#admittedly this one is a bit of a stretch but all my posts are a bit of a stretch so. ehhh

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

Carrying on from this post because I do actually think I was valid there for once, but also because I was thinking about Phoenix's poison line. You know, this one from Recipe for Turnabout:

Phoenix: (There are two things that I consider inexcusable. Poisoning, and betrayal! Only a coward would hurt people using either of these tactics.)

And I was thinking about it in conjunction with how he feels after BttT, and how it could have warped (or been warped to fit) his perception of events there.

Because, while it is Dahlia who sets the whole thing in motion by poisoning Diego, the only one who can be said to have "betrayed" Godot in any way is... Phoenix. It's not Mia who tells him who stabbed Misty, Iris refuses to cave even when it becomes clear that she was an accomplice, and Maya begs Phoenix to leave things alone the whole time she's on the witness stand. The one who actually pushes the revelation and finally brings the truth to light is Phoenix. As Mia and Godot both say, that final battle was all him.

And of course it's ridiculous. Of course it doesn't add up. Because there was no betrayal. Godot killed someone. It is objectively right that he be sentenced for it, and, if it wasn't for his own interjection, he wouldn't have been found out at all! But then I think about what Phoenix says at the end of the case -- how he talks about "his own hand sending Godot to prison" (not, notably, finding the truth, as Edgeworth might justify) and how he specifically questions whether "justice was served with that verdict" because he "wasn't able to save Mr Armando" -- and I wonder if he doesn't feel some sense of misguided responsibility and guilt for that. Like, yes, he may not have known, and, yes, he technically owed Godot nothing, but that was the man who risked his life to save Maya's. And that automatically means Phoenix owes him something close to his own life.

And Phoenix sent him to jail.

It's a self-imposed debt; it's a fictitious betrayal. But the guilt is real.

Originally, I hypothesised that Phoenix grew disillusioned with the courts, which led to him leaving without a fight.

Now I wonder if what he actually grew disillusioned with wasn't just himself.

[ageofstarkey]

soft glow ✰ m. riddle

summary: sleepy mornings with matthéo

pairing: bf!matthéo x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive at the end, but nothing really other than that!! just tooth rotting fluff n théo who’s soft for u and no one else!! :’))

note: hi!! i’m not sure how i feel about this one but i still think it’s a lil tiny bit cute so i’m posting!! feel free to send in requests!!

masterlist

comments & reblogs are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

when you wake up, matthéo’s bedroom is warm with the soft glow of morning. golden rays of sunlight peek stubbornly through his drapes, and soft white noise filters steadily in through the window.

as you slowly come to, you begin to register the familiar sensation of matthéo’s touch. his calloused fingers glide almost curiously across your face; carefully tracing each curve and dip, as if to memorize your every detail.

with a soft hum, you finally blink open your eyes - squinting into the sunlight. you roll towards matthéo with a yawn, offering him a sleepy smile. “hi”

matthéo grins, smoothing a mess of tangled hair away from your face. “hi, darling.” his voice is raspy and painfully fond - and your heart aches pleasantly behind your ribcage. his hand slides casually to the back of your neck, and you quietly hope that your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “how’d you sleep?”

“me? oh - i slept terribly” you’re aiming for deadpan in a desperate attempt to play it cool, but you wear a giddy little grin that almost certainly gives you away. “worst sleep of my life.”

“oh yeah?”

you nod with all the conviction you can muster - which admittedly isn’t much. “mhmm” with a little stretch, you’re leaning upwards to kiss his cheek. “you snore louder than my granddad.”

matthéo scoffs in mock offence, fingers poking teasingly at your side. “‘s that so?”

you nod once more, trying desperately to stifle a giggle. matthéo’s teasing is relentless, and you squirm clumsily away from his prodding fingers. in the end - it doesn’t take long for you to give in. “okay! okay - fine!” you laugh breathlessly. “you don’t snore and i had the best sleep of my life. is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes actually. because you on the other hand - you do snore and it’s really quite loud - sort of like-”

“matthéo!” he’s being mean on purpose and you pretend to hate it. “i do not snore!”

“okay but how do you know you don’t snore, hm? i mean - if you’re asleep when it happens…” he tugs you towards his bare chest, one arm wrapped firmly around your back. “you wouldn’t really know, would you?” he punctuates his words with a soft kiss to your forehead, and you all but melt into his gentle embrace.

“i hate you.” with your face smushed against matthéo’s chest, your words come out awkward and muffled. “like - i really, really can’t stand you sometimes.”

he tugs you impossibly closer with a pleased laugh. “don’t lie, sweetheart”

“i’m not lying!”

he tilts your head upwards before slowly kissing your lips. you feel warm all over, and you chase him with a quiet whine when he pulls away. “if you really hate me, why were you screaming m-”

“you’re so awful!”

[wileys-russo]

as you would assume all alessia x reader 😭

getting into a fight with alessia, would she be stubborn or very apologetic

alessia not being able to sleep without physical touch, but you can't sleep because you're too hot

being up late studying but alessia is tired from training and just wants to cuddle up but you really can't yet

taking care of her after a rough day

you don't need to post this one, just a couple ideas :]

couldn't fit all of these into one blurb but did a lil clingy gf less moment bc we love a touch starved blondie

touch starved II a.russo

"i can clean up later baby you look shattered, please go to bed." you tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind your girlfriends ear, no denying you were positively infatuated with the striker.

"only if you come with me." alessia demanded with a pout, balling your top in her fists and tugging your body closer, your arms wrapping around her and playing with the baby hairs on the back of her neck, the italian a good half a foot taller than you.

"i'll be in later i have to finish this paper, its due by midnight." you bit your lip guiltily, admittedly having procrastinated your uni assignment just a little too long. "are you gonna be in the living room?" the blonde asked hopefully, assuming she could then at least lay down beside you as you worked.

"office, i need the scanner and printer." you shook your head, stomach lurching with guilt as the girls face visibly dropped at the answer she had hoped against hearing. "tomorrows my rest day i'll just stay up and wait for you, watch some more of my show." alessia decided, unwrapping herself from you and heading for the lounge.

"less you've been up since like four in the morning, just go to bed." you smiled at the stubborn nature of the older girl who shook her head, curling up into a ball on the lounge and flicking on the tv.

"i can't sleep without you there." alessia frowned and your heart melted at her words. "yes you can, you manage it on away games and camps." you smiled, cupping her face and tracing the frown lines on her forehead, smoothing them out with your thumbs.

"that's different!" alessia protested, though she visibly struggled in trying to explain how.

"fine but don't fall asleep in here, you'll hurt your neck again!" you cut in to save her further struggle and warned seriously as the striker rolled her eyes. you bent down to peck her lips before padding off to your office, which was really just the third bedroom of your shared flat. alessia often needing a quiet neutral space to do her media duties you'd both deemed it a more appropriate use of the space since you already had a guest bedroom set up.

around an hour and a half later you were tracking along well, you had another two hours until your paper was due and you were already halfway done.

craving something sweet to help your motivation levels you made your way toward the kitchen, though glancing over at the lounge you sighed noting the now dead asleep mop of blonde hair still curled up in a ball.

switching routes you made a beeline for your girlfriend, squatting down beside her and gently poking at the blonde who groaned and turned around to her other side as you turned off the tv.

"babe please go to bed!" you requested while shaking her as her bright blue eyes sleepily fluttered open and she stretched, the slight wince on her face as she moved her neck not going unnoticed by you.

"told you your neck would hurt you idiot." you remanded with a shake of your head, standing and offering her a hand up, a mistake on your behalf as the girl interlocked your fingers but instead pulled you to fall on top of her, long limbs wrapping tightly around you.

"alessia!" you laughed trying to squirm out of her grip but with the taller girls build much more muscular than your own, there really wasn't a point. "don't leave me i miss you, i haven't seen you all day." she mumbled into your shoulder as you rolled your eyes playfully.

"you were only at training for a few hours, we just had dinner together and i'm right here!" you rewarded her neediness with a kiss, alessia's large hands making their way under your top and caressing your bare back. her perfectly manicured nails gently scratched against your skin and your eyes fluttered closed in relief, a sense of calm settling over you, you could happily melt into the girl and never get up again.

but unfortunately you knew this was an option not available for the taking.

"do you not love me?" you asked rhetorically, snapping the half asleep girl to attention as she scoffed. "of course i do what sort of a question is that?" she accused only hugging you tighter as she pushed her legs to slot inbetween your own, your body now well and truly trapped in her iron clad grip.

"loving partners let their girlfriends do their assignments and further their education, do you not want to be able to brag that your girlfriends a fully qualified physiotherapist?" you challenged, admittedly now becoming quite uncomfortable in her grip, it was peak summer and without the luxury of air conditioning you were beginning to get quite hot tucked in so close together.

"actually no because then everyone's going to want your hands on them. don't pretend like you haven't already promised half the girls free massages and adjustments once you graduate!" alessia quipped, though the pride and adoration in her eyes betrayed the playful sarcasm of her statement.

"yeah these magic healers will sadly no longer only belong to you!" you grinned wiggling your hands in her face as she rolled her eyes and playfully bit the tip of your index finger, you flicking at her nose in retaliation.

"but seriously i need to finish my paper and though you are the hottest girl on the planet right now you are actually the hottest girl on the planet, i'm melting!" you whined, alessia allowing you to pull her hands off and untangling her legs from yours.

"go to bed my love, i'll be there in like an hour once i finish." you assured, alessia nodding with a defeated sigh as the two of you stood, exchanging a lingering hug and a goodnight kiss before you parted ways.

alessia headed off to the bathroom to get ready for bed and you back to the office, though not before a quick detour to the kitchen for something sweet.

