yet monotonous. He would often go for runs with Massimo and enjoy a cup of coffee and a croissant at a small terrace. Despite the tranquility, Eduardo couldn't ignore the fact that his business was suffering, and his gyms were not as profitable due to the halted steroid trade.
As time passed, Eduardo's waistline started to expand, and his jeans became uncomfortably snug. Realizing he needed to make a change, he asked Massimo for a rower to continue his fitness routine. Meanwhile, Massimo took charge of their meals, ordering from local restaurants and ensuring that Eduardo had regular breaks to enjoy delicious food.
However, their peaceful respite didn't last long. Massimo discovered that the manager overseeing Eduardo's real estate was being followed, and in a daring move, he evacuated Eduardo from the French mansion. Unfortunately, during their escape, shots were fired, and Eduardo was wounded in the shoulder and legs. After a month-long hospital stay and a challenging period of rehabilitation, Eduardo was moved to a small Greek island where he owned another property.
On the Greek island, Eduardo's only outside contact was with Stavros, a local fisherman who brought groceries and fresh baked goods to him. Despite their seclusion, Massimo ensured that Eduardo could continue running his business through a secured internet connection. As the months passed, Eduardo's lack of movement, combined with the constant flow of delicious Greek food and pastries, caused his weight to skyrocket.
It wasn't until one Christmas when Eduardo ventured into the village that he encountered Alexios, the attractive son of a local bakery owner. Eduardo was instantly smitten and couldn't bear to be away from Alexios. Massimo facilitated their meetings, ensuring Eduardo's safety, and soon, Alexios became a regular guest at their dinners, often providing decadent desserts.
Eduardo's relationship with Alexios further contributed to his weight gain, as the bakery owner's son constantly showered him with high-calorie treats. Despite the weight gain, Eduardo embraced his new life on the Greek island. He rarely left his house during the summer months, basking in the sun and enjoying his lover's company.
After spending two years in seclusion, Massimo believed it was safe for Eduardo to return to Italy. Although Eduardo had grown accustomed to his isolated life and running his business remotely, he decided to stay on the Greek island, with Alexios joining him.
Not content with idleness, Eduardo proposed a plan to the island's mayor to develop a spa retreat on a prime piece of land. This venture aimed to attract wealthy clientele and infuse a steady stream of income into the local economy. With this project to focus on, Eduardo's life became more fulfilling, and he had a legitimate reason to stay on the island.
And so, Eduardo's life took a different path from what he had imagined. While his waistline had expanded, he had found love and contentment on the tranquil Greek island. His days were now spent attending to his business and enjoying the company and delectable treats provided by Alexios. Despite the challenges he faced, Eduardo had a created new life that truly suited him.
#fictionalweightgain#maleweightgain#maleweightgainstories#weightgain#weightgainstories#fictionalstories#wg fantasy#wg fiction#exjock
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Big Bunny
Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request
it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!
I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx
pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.
summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.
warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.
wc: 9.8k
You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.
You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too.
It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.
Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.
It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside,
"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.
A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.
"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?
You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means.
It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.
Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space.
You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.
It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.
Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.
You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.
So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.
It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.
So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.
"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.
You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.
Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.
"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.
The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.
You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.
"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.
"Oh!" You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."
"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.
He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth,
“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles,
“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little.
He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.
You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.
"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.
"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.
"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.
"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers,
"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.
"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you,
"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.
"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,
"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.
You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.
You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses.
"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.
"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves, just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper,
"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar.
"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes.
"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now.
"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you;
"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position,
"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns,
"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air —
"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk,
"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips.
"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly,
"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming,
"How’d you tell though?"
"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little.
"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.
"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see."
He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt,
"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan,
"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you.
"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude.
"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too.
"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed.
"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth.
You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic.
He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips.
"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg.
"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet.
His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you.
"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place.
You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.
"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting,
"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again.
"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up.
He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything.
"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.
He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face.
"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward,
"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements.
"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position.
"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked.
You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise;
"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says,
"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.
"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again.
He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet.
A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy."
He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit.
He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise, and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back.
"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.
He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.
"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."
#elvis fic#elvis fanfic#elvis smut#elvis x reader#elvis x you#elvis presley smut#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley x you#elvis presley fanfiction
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PAC: What's your ideal career path?
(This is for the career oriented people that got absolutely no idea what to do with their lives or have an idea but are so overwhelmed and lost with all the possibilities. I salute y'all bc same)
More piles this time because why not lol
Here are the piles:
Pile 1
Pile 2
Pile 3
Pile 4
Pile 5
Pile 6
Ready? Let's go!
Pile 1
I'm so into you, I can barely breathe ~
👩🍳🏖️🩴🍹🚣♀️🤝👩💼🕴️🧳
There are two subgroups within this pile so I will read them differently right now.
Seems like Group 1 is actually free spirited and out there and independent. You guys don't need anyone and you hate being restrained by boundaries or rules. Thus, I think a career that best suits you is one where no one rules over you but yourself. And of course not a high stress environment. I'm seeing you, group 1 fellows might thrive in a customer service position. Some of you might open your own bar or something, I'm seeing a lot of entrepreneurship here. Do it. Start that business and be happy.
And now onto group 2
For group 2, seems like you guys have some things to work on. You say your dream is to be a hippie by the beach that is free spirited and carefree but you are nothing like that. And that is ok. You're not less cool or more boring or ordinary. You being yourself is already unique, there is nothing to complete in you.
I'm seeing some of you guys are quiet and shy, but actually love people. Wouldn't be hurtful to try out some customer service as well! Weirdly enough I see the same career paths as group 1 for you guys. Entrepreneurship, having your own company, etc.
In general, for both groups I see these:
culinary arts (big on this one), Chef, waiter, bartender, owner of any place that serves food or drink, secretary, CEO, business management, HR worker, meeting mediator, etc
Pile 2
You like my hair? Gee, thanks! Just bought it ~
🎹👮♀️⚖️👩🔬🔭🔬💅
You guys seem like a bit of an airhead but in a wonderful way. I can't stress how positively I mean that. People seem baffled by the way you act and say things and you surprise them everyday. Seems like you really don't care about who you're talking to, there is no filter or personality switch. You're just you. And it's genuine. And it's enough. You seem to have some issues with people because of that, but also you attract wonderful opportunities as well. Think Elle Woods from Legally Blonde. Big Elle energy for real.
I think you guys might even be in a male dominated industry, which is tough considering your personality, but not impossible. And especially not impossible for you. Absolutely not customer service, though. Some people hate your personality (f them ngl) but your ideal career is probably one where your work speaks for itself and they can't deny your talent.
I see careers such as STEM, law, IT, music, biology, forensics, investigator, nail tech and criminal Justice.
Pile 3
Wrote some songs about Ricky, now I listen and laugh ~
🩰🪩🕺🏠👩💼🎭💵🤑😎
You guys are powerful. When you enter a room, people notice you. Which is why you could either do great in the performance arts or in a position of power within an organization. This is so short and straight forward, but so are you so...
Careers I see: dancer, CEO, event planner, actor, real estate agent.
Pile 4
She might've let you hold her hand in school but imma show you how to graduate ~
🏖️🤑🧳✈️🍹🍔🍕👨🍳🧥🚣
Ok you guys, this is gonna be a bit straightforward so beware.
A lot of you guys think you're hot s*-#, which you can be but you are not right now. What I mean by that is you seem like the type of person that says: yeah! I'm gonna have a private jet and a thousand cars and blah blah. Very materialistic. But you're not putting in the work at all, you probably don't even know what it is you're passionate about or want to do with your life (which is so valid). You just want to be rich, which honestly I get it, but you need some drive other than "i want a Maserati" you need to want something bigger. You need to be good at something and you don't even know what that something is. And something tells me that you are not even thinking about what that could be. You fantasize about being rich without wondering how to get there. Why do you want that? Status? Relationships? Reevaluate.