"if you're not beside me in an hour i'm coming to get you!" alessia yelled from the bedroom before you heard a loud squeak and a thud which would have been the blonde belly flopping onto the mattress as she did every night, normally on top of you.

smiling at her words you zoned back into your paper, eyes flicking between your computer screen and your pile of messily scribbled notes which were spread everywhere all over the desk around you.

true to her word and being unable to fully fall asleep without you beside her in bed, alessia leant against the doorway exactly an hour later, clearing her throat as you spun around in your chair to face her.

giving her a brief look of both guilt and nerves you didn't have to say much more for alessia to catch on you still weren't finished. "i'll be back again in twenty minutes, and if you're still not done then i'll be back every ten minutes after that for a kiss." the blonde pouted as you couldn't help but smile at her clingy nature, this nothing new as the harder the striker was pushed in training the more she sought out your affections when she returned home, nodding in agreement.

"i'm trying." you assured seriously and your girlfriends face softened. "i know, and i want you to get it done so we can spend the day together tomorrow stress free. i've got plans!" alessia tilted up your chin, pecking your lips as you gave her a curious look.

"plans?" "for me to know, for you to eventually find out." "that's not a terrifying thought." "are you accusing me of being a bad planner?" "well...you did forget our-" "for the one hundreth time i didn't forget our anniversary, i just simply got the dates mixed up."

"do your paper, i love you." alessia stole another kiss, running a hand fondly through your hair before padding back off to the bedroom.

what felt like only minutes later, though you knew had been much longer due to your girlfriend popping in repeatedly to steal a kiss and try to hurry you into bed with her, you bit down on your bottom lip as your eyes glanced down at the time, seeing you suddenly had only five more minutes to finish your references index.

muttering to yourself your fingers flew curiously across the keyboard, and with what was surely seconds to spare you clicked submit, exhaling deeply and leaning back in your chair, burying your face tiredly in your hands.

closing your computer you darted quickly around the flat, locking up and flicking off lights and lamps, eventually stepping into your bedroom with a small sigh of relief, checking the window was cracked open to try and diffuse the heat of the sticky summer night.

alessia sent you a toothy smile as she scrolled through her phone, eyes occasionally flicking up to stare at you as you changed into an oversized shirt, tossing your shorts and bra into a corner to be dealt with tomorrow.

"hiii." alessia grinned and opened her arms as you finally made your way toward the bed, the girl laying on top of the covers due to the heat. "hello." you smiled tiredly and collapsed into her, reaching over to flick off the bedside lamp, engulfing the room into darkness as alessia placed her phone on charge.

sincere words of endearment whispered inbetween tender kisses and soft giggles, the two of you slowly began to doze off, though no sooner had alessias body relaxed did yours tense up, the combined body heat of the two of you making your brow line bead with sweat.

checking the italian was soundly sleeping you carefully shuffled away, placing a bit of distance between the two of you as your eyes shut, finally starting to drift off.

"c'mere." alessia mumbled tiredly, reaching blindly back out for you eventually grasping at your top, pulling you back toward her.

"baby i'm sweating its so hot, can we just have a little bit of space? we can still hold hands?" you tried to bargain softly, gently removing her hands from where they clenched tightly to your top and interlinking your fingers, alessia mumbling something incoherent but not making any move to argue as you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

though it couldn't have even been a few seconds later before there was rustling beside you and alessias body flopped on top of yours, the taller blonde burying her face in your neck and grabbing your arms, tiredly wrapping them around herself as she tangled her legs with yours and muttered something you again couldn't quite understand.

sighing in defeat you slid a hand up her top and began to absentmindedly trace patterns on her back, moving your other hand to tangle in her golden locks and scratching your nails against her scalp like you knew she loved, pressing a kiss to her warm forehead and accepting you simply weren't going to sleep well tonight.

but for the seemingly touch starved blonde sleeping soundly on top of you, it would always be worth it.

[chaoticbardlady99]

HI FIRST OF ALL LOVE YOUR WRITING second of all ! kind of specific but may I request an astarion x reader/tav where like. 90% of their time with the companions reader/tav hasn’t been able to see all that well- like. they can see colors and sort-of shapes but most details are completely incomprehensible, and through some method or another (probably someone’s attempt at “removing the tadpole” or smthn but up to you!) they’re finally able to see clearly and they’re just. completely amazed because EVERYTHING (astarion) is so beautiful actually??

Like Nothing I’ve Seen (Astarion x GN! reader)

CW- Mentions of gore and violence (due to Volo being a socially incompetent goofball) , self-esteem issues because I’m an insecure queen myself and like to deal with my feelings through my OCs

I tried to write a body neutral reader as well so everyone can imagine themselves in this story! I hope I was able to pull that off.

Title inspired by the song “Beautiful Things” by Grayscale

Hello! I am so sorry this took so long. Work has been kicking my whole ass lately!!!

This has not be thoroughly proof read so I may make changes as I find them, but I was too excited to post it! I hope you enjoy!

Being a monk is hypothetically supposed to help your pain tolerance- ya know, zen and shit.

Except, you quickly learn that a crossbow bolt to the eyeball is enough to break your zen.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s fighting quickly subsides as you stare at the two blobs out of your (now) one only good eye- good being a stretch. Admittedly, of all the people this could have happened to, it’s probably a good thing it was you since your eyes don’t really work anyway.

The purple, silver, and black blob (who you have come to know as ‘Shadowheart’) comes running towards you, her movements frantic as she begins to try to bandage your eye. You wince as she starts to remove the crossbow bolt.

“I am so sorry,” Shadowheart says, the distress evident in her voice, “if only that gith would stop being such a problem.”

Shadowheart practically screamed the last bit, but at least you are in too much pain for the shrill sound of her voice to bother you. You never wanted to find out if eyeballs could throb- you missed the hours before breakfast when you were blissfully ignorant to the true capabilities of your eyeballs.

The hostile green ball, Lae’zel, comes charging over with an insult sitting on the tip of her tongue before another blob knocks her aside.

“Walk it off Lae’zel,” you hear Karlach say with heavy amounts of exasperation.

Lae’zel grumbles as she storms off; Shadowheart continues to slowly work on you as you wince, whimper, and feel the tears start to fall.

“What did you do?!”

The rage in his voice rattles your bones- if tones could kill, Shadowheart would have keeled over. The radiant blob of your lover is in Shadowheart’s face (at least you hope it’s her face).

“Fangs, put them away!”

“Oh? Were you this anal when they were SHOOTING CROSSBOWS KARLACH?!”

You are beginning to feel dizzy and the yelling isn’t helping. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion are arguing relentlessly- Karlach attempting to mediate. At some point Gale and Wyll join the mix- you think they are trying to hold back Astarion, but you aren’t sure.

In all the chaos, you are unaware of Volo coming up behind you- a solution brewing in his brains.

“Don’t worry my friend,” He explains with gusto, “I can fix this!”

Before anyone can protest, Volo rips the bolt out- your eyeball coming out with it before Volo plops a spherical object in your lap.

“Tada!”

The blood curdling scream that rips through your throat as you clutch at your eye socket surprises even you. In the midst of the white, hot pain- you hear Volo running off , also screaming, away from what you think is Astarion.

You feel Shadowheart grab the spherical object from your lap as Karlach holds you down on the ground.

“Sorry Soldier, but this is probably going to hurt.”

Oh and it hurts.

Shadowheart is wiggling the eye roughly into your eye socket, apologizing the entire time. You feel your socket form around the new eye. The pain from the removal and the new addition begins to subside into a dull ache as the new eyeball makes itself at home in your head- healing energy radiating from it and Shadowheart’s palm.

You feel like you are going to throw up, pass out, or go into a fit of hysteria by the time you start trying to blink your eyes open. You stare down at the grass below you and watch as a red bug with black spots walks along one of the blades before taking flight.

You freeze- the world is definitely not blobbish anymore. You run your fingers through the soft, green grass.

Has it always looked this way?

“How is the new eye?” Shadowheart says nervously.

You look over at her and try to stifle your shock.

Shadowheart is stunning and Karlach is just as awe inspiring as Shadowheart.

“Are you okay, Soldier?”

Sometimes you forget that your companions don’t know about your vision issues. You are able to hide your vision deficit well due to your years of training as a monk teaching you how to rely heavily on your other senses and the energy in the air.

You have come to adore all of your companions for their personalities, their laughs- Astarion especially. However, now you understand why perfect strangers come up to your companions with enamored voices.

“You catch him, Fangs?” Karlach says in a teasing town.

You hear Astarion scowl, “the bastard ran off and disappeared before I could even get near him.”

Astarion appears out from the corner of your eye and kneels in front of you. You try so hard to keep the surprise and adoration from showing on your face. His eyes bore into yours with an emotion that is not recognizable. A tick of frustration flares in your mind- now you have to learn an entirely new set of rules for social interaction.

Except, you’ll deal with that later. For now, you have a literal God kneeling in front of you, his hand cupping your cheek and surveying your new eye.

Gods he’s incredible.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper involuntarily.

As the blush spreads along your cheeks, Astarion breaks out in a bright, beautiful smile.

“Well that settles it, your vision is working just fine!”

He gives you a quick kiss on your lips- your face feels like it’s on fire.

It has been a little over a week since the tiefling party. He had been distant with you initially after your midnight tryst and you had felt quite broken over it. Well- until you had been spending time with Gale at the campfire talking about the Monastery you grew up in and his experiences with the weave. Astarion had barged into the conversation, sat down next to you, and had practically pulled you into his lap next to the campfire. After that night, you’ve become inseparable- sleeping in each other’s tents, more midnight trysts, cuddling, spending the whole night talking or playing games. You spend alone time with your other companions- he would never control you or dictate who you spend time with. He would spy on you and Gale, but he would never prevent you from talking to him.

“No my dear, I trust you. I just don’t trust the boot muncher.”

“You really need to stop saying that,” your serious demeanor cracking, “he doesn’t actually eat the boots.”

He snickered, “oh ya? Then why have we never seen them after he absorbs them? And yet everyone judges my feeding habits!”

Astarion helps you up off the ground and you are dizzy from all the new stimuli around you. His hands find purchase on your hips as he helps steady you. You take advantage of the support and look around your camp.

It all looked exactly how you did and did not imagine. Your brain feels like it’s having a war between what your senses tell you about the land versus what your eyes are saying. You can label everything in the camp because you know where it is based on location, but none of it looks like the way you had anticipated- in fact, it was all far more breathtaking than you imagined.

“What are you thinking about Darling,” he whispers against your ear.

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine, a smile consuming your face.

“I was thinking it might be fun to go explore around camp and make sure my eye is really working.”

He stares at you with an unreadable expression, “I’m sure the environment and your sight hasn’t changed that much?”

Ah, that look means confusion.

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” you put your hand on your hip and flash a grin, “besides, it’s not like I asked you to go with me.”

*******************************************

Astarion walks leisurely behind you as you make a point of touching anything you can reach. He thought you were the most normal one at camp (mentally at the very least), but he is beginning to think he misjudged you.

You are twirling around the forest like you’ve never been in one before. You ask him questions about specific objects and express a great deal of interest in everything you come across- you even find the rocks interesting. While he did find the strangeness to be odd, he still couldn’t help but relish in the genuine, innocent joy on your face. Astarion feels an unfamiliar warmth spread throughout his body while he watches you as you bound around the forest floor.

Astarion is slowly recognizing that his plan is unraveling, but only a little bit. He had thought you would be the lovesick puppy chasing him around camp, but, as Karlach has pointed out to him, it’s the opposite.

He finds himself always making an inventory of where you are in relation to him, who you are talking to, and your feelings- even the ones he is currently disrespecting by attempting to gain your undying protection.

Now Astarion is here- watching you follow a bumble bee towards a large Oak tree.

As you stop and make a point of sitting down under a tree, you touch the various flowers scattered in the grass and excitedly chat about the details of the flower. Astarion silently sits next to you with a smile and takes a look at your face- you look like a blind man seeing for the first time. The realization hits him like an eldritch blast.

“Darling?”

You hum.

“Have you not been able to see until today?”

Astarion watches as you tense up and your eyes meet his. Astarion struggles to discern the look in your eyes- it’s somewhere between fear and apprehension. He offers you a small smile before you break eye contact with a sigh.

“I, um, was sick as a baby. My mom left me outside of a monastery. I guess whatever I was sick with attacked my vision so I could only really see colors and the basic outlines of the things,” Astarion looks at you as if to encourage you to go on so you continue, “it’s never affected me though. The monks taught me how to use my other senses and taught me how to sense energy in the air.”

Astarion is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that a. He was right and b. You slept with him without knowing what he looks like? C. You are easily the second strongest in your little gang of weirdos and the entire time you could barely see.

“So when you told me I was beautiful last week?”

You blush and hide your soft grin. He hears your heart begin to race.

“I really did mean it then,” you pause,” but it’s a different kind of beautiful. I think you are a very good person- I just adore you. Your smile, your laugh, your personality- even the snarky bits. Or when you are at your absolute worst.”

You pause and give him a joking smile, “You are a real pain in the ass though. I didn’t know why everyone is so enamored with you, but now I can see why all those tiefling women kept flirting with you at the party now though.”

He tries to hide the frown that threatens to reveal itself and he sees the panic flash in your eyes.

“Not that I’m saying you are nothing but your looks because that is not true,” you bite your lip, “I just know I came to like you for who you are on the inside and that was…. Quite the experience.”

“Are you suggesting I’m an acquired taste?!”

“Hmmm,” you tap your chin, “ I suppose that is exactly what I’m saying.”

“I am truly heartbroken darling, I thought we had something special.”

He huffs playfully and pretends to be upset- ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. Astarion’s heart clenches as you look at him with the same warmth he is feeling. You break eye contact from him and he can’t help but feel disappointed.

“We do, you’re just lucky I’m a monk and I’ve been forced to practice patience my whole life.”

Astarion is lost for words as he turns over what you just said in his head. You scratch the back of your neck and start talking again.

“And not to mention, you deserve someone who is going to take the time to know you for you- not just adore you for what you look like. You are really one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met Star.”

We do. Incredible. Star.

His body feels like it might explode from the chaos of emotions spirals through his body. He thinks maybe the effects of the tadpole are wearing off because he feels like he is burning alive. He fights the urge to take you right there in the flowers.

A couple minutes later, you look up at him again- that same fear in your eyes, but also some hope. After you realize he isn’t going to say anything, you speak again.

“I am not entirely sure why you have gravitated towards me, but I really like you. I understand if you don’t feel the same way and we can just go back to being friends,” you pause, “and you won’t lose my protection. I still intend on helping you be free of Cazador once and for all.”

You look away from him, hands fiddling with the flowers. Astarion is still digesting everything you just said to him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings (even if he refuses to admit he does), he just doesn’t… deserve someone like you.

He had always been under the assumption that monks were stuffy and by-the-book. You had taken him by complete surprise. You are slyly funny, have no problems with bending the rules if it means helping someone (he doesn’t care for the intent of bending the rules, but he likes bending the rules), and you are accepting. You aren’t neutral with your feelings unless you are trying to mediate an argument or make the best decision for the group.

He appreciates how blunt you are in private- he never has to try to guess what’s on your mind. You make him feel safe like no one else has for the last 200 years.

How could I not gravitate towards you?

It also occurs to him that you have never seen yourself- how your eyes twinkle when you smile or the dimples that grace your cheeks. You hadn’t even seen your body- the same body he was starstruck by and, despite the dissociation and icky feelings, he was able to enjoy the sex between you to some extent.

He gets up from his spot on the ground next to you- your shoulders slightly slumping in defeat.

“Oh stop being so dramatic darling,” he teasingly smiles at you, “get up- I have something to show you.”

***************************************

You blindly follow Astarion to his tent- you had asked him what he wanted to show you the entire walk back, but he refused to disclose that information.

Once you were in camp, Astarion had wrapped some cloth around your eyes before dragging you in the direction of his tent.

“Now you stay right here- don’t move a muscle.”

“Oh you mean like-“

He interrupts you by swatting your hand away from his curls. You pout playfully and he pulls you to his chest before kissing you deeply. You are shocked by his actions and his gasp of surprise tells you he is just as shocked too. You feel him pull back as you start to melt against him, your hands tangled in his hair. An impatient whine escapes your lips. He chuckles.

“No, no, no,” he says, “not yet. Now stay still or there’s no more kisses for you.”

“No more kisses!?”

“You heard me!”

You stay still- the threat is more than enough to convince you to stop. You can hear and sense Astarion rustling around the tent, placing various objects of different vibrations all around his tent. It feels like it takes eons as he readjusts and moves the objects around. Finally, Astarion hums with approval.

“Alright darling, you can take the blind fold off now.”

You take off your blindfold eagerly and your eyes adjust to the warm light in the tent. As you look around, you see that Astarion had set up every mirror he owns all around the tent.

Mirrors.

You stare back at who you can only presume to be yourself. You take in all your features- dissecting yourself. The longer you stare at yourself, the unhappier you become.

You know that Astarion’s intent is good (or you hope it is), but you can’t help the frown that takes place on your face. You are so plain in comparison to Astarion and everyone in camp. Why would he want to be with you when he could have someone as stunning as Shadowheart? Someone equally as interesting to look at?

“What’s wrong,” Astarion says with alarm in his voice.

You suddenly become aware of the hot tears running down your cheeks as Astarion cups your face with his hands. You shake your head, crying harder as he wipes your tears away.

“Darling, please.”

The desperation in his voice causes you to finally meet his eyes, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“ I’m so plain looking,” you state with venom in your voice, “the rest of you are all beautiful in unique ways and I just look like everyone else.”

He scowls, shaking his head at you.

“That is not even slightly true.”

He twirls you around in his arms and has you facing the mirrors again. You have to remind myself that he is behind you still as you feel his fingers trace the details of your face (it would really ruin the moment if you elbowed him in the ribs).

“No one shines like you do. No one smiles like you or laughs like you- crinkles their eyes when they are happy like you. You are funny and intelligent; and by the Gods you are powerful. The fact that you have been fighting blind this whole time is absolutely incredible. You, darling, are a force of nature,” he puts his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the delicate skin, “I may say a lot of honeyed words, but I wouldn’t say them if they weren’t true.

“And, in all my 200 years of living, I must say, you are like no beauty I have ever seen before.”

You can’t help but smile brightly and you try to look at yourself the way he sees you. Maybe you can see the person he is referring to, but you just need more time to get used to actually seeing yourself. Maybe with time, you will be able to see how brightly you shine too- you’ll just have to work at it.

You smile at yourself softly and say a quiet you’re wonderful to yourself before looking away from the mirrors.

You turn around and give Astarion a soft, long kiss- he sighs into it, meeting your tempo until you pull away; Breathless like a fish out of water. He puts his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, Astarion- I think you shine too.”

[slxsherbunny]

Shelter from the Storm (Brahms Heelshire x GN reader)

Anon: Can we get some fluffy cuddles with wall boy, Brahms? Where he just craves cuddling time? 💞💞 (It's nice to see a new face btw! So far I really enjoy your writing :D Can't wait to see more of your work!!)