That said, I see two types of outcomes. If you put in the effort I'm seeing you can achieve that level of richness you're looking for. Some of you might start a company or climb up an existing one. Some of you might become travel vloggers or influencers.
If you keep doing what you're doing I see you're working at fast food chains (i literally channeled that I'm not gonna lie to y'all) as a manager maybe retail too, that type of jobs.
Careers I see: McDonald's worker, fast food manager, retail worker, makeup store worker (I'm seeing Sephora), mall business owner, souvenir store owner, business owner in general, travel vlogger, boat driver, tourist attraction worker, marketing specialist, hotel worker, hotel owner.
Hope it resonates and my apologies for the bluntness, seemed like the pile wanted to call you out. Maybe you needed it.
Lots of love 💕
Pile 5
I've been here all night, I've been here all day ~
🎤🩰🏡📚🧑🍳💐👨👩👦👦
You guys are actually going to be successful. I'm seeing some of you have bigger dreams, some of you have smaller ones (which is cool too!) But all of you will definitely achieve them in some way or another.
I see someone with a family and a big house. Some kids running around. Some of you want to be stay at home partners to a rich person (respect to you guys, every dream is a valid one) and I see you'll get that and be fulfilled. Vacation is a given. You don't struggle with money. None of you guys do.
Some common themes you all have is that your career will allow you to be calm and chill. There are no problems. Money comes easy and secure. And you're living the dream, whichever dream that may be.
A lot of you guys here are here for confirmation of an ideal life you have. Let me say, yes. It's happening. Maybe not in the way you think, maybe not in the amount of success you want it. Or maybe it does fully! But it's happening. I'm seeing some of you might want to act? You'll be an actor and have work but maybe you won't be a big Hollywood star. Or maybe you will!
Some of you may want to be singers. Again, you might not win a Grammy and become Beyonce, but you will work as a singer and it will pay your bills. Like singing at events, hotels, etc. (Or maybe you will win a Grammy! Don't let tarot discourage you from achieving anything! It's just a tool, not a strict rule to follow)
Anyways, you will be whatever it is you want to be.
I know this reading might be confusing but that's what I channelled.
Careers I see: actor/actress, stay at home partner, flight attendant, singer, dancer, librarian, real estate agent, restaurant owner, chef, coffee shop owner, flower shop owner, bakery owner.
Pile 6
A feeling that you can't fight, my one ~
🥖🇫🇷🌍✈️📸
You guys are travelers, no matter what you do you will be up in the air and onto a new place. Kinda chaotic, but you like that.
I'm seeing some of you might work in the fashion industry, models, designers, makeup artists, etc. You all are here gathered. I hear Milan, Paris, London, Fashion Week.
Some of you could just be a flight attendant and that's why you travel so much.
A couple of you might be touring for some reason, you might play in a band or you might sing backup for someone or you might sing yourself or play.
I'm seeing such chaos, though. Like a lot.
Some of you might do film! Or photography! And probably need to relocate for shoots a lot. So cool.
Careers I see: photographer, filmmaker, model, magazine editor, security guard, flight attendant, pilot, makeup artist, wardrobe assistant, set decorator.
The End
#tarot readings#free readings#tarot#tarot blog#pick a card#tarot pick a card#tarot pick a pile#pick a pile#ask game readings#free tarot reading
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Anyone for a palace with a gold toilet? The interior of this 2015 home in Pugwash, Nova Scotia, looks like a gilded historic palace. It has 7bds, 3.5ba & is on the market for $1.5M, which isn't bad for all the gold. Take a look inside.
The entrance hall has marble floors, ornate architecture, lots of wood, Greek columns, fancy gold molding, and murals on the ceiling. The owner envisioned creating a showstopping residence that combines features of Europe, Asia, the Middle East and North America.
The sitting room has some furniture blocking the wall features, and the oversized furniture pieces make this room look smaller.
Sitting area in the main hall has an unusual fireplace. This is the only house I've seen where if you remove the furniture, and there're still a lot of things to see.
I've never seen a kitchen like this. I can't tell what the backsplash is made of and I've never seen white cabinets with such distinct wood grain.
Those columns with the gold lion heads over the cooktop are outrageous.
The dining room also has the same shaped ceiling and a chandelier like the rest of the rooms on the first floor. The decor is getting monotonous.
Here's the gold toilet and sink. I wonder why they chose to give this room rustic decor with these ornate plumbing fixtures.
Check out the gold on the newel posts and railings, plus the fresco above the stairs.
The primary bedroom is very long. The ceiling's burgundy accent kind of limits color choice in here.
I wouldn't want to clean all this carved ornamentation, or the huge jetted tub.
This has to be the ballroom.
The TV room is part of a hall and stairs that go up to another level.
The Atlantic Oceanfront property is very private and has 2.39 acres.
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Vultures \\ a tropical gothic horror
Content Warnings: Death, Bugs, Blood
Excerpt below the cut.
Desperate to be anywhere but home, recently disgraced doctor Emily Fayne arrives at the wifi-free tropical wellness resort of Monte Descanso, a renovated Spanish fortress on its own private island. Amenities include sandy beaches, guided spelunking tours, special health juices, and swarms of vulture bees prowling the jungle in search of rotting flesh.
From the first night Emily can tell that something isn’t right. She’s seeing things that can’t be there, some of the other guests are acting strange, and their signature wellness drink, the elixir, that makes her feel too good to believe. Still, it’s easy to put it all down to jet lag and stress when staying means getting to go late-night skinny dipping with the resort’s hot yoga instructor, Jessa.
When Jessa goes missing a few days later, Emily must team up with eccentric treasure-hunting divorcee Phillipa to discover what happened. They begin to suspect that Jessa’s disappearance is connected to the disappearance of sailors on the island in the 1700’s, and that the cheerful resort owner, Harmony, knows more than she’s letting on.
Excerpt
Someone was knocking at the door and she should answer it.
She got up at the third knock, hoping it would be Philippa with some of her smuggled contraband. She'd have to ask her to get her source to bring in bread and chocolate next time- the booze just wasn't cutting it. Emily threw a fuzzy robe overtop of her old oversized t-shirt, and looked through the peephole.
Jessa was standing there, wearing the purple sportsbra and leggings she had been this morning at yoga and a wide, unflinching smile.
Emily's hand went to the deadbolt immediately to let her in, but something stopped her. Before they'd gone into the cave, maybe she could have written it off, but she was tired of telling herself that her eyes and her ears and her whole body was lying to her. Something was wrong.
She hesitated at the chain.
The knock came again.
"Hey, it's me! Jessa! Come on out, there's something I want to show you."
Her voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from far away. She pulled back from the door and looked through the peephole again, only to jerk backwards. Jessa’s eye was pressed right up against the peephole, making it look wide and distorted like a whale's.
Whatever Jessa wanted to show her, Emily didn't want to see it.
She took a couple of steps back from the door, trying to process while her mind was in a screaming panic, hide-under-the-covers mode.
Jessa knocked again. "Come on, I know you're in there. You can't be tired yet. You have to come see this!"
There was no way she could actually see inside the peephole, right? Jessa couldn't see her inching backwards, going towards the phone. For all Jessa knew, she was downstairs having a midnight snack or holed up in some corner with Phillipa trading tall tales.
Emily didn't know what she would say if she picked up the phone and got through to reception. ‘Help, my friend isn't my friend and she wants me to come outside?’ That seemed useless. Unless...
The Jessa at the door knocked louder. "Emily! Emily? Emily!"
Emily picked up the phone, and dialed 0 for reception.
Sylvie's cheery voice was on the other end of the line. "Good evening, Emily. What can I do for you?"