(Re-post from my older, defunct blog!)

When you return to the house, the windows are all dark, save for one. When you’d left in the morning, you had made sure the lights were all off, one of your duties that remained from when you’d first started working for the Heelshires. You had gone into town in the morning to fetch some groceries, and run a few errands, though your speed was admittedly hampered by the weather. The rain was heavy, thick droplets that seemed to chill you to the bone, your umbrella the last line of defense from the torrential downpour. It was rare these days that you would leave, though when you did, you felt a looming sense of guilt about it- you understood why Brahms might not want to tag along on your errands, but it made you feel awful leaving him behind at home. 

You shake off the thoughts and the rain, and unlock the front door quietly, slipping inside. You wonder if Brahms had seen you pull into the driveway, if he’d been watching all morning for your return. Your suspicions are confirmed when you turn to hang up your jacket, and Brahms is there. You greet him softly, part of you worried he’ll be angry you were gone so long. He waits all of ten seconds for you to take your muddied boots and drenched jacket off, before he’s got you in an embrace. His arms are tight around you, and you can’t help but notice how warm he is, especially compared to the storm outside. You find yourself melting into his embrace, a little desperate for the extra heat. “Did you miss me?” you tease, though the way he squeezes you slightly harder, a little warning, tells you he isn’t in a joking mood. In an instant, he has you by the wrist, leading you deeper into the house. You find yourself cursing the sudden loss of warmth pressed against you; but you follow, as you imagine there isn’t much of a choice.

You find yourself in one of the house's many sitting rooms, the fireplace already alive and crackling. You look around the room for a brief moment, and find that the window to the outside provides a perfect view of the long stretch of driveway. You feel that small pang of guilt again- how long had he been sitting here, waiting for you to come home? Before you can get too caught up in your worry, Brahms is pulling you down, onto the plush sofa, and into his lap. You go without hesitation, his arms snaking around you, and your torso pressed against his. He’s so warm, you can’t help but worm as close to him as possible, which you’re sure is what he wants. A crash of thunder sounds from outside, and his grip on you tightens, just short of crushing. It dawns on you then, that your absence may not have been the only thing troubling him today. He holds you like that for a moment, before seemingly growing restless. He moves you, his weight shifting on top of you, and for the briefest of moments you’re reminded of a heated blanket. He curls up on top of you like that, a bit too tall and wide to find comfortably with another person on the couch, and your hands find their way to his hair, stroking softly. He hums contentedly, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of your clothes. He holds you, as if worried that you’ll disappear if he lets go. Eventually, he slots his arms around your waist, and you suspect you aren’t going anywhere soon. Not that you mind; these moments of genuine affection could be rare with Brahms, and usually led to him wanting more than just cuddling. If you had to ride out the storm like this, in his arms, then that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

[crash-and-cure]

Burnin’ a Hole Where I Lay (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader) (Omegaverse)

Gif by @troubleinapinksuit

Summary: In which you long ago decided that the standard Alpha and Omega Relationship wasn’t for you, but your best friend Elvis had other plans.

A/N: This is a backup post I made because I absolutely refuse to let this be a case of this one not ending up in the tags again. Based on this request. Semi-Relevant, as i’ve been writing, in my head I’ve been ranking each reader as to how likely they are to bite, and undoubtedly this is my most feral creation, too bad she exists in a world where it may as well be a whole ass love language. So as a quick note as to the dynamics of this Omegaverse, relationshipss are primarily judged on their ability to Breed so A/O are the preferred/seen as the standard, wtih B/O and B/B being seen as acceptable, as a result an A/B relationship is seen as unacceptable. Also Alpha Presentation is marked when they gain their unusually elongated canines, and later go into a rut, Omegas go into their first heat, and Betas essentially present by not presenting whatsoever. Knotting is a bit of a secret in this world, as it only occurs under pretty rare circumstances. Probably some other rules I’m spacing on right now, so feel free to ask if any questions arise. Also I fully acknowledge that there is no way they would be watching The Twilight Zone, but for the purposes of this story let’s pretend.

Warnings: First and foremost this is a Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of delusional and manipulative behavior. VERY dubious consent, (in which reader is a slave to their own desires of consciously not wanting, but their body uncosciously does want it). Set in an Omegaverse so expect the usual. Implied birth control tampering. Bit of a breeding kink implied. Sexual harassment masked as being especially touchy. Smut depicted, that includes penetrative sex (m/f), knotting, cockwarming, cumplay, marking, and a bit of blood play. Also depictions of Parental abandonment and neglect towards reader. Reader is not in a good place y’all and as a result has humor as an unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-depreciative attitude. Instances of reader being yelled at both by Elvis and another character. Best friends to lovers (albeit reluctantly) Please do not interact if you are under 18 years old.

Word Count: 21k (I need to be stopped)

My Masterlist

Denim jeans were a mistake, you think to yourself trying your best not to fan yourself in a very indecent place as you and your group walked back to the rest of the motorcade sitting idle on some backwoods route somewhere in the Florida panhandle. It was a nice cool 102 degrees this morning when the lot of you had taken off so by noon it was hotter than hades, which had been the perfect time for Hank Snow’s car to all but combust, forcing the entire convoy to a screeching halt. The Louisiana Hayride apparently operated the same as the Military: No man left behind.

You and your naturally-run-hot-thighs were having a wonderful time, walking down this stretch of road, along with the other non-talent people who were roped into making a snack and refreshments run at the nearest service station about a half-mile back. You dab yourself, praying you haven’t sweat the last of your face off, as that is the last thing you need right now. The last leg of the hayride tour was proving to be the most arduous as now home felt so close yet still so far off. And this hiccup further proved your theory that hell is to be found on tour.

Though upon seeing them not too far away from you now, your group does admittedly make this far more bearable. You’re not about to let them know that though. So before your thoughts get too chummy about them you set the brown bag from the service station down onto the grass and grab a hold of one of the bottles before you silently stalk forward. Some of them see you and are all too willing to comply when you hold a finger up to your lips in order to better sneak up on your mark. Your prey none the wiser to your dastardly scheme, gleefully tells the tale of seeing Big Boy Crudup as a boy, before it’s interrupted by a yelp and then a subsequent long string of curses as he’s taken by surprise by the cool kiss of the bottle to the back of his neck.

He whips around ready to unleash his fury on the poor soul who dared interrupt him, until you watch in real time as the fire in his eyes dissipate and turn softer upon seeing you giggling up a storm. “Goddamn Y/N, what was that for?” Elvis says exasperated, but doing a piss poor job of hiding his amusement as he wipes the now cool sweat off the back of his neck.

“Felt like it,” you shrug, handing him the bottle before you turn around to retrieve your bag where you had left it, and return bearing gifts.

“Say lil’ lady, you got anythin’ in that bag for some talented musicians?” Scotty asks.

Quick as a whip, you reply, “Sure do. Ya know any?” as you set the bag down on the hood of the car.

Elvis gives a full belly laugh at you, and a beat later, do the others follow suit.

“Did they only have orange soda?” Red remarks as he’s digging through the brown bag.

“No, but one of you mooks, and you know who you are,” you say, pointing to the lot of them. “Have not eaten a single goddamn fruit or vegetable since Texas, and this was the only way I figured I could get y’all to not die from scurvy.”

“Don’t be stupid Y/N,” Billy asserted, nervously trying to hide that he was the one you were talking about. “You only get that when you're out on the sea.”

“I thought you get it when you eat too much salt,” Scotty questions, unsure as to your words.

“No you get it from bad fish,” Red asserts, all the confidence of a man who has never been out to sea.

“You’re all wrong,” you say as you look through your bag trying to find a bottle opener. “You get it when you don’t listen to the Pharmacist’s daughter and eat a goddamn orange every once in a while. Now drink.”

You can see it clear as day as, simultaneously, all of their hackles raise at the thought of being ordered around by a Beta, so they do what they usually do when you do this: they look to Elvis.

Elvis, who has been able to open his own drink with his keys, stops drinking for a moment only to state, “You heard her.” And without a second thought they all sigh in defeat as they each grab a bottle for themselves.

“That’s what I thought,” you state, triumphantly, as you fail to locate anything close to a bottle opener. “You mind,” you say to Elvis, holding your bottle up to him. He gives a little smirk as he brings the still capped bottle up to his mouth.

As he uses his teeth as a makeshift bottle opener, you catch a glimpse at his pronounced canines, and you can’t help but absentmindedly swipe your tongue on that errant tooth in your own mouth. The one that tricked you into believing that you would present as an Alpha only to disappoint nearly everyone in your life.

You’d like to believe you’re past your admittedly childish envy of his status as an Alpha, still that does little to quell that funny feeling you get in the pit of your belly when you see him pop the cap off the bottle with ease.

“I meant use the keys dummy,” you say exasperatedly, swiping the orange drink out of his grasp. “You’re gonna crack a tooth like that one a these days.”

“Aww you do care,” he half-sings to you, and you can only roll your eyes and tell him to shush. He nonetheless listens and uses the keys for his second bottle.

While you languidly sip on the orange drink, that word circles your brain for a bit. Caring is not something you’re exactly used to being called. Years ago you were called protective or watchful, when the entire world was sure as to how you would present. Nowadays in spite of the fact that you doubt you’ve changed too much over the years, you’re called nurturing or motherly.

It’s actually part of the reason you even went on tour with them. You had initially refused Elvis’ invitation to join him on tour, figuring that now was as good as any to move out of the Lauderdale courts. He begged you to go with him and be his makeup assistant on tour as you had been for every show he’d performed up until then. You were reluctant to go due to not wanting to leave the good thing you had going with your job at the Cathouse salon but then Gladys had convinced you to go in order to prevent the boys from getting too buckwild on the road. After all her years of hospitality and refusing your rent payment, you figured this was the least you could do to compensate for your extended stay in her home.

The irony of which was not lost on you as there were many nights after the two of you had your nightly phone calls with her where you would have to kick Elvis out of your motel room to go “talk” to some little chicky that would be skulking around his room (More like you slapped him on the ass and told him ‘go get em tiger’... because you absolutely did do that a few times). You did this mostly to get him out of your hair for the night, but also because in those days you had no idea how long any of this would last and you wanted him to make the most of it. You knew better than most that all things are temporary, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.

Your musings are interrupted by The Colonel’s speaker car announcing the issue had been fixed and everybody better be ready to leave in less than a minute because “Time is money.” Your group quickly packs up, making a beeline back into your respective vehicles.

You quickly check your makeup in the mirror (wouldn’t do for THE Elvis Presley’s makeup girl to look anything less than immaculate, even in this abominable heat, though he’s not exactly a THE yet) as Elvis gets behind the wheel making sure Scotty and Billy got into their car, while Red scurries into the backseat (he lost all privileges to shotgun after a legendary loss to you at a bowling alley back in Baton Rouge). And just like that you’re off to hightail it to the next venue, though not before you catch a particularly nasty side-eye from Hank as he passes your car. With all his huffing and puffing every time Elvis performed, you figured it would only be inevitable the Alpha would eventually burst and blow the lot of you all the way back to Memphis. Especially as his Beta boy kept glancing your way.

So imagine your surprise when by the end of the night Hank ended up leaving and Elvis had news that that Colonel fellow wanted to go into a partnership with him. You’re gone for all of five minutes to get funnel cake and suddenly Elvis is officially on the up and up, with a new manager and everything.

Elvis trusted everybody and you trusted nobody: it made you two the perfect team. It was your natural suspicion of others that had you look over The Colonel’s initial contract and when some of the wording wasn’t sitting right with you, you called in a favor with your former boss, Kitty, who was in turn owed a favor by a Lawyer friend of hers. Even with the favor in place, he ended up taking a good chunk of your savings, which in your book was fine, as it was mostly made up of the rent that the Presley’s refused to accept from you for the past few years. Your intervention would actually prevent Elvis from going 50/50 with The Colonel, and unknowingly save him from so many headaches later down the line.

The Beta Man didn’t quite make your skin crawl, but just about, and he made it no secret how little he cared for you or how much Elvis valued your opinion. Were it not for Elvis’ insistence that you’re the only make-up artist in the world that could achieve the right look for him, you think The Colonel would have elbowed you out early into his career.  

And much to his chagrin you go everywhere with him; shows, movie sets, tv appearances, you name it. Those weeks when you had back to back shows with him and just as many public appearances to keep the momentum of his career going, those were the days where you found yourself longing for the far simpler days.

You honest to god miss 8th grade year. When the world made about as much sense as it could to a twelve year old. The days when you were called the Boldest Little Girl this side of Memphis you were called after you brazenly told your music teacher to shut up when she told the stuttering new kid that he had no future in music in front of the entire class.

After a long lecture on respect and Mrs. Whatsherface made sure your knuckles had a meeting with her ruler, you left her classroom only to be met with that same kid you defended turned around and talking to himself in an empty hallway. He still somehow managed to stutter even when no one was there.

"Th-th-thank y-you," he would say before taking a long steadying breath, before squaring his narrow shoulders and looking as though he were preparing for war.

"Who ya talkin' to?" you would say over his shoulder, and instead of words he would let out a very undignified shriek. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Y/N."

"El-Elvis," he would say, looking down at his shoes. He’s all sandy hair and knobby knees, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a boy with such long eyelashes before. He was just a bit shorter than you, and with the growth spurt you had recently your mama was hopeful that you would present soon.

"So Elvis… you new to Memphis?" you would say, after a painfully long pause, waiting for him to say something else.

"Ye-ye-yes," he said, still trying to find the secrets to the universe in his shoes. You can’t exactly pinpoint why but in that moment, he reminded you of a wet puppy. One that's just pathetic enough that you want to pick it up and take it home to dry it off and give it a snack.

So that's exactly what you do and you throw an arm around his shoulder, “C’mon, Elvis,” you say as the sandy-haired boy blushes up a storm. “I’m gonna show you around these parts.”

You end up taking him to some of your favorite places around your neck of the woods, and finish this little impromptu trip with a stop off at the neighborhood drugstore, where you ask him what his favorite soda is, and he nearly has a heart attack when you grab one from the cooler and walk out without even attempting to pay for it. Annoyed but willing to humor the boy, you walk up to the counter and tell your daddy you were taking them for you and your friend. You could see the bit of pride in his eyes as you took rather than asking for what you wanted. Elvis meanwhile seemed to be in awe of you. Though he quickly goes beet red when you show him how to open a bottle with your teeth and hand it to him.

“Y’know you don’t stutter when you sing,” you say as the two of you were making your way to his place in the lauderdale courts. “Why’s that?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he said solemnly, sipping on the Pepsi you gave him. “I gu-guess, it’s cuz I-I-I’m good at it… or I th-thought I wa-was.” he says sadly.

“You do sound good,” you say matter-of-factly, and it makes you feel warm as he lights up at the compliment. “Not everyone’s gonna think so, but you do.”

“But some of ‘em are gonna hate it?” he blanches at the thought.

“Yeah, but that’s just  the way a things ain’t it?”

“I-I guess…”

“Elvis trust me on this,” you state, more sure of yourself than any twelve year old has a right to be. “If people don’t like how you sound, it’s on them to not listen, because there are plenty more people who will love it.” Simple piece of advice really, and not applicable to all situations you recognize now, but with the way you watched him hunching in on himself to look smaller only for him to walk straighter into his home, it looked like it’s what he needed to hear.

Elvis would return to music class the next day with his own guitar in hand and sing his little heart out in front of the entire class. Mrs. Whatsherface still didn’t approve, stating how she “didn’t like how he sounded.” But he in turn looked her right in the eye and told her what you had told him, and you had never been more proud of another person in your entire life.

“Well Mrs. Wilson, you don’t gotta listen.” he asserts, more confidence in him than you’ve seen in all the time you’ve known him.

Your friendship however was really solidified after that jerk that sat behind you in class, Leon, cut Elvis guitar strings as a “joke” he claimed. Seeing Elvis' heartbroken expression and knowing his family’s financial status, awoke some latent protective streak within you that had you dip into your meager savings for a record player to buy two things that night: guitar strings and gum.

The next day you would give Elvis the replacement strings before school would start as well as an ominous suggestion to watch you during study hall. And he would watch as you proceeded to stick a wad of gum in your own hair and proceed to flip over the table behind you and try to knock Leon’s lights out. Nobody ever really made that connection that it had anything to do with what he did to Elvis’ guitar. No, all anybody ever knew was just that Leon sat behind you and someone had put gum in your hair, and you swung first and asked questions later.

Elvis would watch in utter awe of you as the teacher escorted you and Leon out of the class by your ears, and you would wink at him as you passed by, but you think the sentiment of it was lost considering the eye you used was the one already swelling shut. Unbeknownst to you at the time, Elvis would return home that night and let his Mama know he found the girl he was gonna marry.

You saved Elvis the embarrassment of having to be defended by a girl, and the focus was solely on how Leon had gotten beaten up by one. You would even cleverly and cruelly dub him “The Cowardly Leon,” for the rest of the year, and only let it die out after you needed to start flying under the radar once you had presented.

You cared a lot about justice back then because that’s what your father instilled in you. In fact the first thing he said to you when he came to pick you up, was asking whether or not you won. God he was so proud of you for standing up for yourself, and he ended up taking you out for ice cream. In retrospect not the best thing to teach a kid, to handle conflict with physical violence. Back then it was seen as blooming Alpha behavior of play-acting at being territorial and rough-housing. But once you presented as a “Beta” that same behavior that was seen as charming, became deviant or atypical of how a proper beta should act.

That year was the last one of simplicity you would ever experience, as you were comfortable in what your future would look like. Your daddy's side of the family came from a long, unbroken line of Alphas, both male and female. And it only felt inevitable that you would present as one, and one day you would inherit your family drug store, you would settle down with a nice omega partner, have a couple kids, who would also be Alphas, pass it on to them, so on and so forth.  With his ever present, yet endearing stutter and his unabashed love for his mama, you had thought Elvis would be such a partner. And the way you sometimes caught him looking at you at times, you didn't think he would be entirely opposed to it either.

You were an only child and your daddy did his best to teach you long before you were even close to presenting how an Alpha acts. Lessons to always be bold and aggressive. To take what you want and how to fight for what is yours. The benefits of remaining stoic, and relying only on yourself. How to essentially be the perfect Alpha.

Lessons that would ultimately be wasted on you, you would learn that summer after 8th grade. It was just supposed to be a nice ordinary trip to visit Nana up in Nashville. First day, you would be slightly uncomfortable and very tired, nothing cool refreshments and a nap couldn’t help. Day two you felt a lot warmer that wasn’t the least bit helped by Nana’s brand new Air Conditioner. Day three you would spend covering the windows with blankets in order to better curl up into a corner on your bed with pieces of clothing you had taken from your parents. Day four there was no more denying what was happening as you cried into mama’s lap, feeling oddly betrayed by your own body as you waited for all of it to pass.

Your daddy put you on suppressants the second you were all finished and were back in Memphis. He was the only one whose disappointment in your presentation matched your own. Mama tried her best to convince you it wasn’t so bad to be an Omega, but the words feel hollow as you overhear her insistence to daddy that she wasn’t too old to try and get it “right” this time with another baby.