She knocked again. Once, twice. It grew into a constant sound, her knuckles on the door without pause.
Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.
"You guys have land lines, in your rooms, right?" Emily whispered into the receiver. They must have phones somehow. This wasn't a prison or a reality show where people had to be expected to stand in line and wait to talk to their mothers. "Can you connect me to Jessa? It's important. I know you're probably not supposed to do that but..."
The tapping was still going. She- it- whatever - was still there, just outside.
"I mean, we’re not supposed to…”
“Please. You can take away my phone privileges if I abuse it. It’s urgent.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Fine, but just for you. It’s against policy. Is there something wrong?"
Yes. Yes yes yes.
"No." Emily knew she should have elaborated, but she couldn’t think up a good enough excuse while her mind was seizing in panic.
"Okay. Hold for a moment."
Some calming flute music with ocean sound effects started playing and Emily had never hated the flute so much in her life.It felt like an age, but was only thirty seconds or so, before she heard another voice on the end of the line.
"Hello?"
It was Jessa's voice, as far as she could remember. Some part of her brain was fracturing trying to reconcile the idea that she was hearing Jessa's voice from two places at once.
Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.
"Are you somehow outside my door right now?"
"No."
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Speaking ill of the Dead
Okay, let’s have this conversation. The tragedy on the Titan Sub is an incredibly complicated topic, less so because of the actual technical issues of the submarine but for the actions of the company and crew. Perhaps by calling it a tragedy I have already made my opinion somewhat clear, but let me lament about the topic a bit further.
Clearly the company did not take well enough actions prior to the dive of the submarine. It has had no peer review, not certification, and every attempt to express concern on the Submarines integrity was ignored in favor of a quicker time tune over and a profit. This is an inherent problem in the Adventure industry, where something that is meant to be undertaken slowly, carefully, and by well prepared experts is done by people who want an adrenaline rush and an experience. This leads to a lot of tragedy in the Industry.
Secondly, the crew aboard has made some questionable designs in their life. I believe one report I saw claimed the co-founder of OceanGate and pilot of the Submarine was previously a private jet owner and flyer and thus according the account responsible for heavy air pollution and in passion of already great wealth. I believe they (the author of the account) found this to be abhorrent, and anybody who respects this earth would react to pollution, and found him to be a terrible human being.
There is also the issue of whether or not the site of tragedy should be a tourist destination, and also the waver the crew signed when entering the vessel. The waver clearly stated it was an experimental vessel and an uncertified one at that.
Now none of these are what I have an issue with, seeing as I honestly think many mistake were made, that’s what makes it a tragedy and not a horror. What I have issue with it going around saying they deserved death, as though we should let people make their beds and lie in them, as though we should look death in the face and call it humane and right, as though I am supposed to speak ill of dead men for their money.
So I’m going to go into these issues, from the point of view of a Sailors child. My parent is a sailor, and a Submariner at that. We’ve had extensive talks about the issues here, and I’d like to poke a few holes, a patch a few others, and make some conversation while I’m at it.
I would like to ask you dear readers, what in the world do you actually know about Submarines? Had you read that waver, would you honestly believe there would better options? Would you know about the three to five organizations that certify Submarines or would you assume uncertified meant non-military? Would you not assume this new and amazing technologically was of course experimental? For what else could innovation in adventure be?
There has been some outrage about the fact that the submarine was piloted by a game controller, well guess what, Navy Submarines have them too. Until very recently most Periscopes on Submarines were made to function through a highly calibrated set of mirrors. Quite literally mirrors. The submarine scene from the Fast and Furious 8 movie made me so mad, because there is not enough technology in an older submarine for Cipher to hack if she tried. Now, the most recent submarines use digital cameras in their periscopes. Want to know how they maneuver that? With an Xbox game controller. One of the Sailors pointed out that the technology for game control, meant to be intuitive to the user, could be very useful on the submarine and thus the engineers made it happen. Do not pretend the wireless, intuitive controller is not amazing technology because it helps you play video games.
Another thing about Submarines, did you know that worldwide, during peace time, many nations have a specific system set up with each other to do search and rescue for submarines? Look up the disappearance of the ARA San Juan, an Argentina sub that also imploded and was only located with national help. The Hulk wasn’t too far off when he talked about being in a pressurized can being a bad idea. Submarines are some of the most deadly machines we have, in their military use and how much danger there is to operate them. As such, the international community reacts to them according. The US Navy specifically has a policy of being able to launch search and recovery equipment to the needed location or at least en route to within 24 hours of notification. This includes sonar and deep sea ROVs. Based on previous precedence set by Submarine emergencies, the international community is more likely to respond to Submarine disasters quicker, they have less time.
So Yes, the tragedy of the refugee ship of Greece is a politically fueled tragedy and loss of life, but it is not the same as the Titan. The Titan didn’t get more attention because it has billionaires on board, it got more attention because it was a Submarine. Submarines have the benefit of being a recent dilemma for the world theaters, so they have more modern solutions while Refugees and Sailing ships have had centuries of existence to be wrangled into political machinations that make it complicated to rescue too retrieve.
What is more likely to be a problem is the retrieval or lack there of the bodies, as those bodies are usually mounted over, but bodies lost at sea rarely get returned. The Navy has always held that the ocean is a fit and final resting place for those lost at sea, and while due respect is paid to their loss, retrieving the bodies and wreckage is harrowing and expensive. If you truly want to rage against those with a lot of a money, start asking who’s going to be paying for the retrieval operation and all that time spent searching. I would argue it should be OceanGate, for their negligence in the integrity of their Submarine lead to a loss of life.
I will also honestly say this, I hate to speak ill of the dead even when it must be done. Yes, some of these people lost did terrible things, but they did not only do evil in their life and their story should not just be “They did this but they also did this!” it should be instead “They did this and this.” Was the french diver not also one of the only certified people to take wreckage from the Titanic to surface for study, posterity, and for museums? Was the British explorer not also a history enthusiast who was excited to see a piece of history he studied so fondly? Was the Son not also a student? Perhaps the pilot did pollute the earth, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who hadn’t, his crime is perhaps instead doing nothing to fix pollution.
I believe a lot of us apply Spiderman's “With Great Power comes Great Responsibility” to those with Wealth, and while not wrong we get too disappointed when they fail to meet our standards. They are not obligated to help the world, as much as we need them to be. We want them to be better people, but they won’t always be. It is not wealth that made them bad, but their actions or lack thereof with it that did.
The Navy hosts something called the Submarine ball, to celebrate the creation of the Submarine force. And every Submarine ball, they will list the submarines sunk and the life lost on them. I have gone too many times, heard that speech and list too many times to call the death by horrific pressure and cold and drowning something somebody has to have had deserved.
Look up the specifics of implosion, of death, of how your blood boils if you rise to fast, of the cold seeping in so fast you feel like ice, to the lack of hair, and tell me you wish that on people. Tell me you have enough in you to wish somebody to die by the sea, lost and scared, and tell me how that makes you a righteous and good person. By all means rage an injustice, rage at the unfair, but do not turn that into a right to murder, to kill, and wish death on others.
#oceangate#titanic#titan#the titanic#spiderman#fast and furious 8#venting#thoughts on death#tourist submarine#submarine
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1) Harry has previously said that he didn't watch suits and has no idea about Meghan. Now he says that W&k were fans of suits so he knew Meghan/Suits? Which one is the truth?
2) Harry says William forbade him to keep a beard coz he wasn't allowed to have one. It sounds so petty. Did William really do that?
3) Harry couldn't even afford a sofa?? Why did meg had to lay for it?
4) If Harry couldn't even afford such a small item then who was paying for the Cotswold farmhouse that they had rented all through their courtship?