Nothing felt real those summer days, and by the time newly presented Alpha, Elvis Presley, strolled into the store, you officially accepted that you were in some sort of upside down world. You didn’t even really see him at first, you were so used to seeing him at less than eye-level to you, that it didn’t register to you to look up, and find the previously waifish Elvis Presely having been replaced by a taller, broader -and dare you say it, handsome- young man before you.

Of all the people you knew, you thought Elvis would be the one that you would be able to tell, but as the light softly glints off his newly descended canines you knew that could never be.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him. To admit to someone, who will undoubtedly accept you as you are, but you catch sight of your parents staying on opposite sides of the store. A painful reminder that nothing is ever a sure thing.  

“My what big teeth you have,” you instead remark as you lean against the counter.

“Heya sweetheart,” he says, propping an elbow on to the counter, though not without some awkwardness as he catches your magazine and slides forward a little before catching himself.

“Sweetheart? What is that about?” You ask, acting dumb and hoping you’re wrong.

He grins even wider at that

“Oh yeah,” you say, trying to be as non-chalant as you possibly could be. You hook your pinky into the corner of your mouth to show him the normal canine you have. He perks up ever so slightly as he sees it, only to deflate once he hears your muffled “Beta.”

“O-oh… oh, ummm…” he stutters, unsure of what to say to you.

“Disappointed? So’s my daddy,” you say flippantly.

“N-no it ain’t that,” he stutters. “It’s just I-I… well I…”

“Was expecting something else?” you finish for him. “You and me both buddy,”

“...Y-yeah umm….” he says glancing down between you and the floor as though waiting for the sike.

“C’mon, don’t be upset for my sake, you’re an Alpha now, cream of the crop and all that,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too jealous. You hand him a Pepsi on the house and call for the next customer knowing you’re gonna have to be on inventory later so you’re daddy won’t notice it missing.

In short order by the start of your freshman year you would learn three awful things. First, that while the state of Tennessee’s single bond and marriage laws were still in place, they do make an exception for Alpha business owners who wish to pass down their legacy to an Alpha Child. Secondly, that your daddy was aware of this exception because he had done it once before, as you and your mama were his second attempt at an alpha child, after his first born son presented as an omega. Third, the reason you had a babysitter until you were fourteen, was because your daddy apparently needed a backup for his backup.

That is how you found yourself moving all of your belongings into the Lauderdale Courts, where you would find a familiar face. He was surprised to see you there, especially with the load of boxes behind you, but he wasn’t about to let your surly demeanor get in the way of him rolling out the welcome wagon for you and your Mama.

Elvis is not one to be ignored, and you find it amusing that he was now the one that more or less bullied you into doing things. And as loath as you are to admit it he more or less did become somewhat of a protector to you when Leon tried to get his licks back. It is a strange reversal, but not a wholly unwelcome one. You do at least try to find the comedy that is the tragedy of your life now.

Your mama was with you, but you could hardly say she was present anymore. The days she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor, were the days she was cursing your father’s name and long-winded rants about how he stole the best years of her life. For all the passion and fury in her words, they were hollow, as instead of getting on suppressants to combat her heats, she instead went back to him every single time to take care of her. There would be times you would come home from school only to find your place empty, cash in an envelope on the table, nary a note in sight, and you would spend the week with a neighbor.

You try to justify it in your head with the fact that Mated Omegas could die if they go into heat without their Alpha, but that was exactly what suppressants were made for. They weren’t true mates so there should be no problem for her alone to break the bond, and yet like clockwork every three months she would be gone for the entire week, and wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for about the next two weeks following that.

You hated those days when you would come back to the apartment only to find her missing, that ominous pink dot on the calendar, and some money left in an envelope for you to take care of yourself for the week. Gladys Presley didn’t even hesitate in offering you a place to stay so you wouldn’t be alone, but as welcoming and kind as the Presley’s were to you during those weeks you felt humiliated not only for having to rely on their hospitality, but also the reason why.

You knew where exactly she went. Everyone in the Lauderdale Courts- hell, everyone in Memphis- knew where she went, as those were the same weeks that your father and his new wife would disappear off the face of the Earth. All those pitiful looks and derisive snorts when you walked by felt the same, they said “oh look, there’s the little unwanted girl.” Your mother went from wife to glorified mistress in a matter of months, and people shaped their own opinions on you solely around that.

You got by though, especially after you were able to get a part time job in Sophmore year. Kitty LeBlanc is perhaps the most feared Alphas this side of Memphis. She and her wife, Jeanie, have been running the Cathouse Beauty Salon, for the last twenty or so years, the place to go when you’re looking to get done up for a date night or a divorce. It’s well known in these parts that any Omegas having trouble with their Alphas need only come to Kitty to get them to start doing right by them. So suffice to say, she was furious at what your daddy did to you, and the only thing stopping her from launching a full scale whisper campaign against your daddy’s store, is that you and your mama were still financially dependent on him and so didn’t want to leave him completely destitute.

But you also had the underlying reason that you needed him to stay open so you could still get the suppressants you needed. They were created way back when during war times, to prevent mated omegas from dying due to their Alphas being gone so long, and nowadays they are only prescribed to mated Omegas under the most extreme of circumstances. Legally you’re not supposed to be on them whatsoever, but while normally your father being a pharmacist had few perks, this was absolutely one of them.

It’s bad enough he’s known for having more or less abandoned an Omega Partner, but it would have absolutely devastated him, socially and legally, if it had gotten out that he had abandoned not one but two Omega children of his. So rather than having that be his reputation he made everyone believe that you in fact were a Beta. And you’re fine with this, because you already push it by acting like an Alpha when you’re known as a Beta, you doubt you’ll be tolerated anymore if it comes out that you’re an Omega.

Kitty would respect your choice and instead offered you a job, mostly sweeping the floors and taking out the trash after school, for a little extra cash on the side. That’s where your interest in makeup first began, seeing how someone could be having the worst day of their lives, but their appearance exhibiting none of that.

“Think of it like a mask,” Kitty would explain to you as you attempted eyeliner for the first time. “You’re only showing the world what you want them to see.”

High school was a bit of a blur, and before you know it you’re in your Senior year. Prom was something you had been looking forward to. You had saved up all your money from the Cathouse to buy a beautiful red dress, had been asked out by a nice Beta boy from your art class, and Kitty promised you the full salon treatment for such a special occasion. Really everything was looking up with the only hitch being how weird Elvis had gotten when you told him about your plans for the evening.

After the talent show (where you almost resorted to pushing him onto the stage), Elvis certainly wasn’t without options, but he still insisted on going Stag with you and the rest of your friends for Prom. Those plans didn’t change with your news but he clearly seemed to have become grumpier as of late.

But you didn’t pay it any mind, as afterall the shit you’d been through up until that point, was one night really too much to ask for. Evidently it was, because as you were getting into David’s car, you realized you had forgotten the evening gloves your mama was letting you borrow, and you ran back into the building only to be met with your mother with a suitcase in hand as she set down an envelope on the small dining table.

You vividly remember how she would look up at you with only the slightest hint of guilt in her eyes, before her expression steels itself with a calm demeanor, as she gives you a cool smile, places the envelope in your hand with a friendly pat, and then she walked out the door without even a glance back.

You would never see her again.

To My Darling Daughter,

I’m sorry for what I have to do, but you must understand that while this is a choice, it’s not an easy one.

If you can take comfort in anything, know that it is your strength and resiliency and seeing you as bold as you are for what you are has inspired me to take control of my own life. I’ve met a Beta man who has promised me a better life away from this place. My only regret is that I can’t bring you with me.

But I know for a fact that you, unlike me, can and will survive on your own.

I Love You So Much,

Mama

You had to read her letter several times, not fully believing the words before you. You recognize that there was a part of you that had wanted this for years. For her to run far and fast from your father, but you had just always assumed she would’ve taken you as well.

You hardly have time to process that as you hear David’s horn honking out at the front. No, instead of sitting with your feelings about the matter, you fix your makeup, grab the gloves, and walk out to the powder blue chevy. After David offers whatever was in the flask he swiped from his daddy, the entire dance turns into a haze, with the only evidence that you were even there being the commemorative photo and the blisters you feel forming on your feet.

“Say Y/N, my folks are outta town this weekend.” David says idly as you’re walking out of the school gymnasium.

“That’s nice,” you slur, not really having heard a word he said, trying hard not to fall on your face as you stumble in your kitten heels.

“So why don’t we head back to my place?” He asks practically buzzing with anticipation.

“Sure fine,” you sigh apathetically, understanding what he’s implying, and going mostly because the prospect of going back to an empty apartment is far more terrifying to you.

You can see the excitement on the Beta boy's face grow until he looks past you and you watch as the blood-drains from his face. “There you are Y/N,” you hear from a strained yet distinct voice behind you. You turn around only to see Elvis’ icy blue eyes somehow burning holes into your date, as he says through gritted teeth. “Your mama made me promise to get you home early.”

You can hardly be faulted for your almost knee-jerk reaction at Elvis’ blatant- well to you-lie: you burst into a near hysterical fit of laughter, to the point tears are streaming down your face. You laugh a little too hard and a little too long at a joke neither boy seems to understand, that David, by the time you’re mostly done, is long gone. It doesn’t matter though, because in your drunken state your thoughts turn to how embarrassed Elvis is going to be when he takes you home and realizes he got caught in a lie, because you don’t have a Mama anymore.

As you’re stumbling to Elvis’ car, he stops you in your tracks, “Y/N, you alright there?” he breathes and you see his nose flares for a moment, no doubt smelling whatever the hell was in that flask. “What did he do?” He hisses, with murder in his eyes.

“Oh dontcha worry about ole’ Davey over there,” you dismiss, as you grip onto one of his forearms to keep yourself standing (when did they get so big?). “How ‘boutchu take me back home because… I. Gotta. Surprise. For. You.” You say, punctuating your last few words, tapping his nose each time. You can see his eyes widen and his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously, before he quietly agrees.

He gets you back into his daddy’s car seemingly content to have gotten you away from your date, until you’re on the road, and in a fit of… grief… madness… something, you open the window and let one of the evening gloves your mother had let you borrow fly out into the night.

“Ain’t those your mama’s?” He asks, slightly perturbed at your seeming indifference, when you’re usually so careful with your clothes.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum as you let its twin also fly out. The rest of the ride back to the Lauderdale Courts was filled with a thick silence, as you were upset, and Elvis could tell you were upset, yet neither one of you knew how to address it, so you both remained quiet.

Elvis gets you into the building and in repayment for his act of chivalry, you didn’t vomit all over his rented suit. No, instead you bolt into your apartment, that you had left unlocked for your mama without another word. After brushing the taste of bile and fruit punch out of your mouth, you would find him sitting on your couch with that damn letter in his hands.

It is at that moment where you enter and you see the heartbreak and pity in his eyes for you, did you finally recognize that this wasn’t as funny as you thought it would be. No, in fact it leaves you with a hollow feeling inside of you, seeing him that way, but instead of dealing with that you choose to laugh at the situation.

You laugh because otherwise you’ll cry.

“Tell me Presley,” you joke with him. “You make it a habit of reading through other people’s mail?”

“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he would say, tears welling in his eyes for you.

“Well we got that in common,” you say, wishing to be numb to the whole world by this point.

“I-I just don’t understand wh-why she would do somethin’ like this,” he states, genuinely unbelieving that a mother could do something like this. You’re confused for a different reason, as you can’t quite find the logic in leaving you behind when she was so close to being able to do so legally after you had graduated.

Guess she just wanted out that bad.

“Oh I know why,” you stated as you threw off your shoes and tossed your legs over his lap. “I’m unlovable,” you say flippantly, while shrugging your shoulders. You weren’t seeking his pity nor his comfort. In your mind you were simply stating a fact. The same way you would state that the sky is blue or that water is wet, Y/N is unlovable. How could you not be, as both people that were all but hard-wired to do so, want nothing to do with you?

You see so many emotions pass through his face at your statement. Until he throws his arms around you and brings you as close as possible to him. “You’re not unlovable,” he declares.

“No I am,” you say, resolved to your fate. “I just need to accept that.”

“You’re not unlovable, Y/N,” he blubbers a bit, tears in his eyes, holding your face in his hands. “Because I lo-”

You quickly slap your hand over his mouth, shushing him, truly not wanting to hear the next words to come out. You’re not an idiot, you remember the way he would look at you before either of you presented, it’s the same way he looks at you now, when he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you know, as did he you suspect, that if either one of you were to ever verbally acknowledge it, everything would be ruined.

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. Nothing would be wrong considering you are actually an Omega, and anybody would tell you being close friends with an Alpha would eventually lead to this. But one thing throws a wrench into this idea: the fact that the thought of being bonded to an Alpha, even Elvis, terrifies you to your core.

You’ve seen how wrong those relationships could go, what happens to the omega and how the Alpha could get out scott free. You know yourself well enough to recognize that you are far too willful and bold to make for a good wife for an Alpha when most would prefer a more demure, submissive mate. Add in how apparently easy you are to leave behind, you doubt your odds of having the ideal life for an Omega look too good.

In your quieter moments you would wonder who you were supposed to be. If you hadn’t been raised with the expectation that you were going to be an Alpha would you have actually exhibited the traits that go with being an Omega. Or would you have still ended up the same way? Neither scenario fills you with comfort.

You try not to dwell on these thoughts too long, as afterall, as far as Elvis knows, being with you like that is impossible. Besides you and Elvis have a good thing going on right now and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

You’ll later blame the alcohol for what had happened next, as you sat next to him, doing your best to stop crying, in spite of your feelings of being unwanted and unloved. But you’re somewhat comforted by Elvis being so close to you, and you liken your next actions as some latent part of your omega brain trying to compensate for your crippling loneliness that night by trying to start something with the nearest Alpha, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Your face buried in his neck, you could feel yourself steady the longer you breathed in his heady scent of leather and rose water, disparate yet no less intoxicating, all tied to something uniquely him. Something you had never really noticed before, given that the suppressants did a good job of dampening your smell capabilities, but being so close to him now, you begin to understand why the other omegas would get giddy moments before he walked into a room.

You remember just every breath filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth, and simply wanting to be as close to its source as possible. His scent reminded you of burrowing yourself in warm blankets on a cold morning or taking the first sip of hot cocoa on a frigid night, that feeling of being so comfortable in your discomfort that you don’t even recognize what it was until you felt the slightest bit of relief from it.

Wanting to further immerse yourself in that scent, you find yourself quickly going from leaning on him, to full-on straddling him, all so that you could better nuzzle your face into his neck. Though from the rumbling in his chest he didn’t seem to mind your invasion of his space too much. In fact he had followed suit by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose into your neck.

Though his discontented snarls tell you he’s apparently having a hard time. As a “Beta” you hardly even register as an option for him, the suppressants apparently making your scent so subtle, you’re about as appealing as a houseplant to him. You on the other hand were practically getting drunk on what little scent was making its way through to you.

So drunk were you in fact that you didn’t realize what you were doing with your hips until he let out a strained groan that reverberated back onto your neck. You don’t exactly know where your head was at, you just remember that he smelled so good and felt even better against your burning core, which is why you felt little shame as you continued to grind into him, the salacious act being hidden from your view by your skirt.

Your eyes meet his and you’re not exactly sure who leans in first, just that somebody did. But almost like magic, that tentative and nervous brushing of your lips against his, broke you from your spell, and made you realize what exactly you were doing.

You tear yourself away from him, nearly cracking your head on the low table as you land on your rear in front of the couch. Horrifyingly you’re now put at eye-level with his legs where you see something tenting the front of his pants. You take advantage of his utterly bell-rung state as you would pathetically crawl away from him and into your own tiny bedroom, to get away from this confusing and frankly terrifying situation.

There’s no lock to speak of so you block the door with your own body, crying into your hands, praying that he sees himself out, though like usual your wishes go unheard.

“Y/N?” You hear from the last person you want to deal with, knock at your door. His voice quivering as though he’s close to tears.

You sob harder.

“Y/N, I’m beggin’ ya here. Please talk to me,” he says, sounding genuinely distraught.

“Go away, Elvis!” You beg through your blubbering. This back and forth continues for a while until your stubborn nature prevails, and you’re left alone.

And all is right in the world.

You would wake up with a god-awful crick in your neck, and feeling unpleasantly feverish beyond belief. You quickly take your suppressants as you have done religiously since you had started on them, and you would spend the day barricaded in your room waiting for your fever to cool down.

Come Monday, Elvis wouldn’t be in school, and in spite of the fact he was the last person you wanted to see, you were given the task of passing along his school work to him. You were no stranger within the Presley household, oftentimes spending the weeks your mother was in heat with them, as Gladys couldn’t stand the thought of you all alone in that apartment. So it was surprising to say the least when she was the one to bar you from entering the door.

“Sweetheart,” she sighs, looking tiredly between you and the apartment behind her. “Elvis is umm… a bit… sick, and he won’t be fit for seein’ for… a few more days.” The blush on her face and the embarrassment in her voice tell you exactly what exactly is happening to him. You quickly dismiss yourself back to your empty apartment.

Well that at least explained why he let you do… that. He was a young Alpha going into his first Rut, he probably would have done the same with a box of cracker jacks if it promised him a good time. It meant nothing, so you were going to treat it like that.

It made more sense than the alternative of your “mini-heat” sending him into a rut. Afterall everybody knows that only true mates are capable of doing that. Most mated couples take a few cycles in order to sync up properly, while in contrast true mates can almost immediately trigger the other's time just by being in the same vicinity while going through theirs. You’ve also heard rumors of something else happening with those couples, but you’ve never bothered to dive too deep into that, and all you know is that it had something to do with how they almost always get pregnant during their first cycle.

True Mates are just rare enough to be special, but happen frequently enough that everybody at least knows one pair. It felt like every single Omega you met dreamed of finding their true mate regardless of how unlikely it is to happen. It also had all the hallmarks of being devastatingly romantic, with the idea that these are the only bonds that are truly unbreakable and that both parties could potentially die without the other, rather than just the Omega.

In theory it should sate your worries about being left by an Alpha, but it does little to help, as the idea scares the shit out of you. The idea that regardless of your own wishes to never be mated to an alpha, some force has apparently fated you to be with someone. Add to the fact that they have yet to make suppressants sufficiently strong enough to quell an omega with a true mate because apparently the bond is that strong, and all you see is a disaster waiting to happen.

You spend the next week trying to figure out the logistics of living on your own. You know Graduation is roughly a month away and without your mother to renew the lease or your father not willing to pay past his legal obligation, you’re going to be homeless. You can chance it with the foster system you suppose if you declare yourself an unaccompanied Omega, but more than likely they’ll send you back with your father, and he’ll more than likely hock you off to the first Alpha that gives you a second glance.