5) Most importantly, what exactly do h&m want in this so called "reconciliation summit"? What are your views Plant? I would be ashamed to show my face in front of my family and friends after such disgrace. They came to jubilee saying they want to honor queen, fine, but they have beef with Charles and William so why come to coronation. In fact if I had so much resentment towards someone I would cut them out clean. No contact ever.
1. No one watched Suits. He’s lying about Will and Kate being fans. He learned of Suits when he googled Meghan. The guy basically watches cartoons, by his own admission.
2. I don’t buy the beard story. Harry flips his narratives about Will several times in the book. First, Will ditches after his wedding and doesn’t my care about him anymore, then Will is over controlling, micromanaging stuff like his beard and wedding location. Both of those can’t be true.
3. Not sure what the deal is with the sofa because they got millions to renovate Nott Cott. Moreover, he has a trust fund Di left him and Meg made money from Suits and marching. They should have been able to buy furniture. Probably they bought a cheap sofa to tie them over until they got the big house.
4. Soho House paid for the Cotswolds cottage. It was a new development where the Soho House owner was an investor and the the Harkles were basically comped their stay in exchange for promoting the development.
5. He wants an official royal connection he can use for merching and reality shows, basically the half-in and half-out he asked for during Megxit. He doesn’t care about his family and just wants to monetize the relationship. He wants this for three reasons. First, they make a lot more merch money with the royal connection, like 200 times as much. The difference is huge. Second, official status gets them onto White House/political events and international events that they can use for their merching and reality shows and Netflix will pay them more money for that. Third, his main product is royal drama and he realizes he’s just recycling old drama now. He needs the reconciliation to create new drama material to sell. Of course, that’s exactly why the family can’t reconcile. They would be trading a five year old fake “royal racist” accusation for new “royal racist” accusations every three months.
His goal is to obtain a made-up post like the Trade Ambassador deal Andrew had that will allow him to set up two/three trips a year he can use for merching and filming. He’ll film each trip for Netflix and he’ll make up some drama about how the family is mistreating him by not giving him royal jewels/private jet/whatever. He’ll also sue the tabloids for some perceived slight. That should bring in enough income to support their lifestyle. Oh, the made-up role should also come with security, and the family should protect him from the tabloids who will be constantly accusing him of corruption and misuse of government funds. Oh, and none of his income should be taxed in the UK. Easy peasy.
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.bucky barnes ~ fic recs.
keep reading for my bucky barnes fic recs
💚 indicates smut | 18+ | minors dni |
.one-shots.
fuck you (derogatory) 💚 @bucksfucks
a ruined mission turns to you & bucky fucking it out. | bucky x fem!reader |
unfortunately yours 💚 @weepingvoidpenguin
when you and bucky successfully infiltrate a hydra auction, you're told to stay another day due to max capacity on the jet. but how are you going to survive a night alone with this insufferable super soldier? especially considering the miniscule size of the room and the obvious dilemma presented; who gets the bed? | bucky x fem!reader |
a little help 💚 @captainsimagines
bucky's been having difficulties in a certain...department. he's at a loss, completely ready to give up until he start theorizing. if you have the ability to heal people, maybe you can help him out. maybe you'll be able to fix him. | bucky x fem!reader |
fingers @buckycuddlebuddy
you couldn't take your eyes off his hands. | tattooartist!bucky x fem!reader |
a clandestine affair 💚 @bonky-n-steeb
bucky can't hold himself back when you look that gorgeous at tony's housewarming party. | bucky x fem!reader |
summer sins 💚 @wintersldr1
ever since you returned from your first year of college, you can't keep your eyes of your dad's best friend, bucky. at a family pool party, you finally give in. | dbf!bucky x fem!reader |
in corpore sano 💚 @straywords
your new personal trainer has a very...hands on approach. | personaltrainer!bucky x plussizefem!reader |
what goes around 💚 @navybrat817
bucky is your friend's dad and your dad's friend and nothing more. until he isn't. | bfd/dbf!bucky x fem!reader |
heavy tipper 💚 @metalbuckaroo
camgirl sites were nothing new to bucky, but a familiar face has him tipping heavily and requesting a private chat. | dbf!bucky x fem!reader |
recipe for disaster 💚 @seventven
your dad's best friend bucky knows you have a crush on him. your parents invite him to join your family for the annual winter vacation. | dbf!bucky x fem!reader |
riding lessons 💚 @nastybuckybarnes
you've just passed your knowledge test and you need someone to teach you how to ride. who better than your dad's best friend? | dbf!bucky x fem!reader |
.series.
these ties that bind us @sweetascanbee
when you’re sixteen years old, you get a soul mark with the letters ‘jbb’ emblazoned on your left wrist. the only problem is, soulmates pairings have basically gone extinct, and the man you’ve been paired with has been dead for seven decades. | bucky x fem!reader | complete |
a taste for older men 💚 @seventven
| P1 | P2 | P3 | P4 | P5 | P6 | P7 | P8 |
y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n's dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky's surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back. | dbf!bucky x fem!reader | complete |
delicate edges @wkemeup
your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. trapped under a mountain of debt to the hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. it’s only in moments when the charming bucky barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. but a war is brewing. the border is crumbling. you’re trapped in the middle. and bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. | biker!bucky x fem!reader | complete |
astrophile @all1e23
orion rebecca barnes’s favorite thing in the whole world (besides her daddy of course) is spending hours after school in the bookstore by her house and the owner gives her any book she wants; she’s the coolest girl orion has ever met. it doesn’t take long for bucky to notice his daughter’s sudden interest in constellations and the large stack of astrology related books piling up in her room. he’s spent her entire life trying to teach her about the stars and where her name came from with little interest from his little comet and all of a sudden she’s in love. all thanks to the girl who owns the bookstore? | firefighter!bucky x fem!reader | complete |
the two of us @bucky-bucket-barnes
you and bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in westview, new jersey. while attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into wanda’s world of pretend. now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married mr. and mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. it is up to you and bucky to piece together what’s happening while dealing with one another inside the hex. | bucky x fem!reader | complete |
something more 💚 @tellmealovestory
after a bad breakup you ask your best friend to take your virginity. it’s just friends with benefits. what could possibly go wrong? | bucky x fem!reader | complete |
nostalgia for the new @real-jane
bucky meets you because of your exquisite taste in music, and he finds in you a solace he didn’t realize was possible. you create for bucky something he’s never found before: nostalgia for a time that hasn’t happened yet, and hope for a future where he might be loved. | bucky x fem!reader | complete |
for the love of the game 💚 @pellucid-constellations
bucky barnes was a menace. nyu’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. you hated him. he couldn’t figure out why. so when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it. | collegeathlete!bucky x fem!reader | complete |
appointments 💚 @buckycuddlebuddy
bucky barnes, finally able to live freely in the 21st century, accidentally gets a fuck buddy and starts to redisover himself. the only weird thing about this situation is that you have to make an appointment to get railed by him. | tfatws!bucky x fem!reader | complete |
call me when you want 💚 @bonky-n-steeb
when you call a sex hotline with a need to be dominated you don’t expect to meet (or hear) someone as wonderful as james. but your life becomes a complicated mess as you already love your coworker, bucky barnes. however, you are unaware that they are actually the same person. | bucky x fem!reader | complete |
it started with a smile 💚 @writing-for-marvel
bridgerton au. at the start of the new social season, lady whistledown predicts this will finally be the year solitary duke james barnes finds a wife. after a chance meeting at lady danbury’s ball, can you and the duke overcome all obstacles thrown in your path by his scandalous past and your overbearing mother insistent against your match? | duke!bucky x fem!reader | on-going |
a million reasons 💚 @pellucid-constellations
bucky barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. you, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. every day. and he won’t stop killing your plants. | college!bucky x fem!reader | on-going |
the way we were / the way we are 💚 @pedrito-friskito
you met bucky between the bookshelves. he stole your heart beneath starry skies. it was a match made in heaven, but fate had other plans. | bucky x fem!reader | on-going |
the theory of it all 💚 @botnasty
there are theories for everything in life and bucky sure heard some interesting ones. | roommate!bucky x fem!reader | on-going |
house of atlas 💚 @traitorjoelite
at yale, there are more secrets than there’s not, including the four houses of atlas where only the best and brightest students are welcomed. when a fellow classmate disappears, you’re forced to team up with bucky barnes to find out what happened to her. what was once an academic rivalry spirals into a maze of feelings and mysteries, and you find out the hard way that even the secrets you think you know aren’t what they seem. | college!bucky x fem!reader | on-going |
#Bucky Barnes#Sebastian Stan#Marvel#The Falcon and The Winter Soldier#The Winter Soldier#James Buchanan Barnes#James Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#james barnes#Bucky Barnes fanfiction#Bucky Barnes x Reader#Bucky Barnes x Female Reader#Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader#Bucky Barnes x You#Bucky Barnes Fluff#Bucky Barnes Smut#Marvel Fanfiction#The Winter Soldier Fanfiction#Marvel Fanfic#The Winter Solider x Reader#The Winter Soldier x You#The Winter Soldier x Female Reader#The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader#The Winter Soldier Fluff#The Winter Soldier Smut#draguta fic recs#Bucky Barnes Fic Recs#The Winter Solider Fic Recs
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Cordonian Royal Airlines
…where we treat every passenger like royalty. The ultimate in air travel. Luxurious private jets for booking to exclusive locales. Small, private, elite.
Welcome to Cordonian Royal Airlines (CRA), a TRR AU in the spirit of Wings and LA to Vegas.
Leo and Liam Rys, two brothers, both pilots, decide to go into business together, operating a small, private, elite airline that flies exclusive clientele to exotic locales in the lap of luxury. A non-chronological series of loosely related one-shots and drabbles around the exploits of the crew of CRA.
This collaborative project is a joint effort of six creators: angelasscribbles, karahalloway, harleybeaumont, aussiegurl1234, nestledonthaveone and alj4890. Updates might not be frequent or often, but we hope they’re hilarious.
Pilots/Owners: Leo Rys, Liam Rys
First Officers: Drake Walker, Bertrand Beaumont
Flight Attendants: Riley Brooks, Maxwell Beaumont, Hana Lee, Kiara Theron
Office Manager: Madeleine Amaranth
World Renown In-Flight Chef: Olivia Nevrakis
Receptionist/Booking: Penelope Ebrim
Security: Bastien Lykel
Masterlist
Turbulence: Riley confronts Drake with unexpected results.
All I Want for Christmas Part 1: The crew is grounded by a blizzard.
All I Want for Christmas Part 2: Drake does something unexpected.
Ball Drop: Drake and Riley end up in the same place on NYE.
Staking a Claim: Riley's ex shows up on a flight. Drake is less than pleased about it.
#trr au#trr fanfic#the royal romance#trr#trr fandom#cordonianroyalairlines#leo rys#riley brooks#liam rys#drake walker#maxwell beaumont#bertrand beaumont#olivia nevrakis#hana lee
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ten reasons why i hate you: reason #5
SYNOPSIS. while you admittedly didn’t refuse the arranged marriage between you and jung jaehyun, that didn’t mean that you’d allow him to treat you like a doormat. for the emotional distress he had put you through during the months leading up to your engagement party, you ensure that he will pay for the way he had been treating you for the rest of his life.
PAIRING. rich boy!jaehyun x rich girl!reader
GENRES. romance, angst, drama, rich kid!au
CHAPTER WORD COUNT. 2261
WARNINGS. none.
DISCLAIMER. this is a work of fiction based on fictional events and characters. it is unrelated to any real people, organisations, locations, and events. the laws, and legal and medical interpretations in this work have also been modified for storytelling purposes.
TAGLIST. @crescent-iak @moonchele @ahtisa02 @ghostfacefricker6969 @jaehyunnie77 @jungish @anya-writes-stuff @hey-won @ishireads @xxxx-23nct @peachibevuti @shepeelsoranges (bolded = unable to tag)
[a/n]: thank you all so much for your comments!! i’m always so giddy when i read them hehe. this chapter doesn’t have any angst and it’s more fluffy(?) and it’s probably going to be the fluffiest of the chapters, so enjoy it while you can!! ♡ the honeymoon is broken down in 2 parts/chapters, so the next chapter will also be set during their honeymoon.
also, italicized sentences = spoken in italian because i was too lazy to actually write in italian. Also, fun fact, Vini Da Arturo is an actual restaurant in Venice and its owner’s name is actually Ernesto lol
← REASON #4 || MASTERLIST || REASON #6 →
REASON #5
You didn’t need a bachelorette party, but your friends digressed.
Jennie took the liberty of charting your private jet for a small girl’s trip to Paris. Though, you were pretty sure she just wanted to go to visit the Chanel store on Champs Élysées.
“So, spill the tea,” Jennie said to you with her famous feline-like smile. “How does it feel to be married to Jaehyun?”
Your tongue poked your cheek and you tried to refrain yourself from huffing out in frustration. “We’re not married yet.”
“Engaged, soon-to-be-married, married—in the end, isn’t it all the same?” Krystal commented with an air of nonchalance. “All of those specifics are not going to matter anymore in a matter of–” she glanced at her watch. “–thirteen hours and twenty two minutes.”
“No, it’s not the same.”
Your two friends noticed how the tone of your voice didn’t match with one of a happy bride that was about to get married in a day. They shared a look of concern and scooted closer to you.
“I thought the purpose of flying my jet instead of commercial so that we’d have our own personal space,” you mumbled tiredly.
You could practically feel the hesitation behind their words and actions, and you sighed. You never meant to turn the atmosphere into one where your best friends needed to tiptoe around you.
You wondered whether you should tell them the truth about the whole situation. While they knew that your marriage was most likely arranged (a common occurrence in your world), they were also clueless to a number of details such as the fact that Jaehyun was still very much with his girlfriend, that you only went through with the engagement to spite him, and that Jaehyun hated your guts.
Or did he?
After the conversation you two had in your penthouse, you never saw each other again, other than just for a few dinners with the two families. You two never spoke to each other properly since then, so to speak. That was about almost a month ago.
You also took in more surgeries than usual to avoid thinking about the what-if’s and the nature of your relationship with Jaehyun.
Were you two now... friends?
You rid yourself of that idea. As long as you were going to stay married to him, preventing him from being with Chaeyoung, the idea of you two being friends was simply not feasible.
Not to mention your lingering feelings for him was an obstacle to whatever relationship you two might potentially have.
You bit your bottom lip in slight apprehension.
Jaehyun was no stranger to your feelings, whether they be romantic or negative. But wouldn’t it be better for your mental health and well-being if you two were to be civil with each other?
Your two feelings were not only at the opposite ends, but they were also clashing. And thinking about the way you had to treat Jaehyun onwards was more complicated than it seemed.
You thought that your romantic feelings for your fiancé was gone once and for all after your engagement party. But the way they so quickly resurfaced, like taking a breath of air after being underwater, showed that what you did was just bury them in hopes that they never recover.
Your efforts proved to be futile.
“Say, have you already gotten Jaehyun a wedding gift?” Jennie asked when she sensed that you had calmed down.
Your fingers tapped against the arm rest, thinking about the olive branch Jaehyun had extended to you. The one that made you think whether you’d be a monster for refusing it.
“Mhm,” you hummed as you came to a conclusion. “I think I know what I will get him.”
The wedding ceremony was kept relatively small, despite the media’s attention.
You wondered if that was how your wedding was supposed to be, because it certainly did not match with the vision you once had.
You glanced at your wedding band, one that you were certain that Jaehyun asked his secretary to get.
For some odd reason, it reminded you of Doyoung, of how he was also someone you were supposed to marry.
Only, your engagement fell through when you refused to go with him to Germany.
You glanced at Jaehyun who was sitting in front of you, and you felt an odd sense of déja vu. What was the point of using your private jet again if you weren’t given the space you hoped you would get? You would have thought that Jaehyun of all people would select a seat that was away from you, but contrary to your expectations, he didn’t.
If anything, he looked excited to be going on the honeymoon with you.
“What should we do when we land?” Jaehyun asked you as he was looking through a brochure on things to do in Venice. “I heard that Venice is always packed with tourists. But since it’s slowly sinking into the lagoon, it’s good that we get to visit it before it completely disappears, right?”
His excitement was unnerving to you.
“...Venice is sinking because of climate change and tourism,” you muttered as you looked outside, the jet slowly descending to land in the Venice Marco Polo Airport. “And besides, who says that I was going to spend time with you?”
Jaehyun seemed surprised by your statement. “What do you mean? Aren’t we on our honeymoon?”
“I don’t recall saying that we aren’t?”
“Then, why are we not spending time together?”
“Why do you even want to spend time with me?” you refuted almost in annoyance. “I know it’s not enough that we’re now married against your will, so shouldn’t you thank me that I’m giving you space?”
Jaehyun fell silent.
You immediately felt awkward at his reaction, not expecting him to be disappointed by the fact that you wanted to be away from him.
But shouldn’t he be happy that you were giving him freedom? He could do whatever he wanted!
But this was one of the times where your feelings for him took over whatever hatred that was left in your heart.
You sighed through your nose. “There’s a little bit of time before check-in and we haven’t eaten lunch yet. Let’s go grab a bite together.”
His face instantly brightened up at your words and went back to his brochure. “Oh, we can–”
“Drop the brochure,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll bring you to my favourite place in Venice.”
Your favourite restaurant in Venice was a very small and cozy restaurant nestled in a side alley called Vini Da Arturo, a gem of a place you have found before you became a surgical intern.
“Ernesto!” you exclaimed happily as you two finally arrived at the restaurant. “Ciao!”
“Ah, bella!” Ernesto replied with the same enthusiasm. “The usual?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Ernesto glanced at Jaehyun who only smiled obliviously. “That’s not the same man I saw you with last time.”
While Jaehyun was not fluent in Italian, you remembered that he was fluent in Spanish instead. And those two languages were practically the same. Yet for some reason, you hoped that Jaehyun didn’t understand what Ernesto just said to you, even if you had a feeling that he probably wouldn’t care.
“This is my husband, Jaehyun,” you said not exactly answering his question. “Jaehyun, this is Ernesto, the restaurant’s owner.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ernesto,” Jaehyun greeted him. “I look forward to your food.”
“You won’t be disappointed!”
Ernesto brought you to your favourite table, which was the second to last booth from the back. Close enough to the kitchen that you could hear what was going on, but not close enough that you’d be bothered by the kitchen commotion.
“Do you know why Ernesto’s restaurant is so special compared to the other restaurants in Venice?” you asked giddily, ignoring how conflicted Jaehyun’s eyes seemed at the moment.
“Jaehyun?”
“Huh, yeah?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, no, sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I said, do you know why Ernesto’s restaurant is so special compared to the other restaurants in Venice?”
He shook his head.
“Ernesto’s restaurant doesn’t serve fish dishes,” you answered. “Only meat.”
“A small restaurant in Venice that doesn’t serve fish dishes?” Jaehyun questioned. “Pardon my language, but is he mad?”
You laughed. “A mad genius! Trust me. You’ll see when you taste his pork chop and eggplant salad.”
True to your words, Jaehyun did call Ernesto a mad genius as soon as he took a bite of the pork chop.
After eating, all you wanted to do was get back to your hotel and sleep off your jet lag. But Jaehyun’s eyes begged you to hop on a gondola and tour around Venice. You understand that it was, surprisingly, Jaehyun’s first time in Venice, but you were staying a whole week in Venice—he’ll have enough time to tour the city on a gondola.
So, the compromise you two came up with was a water taxi. Though, because the hotel you were staying in was already so close and at a walking distance from the restaurant, you two had to walk back to the S. Toma’ “A” ferry terminal—located around ten minutes walking-distance away from Vini Da Arturo—so that Jaehyun could fully enjoy the water taxi ride.
Twenty-five minutes later, your water taxi arrived at Hotel Danieli, your favourite hotel in Venice. You loved it due to its rich history and architecture. While the outside looked like the rest of the city, it was the interior décor and architecture that always blew your mind away.
“Welcome back to Venice, signora,” the hotel concierge greeted you. “The Doge Dandolo Royal Suite has been prepared for you and your guest.”
You smiled in thanks and handed over your passports. “Our documents.”
“Thank you,” he said as he processed everything. “The hotel would like to offer you a complimentary night free of charge, as one of our most esteemed guests. Would you and your guest like to stay for another night?”
You didn’t know Jaehyun’s schedule, but you weren’t about to refuse the offer.
“We’ll stay.”
“Wonderful,” the concierge continued. “Will everything be charged to the card we have on file?”
“Yes, please.”
“Amazing,” he said and handed you the keys to your room. “Enjoy your stay.”
You followed the bellman to your room and tipped him as soon as he dropped off your luggage. Jaehyun’s jaw evidently dropped at the grandiosity of the room. The Doge Dandolo Royal Suite was exquisitely decorated, reminiscent of 14th century Italian Renaissance-style.
Perhaps the opulence of the room scared Jaehyun a little as he stuttered out timidly, “S-so, h-how much d-does it cost for a whole w-week here?”
You stretched your whole body as you walked across the room, taking everything in. “I don’t know, it costs around 9500 euros a night so do the math.”
“9500 euros?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Wait, so that’s about 67 000 euros for a whole week?”
“I mean, they’re giving us a complimentary night so it’s technically for eight nights.”
Jaehyun glared at you. His glare was so fierce that it reminded you of when you two first found out that you were engaged to each other.
“Do we have to stay in such a luxurious suite?”
You found Jaehyun’s attitude curious and intriguing.
While Jaehyun would be considered as nouveau riche, he certainly didn’t act like one. Most of the nouveaux riches you knew loved flaunting their newly accumulated wealth.
Aside from a few of his expenses, Jaehyun was quite particular with his money. It almost made you chuckle as you remembered just a couple of months ago, he was screaming at you that you shouldn’t look down at him for having less money than your family and that contrary to your beliefs, he indeed was able to afford the lunch at Yuta’s hotel.
“You and your family paid for the wedding,” you answered easily. “My family and I can pay for the honeymoon.”
It took a moment for him to accept this compromise, but Jaehyun seemed satisfied with your answer.
“Okay,” he said. “Also, have you thought about what you want to do tomorrow?”
You looked back at him with a weird expression. “...You want to spend time with me tomorrow too?”
It was probably the first time you’ve ever seen Jaehyun blush in front of you. “Well, whether I like it or not, we are married and are on our honeymoon! Shouldn’t we spend some time together before we head back home?”
This was unexpected.
You planned your honeymoon around the fact that Jaehyun didn’t want to spend it with you.
Did this mean that he didn’t hate you anymore?
“I don’t.”
“Huh?” You realised belatedly that you might have asked that question out loud and Jaehyun heard it.
“I don’t,” he repeated, “actually hate you.”
“Oh,” you answered dumbly. “That’s... good.”
“So, tomorrow?”
You shrugged and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
“We’ll see.”
Whether you liked it or not, Jaehyun’s sudden shift of attitude towards you was one that made you question his true intentions.
You constantly reminded yourself that just barely month ago, this man hated your guts with a fury for supposedly ruining his life. And one small and insignificant action on your part suddenly made him think of you differently?
What kind of game was he playing?
You didn’t know, but one thing you knew for sure was that you would emerge as the game’s winner.
← REASON #4 || MASTERLIST || REASON #6 →
#neowritingsnet#cznnet#jaehyun x reader#jaehyun romance#jaehyun angst#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun scenarios#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 scenarios#w: ten reasons why i hate you
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Elvis Presley’s 1962 Lockheed 1329 JetStar,
For decades, Lockheed’s JetStar was the executive jet of choice for countless A-listers, recognized dignitaries and star-studded celebrities, and this 1962 Lockheed 1329 JetStar is no exception, as it was once owned by the king of rock ‘n’ roll: Elvis Presley. Presley acquired it from OMNI Aircraft Sales Inc. on December 22, 1976 for the princely sum of $840,000.
When Elvis took ownership of this particular JetStar, registered with the FAA as N-20TF, the entertainer was no stranger to luxurious aviation acquisition. He had already amassed a modest fleet, which included a custom Convair 880 named the “Lisa Marie” that went by the call sign of Hound Dog 1, along with a second JetStar identified by its call sign of Hound Dog 2.
With a busy touring schedule, these crafts were needed to transport the singer, his TCB band, backup groups, Col. Tom Parker and the ever-present Memphis Mafia to venues, concerts and appearances all around the country. Elvis kept several pilots on retainer that were ready to fly him to adoring fans at a moment’s notice.
This JetStar is one of several private jets owned by Elvis Presley, with two currently on display at Graceland. Inside, the cabin features wood paneling and red velvet upholstery with gold-finish hardware. There’s seating for nine by way of six plush chairs that swivel and recline, along with a couch. An onboard entertainment system is tucked away in a media cabinet, featuring a television, RCA VCR player and audio cassette player, and headphone ports with audio controls are located at every seat. A galley contains storage and a meal-prep area complete with a Kenmore microwave and beverage dispenser. At the rear is a lavatory along with additional storage and cubby areas.
In the spring of 1977, the jet was sold, later ending up with a Saudi Arabian company. The JetStar was then moved to Roswell International Air Center (ROW) in Roswell, New Mexico, where it’s been stored for decades and resides to this day. The aircraft will require disassembly to be shipped, and coordinating assistance is available. Documentation joining the jet includes a copy of the Aircraft Security Agreement document signed by Elvis Presley, a copy of the Aircraft Bill of Sale and Official FAA Blue Ribbon documents. While the P&W engines and many cockpit components have been removed and no engines or replacement parts will be included with the sale of Elvis’ jet, it serves as an incredible restoration opportunity and a chance to create a unique Elvis exhibit for all the world to enjoy.
This JetStar is a truly rare bird with immense appeal and one that will do nothing but shake up the crowds at Mecum’s 2023 Kissimmee auction. Elvis and his effect on the music industry are known the world-over, and this opportunity for a new owner to acquire an extravagant piece of his aviation past is a momentous occasion with untold room for flights of rock ‘n’ roll fancy.
#art#design#elvis presley#jetstar#lockheed#lockheed jet#Business jet#private jet#Jetsetter#flying palace#flying private#abandoned plane#1962#decay#abandoned#mecumauctions#iconic#legend#rock & roll
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https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2024/02/06/taylor-swift-jet-tracking-legal-threat/
By Drew Harwell
Taylor Swift’s attorneys have threatened legal action against a Florida college student who runs social media accounts tracking the flights of her and other celebrities’ private jets.
Jack Sweeney, a junior at the University of Central Florida, has for years run accounts that log the takeoffs and landings of planes and helicopters owned by hundreds of billionaires, politicians, Russian oligarchs and other public figures, along with estimates of their planet-warming emissions. The accounts use publicly available data from the Federal Aviation Administration and volunteer hobbyists who can track the aircraft via the signals they broadcast.
Sweeney’s accounts fueled a free-speech debate in late 2022 when X, formerly Twitter, banned Sweeney for sharing what the platform’s owner, Elon Musk, said were his “assassination coordinates.” The accounts don’t say who travels on the aircraft or where they go once the planes land.
In December, Swift’s attorney at the Washington law firm Venable wrote Sweeney a cease-and-desist letter saying Swift would “have no choice but to pursue any and all legal remedies” if he did not stop his “stalking and harassing behavior.”
Sweeney’s accounts had caused Swift and her family “direct and irreparable harm, as well as emotional and physical distress,” and had heightened her “constant state of fear for her personal safety,” the lawyer, Katie Wright Morrone, wrote, according to a copy of the letter sent to the home of Sweeney’s parents. Sweeney shared the letter with The Washington Post.
“While this may be a game to you, or an avenue that you hope will earn you wealth or fame, it is a life-or-death matter for our Client,” Morrone wrote. She added that there is “no legitimate interest in or public need for this information, other than to stalk, harass, and exert dominion and control.”
The pop star has routinely faced stalkers showing up outside her homes, Morrone wrote, and one man now faces stalking and harassment charges after being arrested last month outside her townhouse in Manhattan.
Asked whether Swift’s representatives knew of any evidence that stalkers had used the jet-tracking accounts, Tree Paine, a spokeswoman for Swift, said, “We cannot comment on any ongoing police investigation but can confirm the timing of stalkers suggests a connection. His posts tell you exactly when and where she would be.”
Sweeney, 21, told The Post he saw the letter as an attempt to scare him away from sharing public data. The accounts offer only an incomplete sketch of which cities Swift might currently be in, similar to the public schedules for her concerts or any NFL games she might attend, he said. And the letters, he added, were sent to him at a time when she faced criticism over her flights’ environmental impact.
“This information is already out there,” he said. “Her team thinks they can control the world.”
Private-jet flights are routinely criticized for their “disproportionately high” impact on climate change, and Sweeney’s accounts have often been used to name and shame their most famous passengers. In 2022, the accounts were cited in an analysis that estimated Swift was the “biggest celebrity [carbon dioxide] polluter” of the year.
Her publicist told The Post then that the analysis was flawed because her jet was often loaned out to other people. Paine told The Post on Monday that Swift bought more than double the “carbon credits” needed to offset her travel before her recent tour kicked off.
Around the time of the December letter, Facebook and Instagram disabled the accounts Sweeney had created to track Swift’s air travel, saying they broke the platforms’ privacy rules, he said. He began posting those updates onto accounts on Facebook and Instagram that he uses to log the travel of planes used by a range of stars, called Celeb Jets. Then, last month, Morrone sent a second letter saying his posts about Swift’s aircraft constituted “harassing conduct.”
The letters included the names of three other Venable attorneys experienced in litigation, including one who says on LinkedIn that she is the founding member of the firm’s “Digital Crisis Planning & Response client solution” and helps “high-profile individuals” manage crises of varying magnitude, such as “celebrity disgrace events.”
Morrone did not respond to requests for comment. Meta, which owns Facebook and Instagram, also did not respond.
Planes in the sky regularly broadcast their locations via transponders so air traffic controllers and other pilots can see where they’re going. Anyone on the ground can pick up those signals using a cheap device, known as an ADS-B receiver, that is widely sold online.
The FAA allows plane owners to request their flights be hidden in the federal data that undergirds popular consumer flight-tracking websites, such as FlightAware. Swift’s jet appears to be blocked through such a request.
But many aviation hobbyists feed their raw data into independent websites, such as ADS-B Exchange, that those FAA requests do not cover. Criminal investigators, journalists and researchers have used those sites to look up historical flight paths or see who’s flying overhead.
Swift, Time magazine’s 2023 “person of the year,” made history Sunday as the only musician to win four best-album Grammy Awards, and her every movement is closely watched by paparazzi and superfans. Her “Eras Tour” last year was credited with boosting the local economies of every city she stopped in; one study cited by The Post estimated that “Swifties” spent about $93 million per show.
Her travel plans have drawn increased attention in recent weeks as she’s flown to watch her boyfriend, Travis Kelce, play for the Kansas City Chiefs, including from conservatives who have seized on the trips to criticize her.
They have also become a key point of interest for her fans, especially because her upcoming concert in Tokyo is just hours before Kelce’s scheduled Super Bowl appearance on Sunday in Las Vegas. Even Japan’s embassy in Washington recognized the public’s interest, posting on X last week, “Despite the 12-hour flight and 17-hour time difference, the Embassy can confidently Speak Now to say that … she should comfortably arrive” on time.
Sweeney’s accounts have in recent months tracked two jets that were owned by Nashville-based companies and registered to be operated by a Swift company called Firefly Entertainment, according to FAA documents. They do not track who travels on the planes or any other chartered flights.
Swift’s spokeswoman told The Post that “there is only one plane.” One of the planes previously tracked by Sweeney’s accounts, a Dassault Falcon 900, was marked in FAA records last week as being transferred to a real estate company. Each jet sells for about $25 million, according to brokerage estimates cited last month by The Post.
After X banned him and his accounts in December 2022, Sweeney opened new Facebook and Instagram accounts for Swift, former president Donald Trump, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, reality star Kim Kardashian and Meta chief Mark Zuckerberg, among others. All of those accounts except for Swift’s remain online — including the accounts for Zuckerberg, who runs both sites. (Bezos owns The Washington Post.)
Sweeney continues to post Swift jet updates to other platforms, including Bluesky, Mastodon and Telegram. To abide by X’s rule against real-time location tracking, he also created accounts that post Musk and Swift’s flight updates with a 24-hour delay.
The December letter from Swift’s attorney states that Sweeney’s actions are “in violation of several state laws” but does not specify them. The letter does, however, cite nine anonymous Instagram comments saying the account is “scary,” “pathetic,” “weird,” invasive” and “dangerous” “stalker behavior.”
The letter says Sweeney is “notorious for disregarding the personal safety of others in exchange for public attention and/or requests for financial gain” and cites a message he sent to Musk in 2021, during which he countered Musk’s $5,000 offer to delete the Musk-jet account with a suggestion of $50,000, as first reported by the now-defunct tech blog Protocol. Sweeney said no money was ever exchanged.
After receiving the letters, Sweeney said he asked for help from the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a digital rights group, which sent his request to a list of attorneys. James Slater, a Florida lawyer who specializes in First Amendment and internet speech issues, responded on Sweeney’s behalf to the Venable letter.
Slater wrote that Morrone had not identified any legal claim, that the jet information posed “no threat” to Swift’s safety, and that Sweeney’s account had “engaged in protected speech that does not violate any of Ms. Swift’s legal rights,” according to a copy reviewed by The Post. Slater said he has yet to receive a response.
In an interview, Slater said he thought the Swift attorney’s letters were “hyperbolic and unfounded” and sent in hopes that Sweeney would “just delete everything and do what they said.”
“This isn’t about putting a GPS tracker on someone and invading their privacy. It’s using public information to track the jet of a public figure,” he said. “This is their means to try to quash a PR issue and bully my client to have the bad coverage die down.”
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recently read: May 2023 🌱🍅
If you decide to check any of these fics out, make sure to show the author some love. Leave kudos, a comment and, if possible, reblog (or retweet) the fic post! and a big thank you to all these amazing authors! and authors; thank you for sharing your writing with us!
hello, lovers by @panye (E, 2k, Shiall, phone sex operator, mutual masturbation) Niall is a phone sex operator at Hello Lovers hotline, and Shawn is his last caller on Valentine’s Day.
I've Got Demons, You've Got Scars by @mission2feelike (E, WIP, 83k+, a/b/o, pack dynamics, feral Louis) Harry’s life has been ruined twice. Once, the first time his alpha raised his fist four years ago, and then again today when his job discovered that he is an omega in a world where omegas, especially bonded omegas, have no rights. Now, he’s stuck trying to figure out how he’s going to take care of his four-year-old daughter, Mia. Just when it’s looking completely hopeless, a possible job arises. Someone is looking for an omega to help an alpha in need. The only problem is that the alpha has been diagnosed with Alpha Rage, a crippling disease that causes an alpha to become feral, making them succumb to their most instinctual, primal versions of themselves.A story of an omega that’s been broken, an alpha that can’t trust himself, and their unlikely relationship.
Gosh this fic is absolutely amazing!! I love that it deals with a variant of aggression issues, something that is so rarely done in media with main characters. and the recovery from it, the progress and the character development, it’s just amazing!!
On The Horizon by FitzAndLarry (E, WIP, 184k+, fake relationship, cruise) Drunk, loose, and excited on the first night of his two-week-long cruise, Doctor Harry Styles finds himself with a little extra company on what has turned out to be a lonely experience. Louis, the pilot who helped fly him across the Atlantic, is the object of his fling. Thus begins an adventure filled with laughter, sun, and trauma rearing its ugly head. Deadline on their companionship, the pair commit to enjoying their time - and Harry, the screw-up he is, can't help but lose himself in the fantasy.
Even If It's Just Tonight by nothing_but (E, 26k, BDSM club owner, suitcase swap) Louis and Harry happen to switch their suitcases in the airport's bathroom and it's possibly the best mistake Harry has ever made.
Such a good fic! Loved the idea
Secret Videos by hazzandloubear (Gen, 1.3k, canon, established relationship) The fic where Louis steals Harry's phone and secretly records
We'll Be Seamless by @dinosaursmate (E, 52k, tumblr au, strangers to friends to lovers) Louis spends all his spare time scrolling arty nude blogs on Tumblr but amongst them all, Green is his favourite.
I really loved the throwback to the days when you could post nudes on tumblr. I also loved that Louis was a big fan of Harry's blog long before they met irl!
Touch Me Up by @dinosaursmate (E, 2.4k, established relationship) Harry has a big idea for a photoshoot, but Louis isn't too keen.
It’s All Novel: How to Care for Your Omega in Heat by @insightfulinsomniac (E, 12k, a/b/o, established relationship, fluff) Featuring: boys in love actively communicating through a series of tender, intimate moments. The sequel to “Checking Them Out?: How to Use Your Library Science Degree to Get an Alpha.”
Come Morning Light (You’ll Be Safe and Sound) by @babyhoneyheslt (M, WIP, 2.6k+, famous/non-famous, plane crash investigator) Louis is a plane crash investigator, and when a private jet carrying world famous singer Harry Styles crashes, he gets put on the investigation team. Thinking Harry is going to be arrogant and thinks he’s better than anyone; when Louis has to get information he’s surprised by the singers kindness. Although, it seems that Harry’s not all he seems to be, and that he’s hiding something from everyone around him.
Danger I Can't Hide by CelticSky (E, WIP, 156k+, WW2 au, fighter pilots, strangers to friends to lovers) Flying Officer Styles and Sergeant Tomlinson would have likely never crossed paths in a time of peace, their lives laid out neatly, predictably before them. But then the world became unrecognisable. Too soon they grew accustomed to fear, surrounded by death and destruction, not even their freedom a certainty any more. Until they found each other. Comfort. Companionship. Understanding. Another person to lose.
to the surprise of absolutely no one - I love this fic! planes, fighter pilots, friends to lovers - it's as if it was made for me!
Previous months: Jan, Feb, March&April + my other fic recs
#28th appreciation#fic rec#trackinghome#hlcreators#hlsource#trackinghappily#1dficvillage#tracksintheam
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