By the end of the week you’ve accepted that your best option for the time being is hoping that Kitty is kind enough to allow you to stay in the storage closet while you get your full salon training. If you sell everything in the apartment and by the time you're making full salary you may just be able to afford a room in a girl’s boarding house. That is until Gladys Presley, after three days of you dancing around the question of “Where’s your Mama, sweetheart?” finally sat you down and refused to hear any more excuses, and you had to quietly admit how you didn’t know.

Gladys is surely a force to be reckoned with as within an hour of your solemn confession she has you at her table with a warm meal, her couch already set up, and the landlord agreeing to forward you the last two months of payment your father is supposed to pay for rent. But what she can’t fix is the fact that you are suspiciously not making eye contact with Elvis.

You had insisted on making yourself useful and helped Gladys clean up afterwards, but once she and Vernon called it a night, you knew there was no getting around it anymore. At around midnight do you hear Elvis shuffle into the living room, clearly hesitant to have this conversation as well.

“You up?”

“No.”

That gets a short huff out of him before he plants himself on the opposite side of the couch as you, essentially sitting on your feet. The room is too dark to really see him, but the slight shaking in his leg and constant shifting tell you he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Elvis about Prom ni-”

“Are you really a Beta?” he cuts you off.

In spite of the darkness within the room, you still try to school your expression to one of confusion rather than shock. “What kind of question is that?” you say, managing to sound tiredly exasperated with him, while your heart is going a mile a minute. “Of course I’m a Beta, why’d ya think I wasn’t?”

“It’s just…” he pauses. “That night-”

“The night nothing happened.”

“Y/N,” he says severely, a tone he has never in his life used with you. “I need an honest answer here.”

You think about your next words carefully. As far as you know Alpha’s can’t literally sniff out lies, nor do you have any reason to believe he can hear some sort of minute difference between a lie and a truth.

For a brief moment you contemplate being totally honest with him, but you quickly dismiss that notion when you shift slightly and feel the hard edge of the couch armrest. Your situation is far too precarious to risk it on a gamble that he may want you, when if anything this past month has proven how unwanted you are.

“Elvis… you’re my best friend,” you state, as this much is true. “Do you really think I would lie to you about something like this?” you say, too cowardly to lie through your teeth and say no, instead you put it on him as to whether he believes you would do such a thing to your best friend.

He sighs in defeat, believing you wouldn’t invoke your relationship on a lie this big. “No… No, you’re right,” though you can hear the slightest quiver in his voice. “It-it’s just bad luck, that all that happened in the same night.”

“Exactly,” you say relieved that he came to the same conclusion that you did about that night. “E, I-I didn’t get a chance to say this yet but… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking me in,” you sigh, not a fan of the coy act.

“It was nothin’ Darlin’,” he says though you can hear him relax a bit at that. “Mama wasn’t ‘bouta let that stand.”

“Well then thanks for nothing Presley,” you say with a grin.

He laughs at that, and says “C’mere you,” as he brings you in close for a hug. You do notice as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and pointedly takes an extra long whiff of your neck. He’s undoubtedly trying one last ditch effort to prove his theory right only to find nothing.

“But I hope you can accept that I’m your mama’s favorite now,” you say as seriously as you could to break the tension, in an effort to ignore what he just did.

He pauses at that before pushing your face back into the pillow and saying around a smile, “alright, go back to sleep, you.”

Those months following your graduation, there was something so simple about those days, almost idyllic, in an odd way. You would be the first up in the household, so it was on you to push Elvis out of bed, take care of breakfast and lunch for the both of you. He would drive you to work in his company truck listening to the early morning radio and you would muse that it would only be a matter of time before the two of you would be hearing him. He would always get red in the ears at that and drop you off at the salon. He would occasionally drop in for lunch and afterwards the two of you would hit up Beale street for a while before heading home. Have dinner with his folks, go to bed, repeat all of that the next day.

You would often practice your makeup skills on him when Gladys was unavailable, giving you a better understanding as to how to not only put makeup on someone else, but how to also highlight a person’s best features. And working so close on him, did you realize that Elvis had many. In return for your “experimentation,” you would go to every single performance of his as support which evolved into doing makeup for him. Oftentimes you’re the last person he talks to before he gets on stage, as you would often help him clean himself up when he got too in his head about the whole thing, but also the first one to greet him once he got off the stage.

Though as the years went on and performing became more routine, and you find yourself in the midst of show business alongside him. Traveling the country and working on movie sets are never things you ever expected to happen, even in the days when you had your life set out before you.

Those days seem so far away now, as though they were a dream of a different life. But now you were in a new era, the “New Elvis” era, which would be one of the worst you ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It was like watching a Peacock be plucked and be told to still be just as eye-catching, and you let the Colonel know as much. You thought it was bad enough having to see him dressed in tails, but you knew the disaster that was headed your way the moment you saw that damn dog being rolled on stage with him.

When they moved into Graceland, the Presley’s took you along with them, and even tried to offer you a room on the top floor, the one specifically designated for family. It was one of the few times you and the Colonel were on the same page about… anything really, as you were vehemently against the initial room he offered you and instead took a moderately sized room on the first floor.  You did this as you know that keeping some distance between you and them will make it hurt a lot less when they inevitably drop you.

Elvis Presley being in your bed is not an unusual experience, something you had gotten used to way back when your bed was the Presley’s couch, and he made it a habit of letting himself in as he pleased in your room at Graceland. So you hardly blink when you wake up to him laying next to you in the middle of the night. Or rather you do several times in order to get all the sleep out of your eyes and try to get a grip of your bearings as you suddenly awaken to a bed full of rockstar.

You had watched him storm out earlier, all passion and fury at the world that wants different and contradictory things from him all at once. Now all that fire has seemingly been extinguished as he lies next to you hands on his stomach, voice quiet and unsure of himself as he asks “You awake Y/N?” imperceptible through the non-existent lighting in the room.

“No.”

He huffs at you, and you can almost hear the smile on his lips, before the room turns solemn once more. And you give a big tear-welling yawn, but you’re still willing to help him through his identity crisis.

“Sweetheart, be honest with me,” he says into the inky darkness. “This ‘New Elvis” thing… ya’ think it’s a mistake?”

“Yes” you answer without missing a beat. You were never one to mince words for him and you’re not about to start now. “Now answer me this: is your name Frank?”

“No,” he answers confused.

“Is your name Bill?”

“No.”

“Is your name Buddy?”

“Y/N, what the hell are ya gettin’ at?”

“What I’m getting at is if they wanted a old crooner in a boring suit, they woulda gotten Frank Sinatra. They wanted clean sanitized rock n’ roll, they woulda gotten Bill Haley. If they had wanted someone popular but not so controversial, they woulda gotten Buddy Holly.” You say, impassioned as you are sleepy, hoping you’re making even a lick of sense to him. “They didn’t get any of them. But you know who they asked to be there?”

“Me?”

“Who?”

He chuckles before saying, “Elvis Presley.”

“That’s right,” you say, poking his chest. “They want you E, controversy and all, because you know what, ain’t nobody better at getting asses in seats and panties on the floor.”

“Y/N!” he exclaims, scandalized and, you can just imagine, red in the face.  

“It’s true though,” you continue. “Being controversial these days hardly makes a difference anymore.”

“How’d ya figure that?”

“Elvis…” you say solemnly. “To my face people shake their heads and click their tongues as to what my daddy did to me and my mama. That doesn’t stop them from patronizing his store and giving him their money to better support his new family.” You feel him give a comforting rub on your shoulder. “Look what I’m trying to say is that, when what you give is good enough, people will overlook just about everything else. And trust me what you sell… sells.” You pause when you feel something hard beside your feet. “Are you wearing your shoes in my bed?”

“...maybe?”

“Get outta here weirdo,” you huff annoyed at his antics, and use all of your might to push him out.

“Alright, alright,” he says, acquiescing and getting out of your bed. “Guess I’ll head to that diner you love all by myself.” You can almost hear the smirk when his statement gets the pause he was looking for.

“You’re a cruel, cruel man Elvis Presley,” you declare. “Give me 20 minutes.”

The next day at Russwood Park, you’re putting the final touches on him before he gets on stage. You can still see the tiniest bit of conflict still on his face so you tickle his nose with your makeup brush to get his attention. “Remember. They don’t like how it sounds…” you trail off.

“They don’t gotta listen.” he finishes, apparently remembering your bit of 12 year old wisdom. Once he got on stage, he would take your advice, but the next time he would crawl back into your bed would be the night he got his draft notice.

None of you were exactly surprised, as everybody had known to expect it sooner rather than later, especially given that Elvis had slowly and steadily become one of the most controversial singers in the country. However the days immediately following it were some of the bleakest you’ve ever experienced.

With The Colonel’s whole rebranding spiel, and how much trouble he got in after Russwood Park, the fresh start idea isn’t terrible at this point, but you wish you could have gotten out easier. As cold as it sounds to say, you now saw the writing on the wall. You’re fully aware of the fact that, of his crew, his make-up girl is on the lowest of priorities. Regardless of how fond he is of you, he is undoubtedly about to be put under a microscope and whether he realizes it or not, he’s about to embark on a new chapter of his life, a chapter that more than likely doesn’t include you.

You want to do your best to put on a brave face for him, the last thing you want to do is add to his stress. And besides it isn’t like you ever truly believed that this was in any way permanent. As life had taught you that nothing is permanent, so why would living with the Presley’s be any different?

It’s just a hard fact of your life that people inevitably get tired of you, and you get left behind for something better. As fun as it’s been with Elvis and his family, never once did you trick yourself into believing that this is how it would be forever. Maybe in those simpler days of practicing makeup on him in the bathroom and lunches in the bed of his company pick up truck… maybe. But as Elvis’ star burned brighter, you were snapped back to reality at how temporary and tenuous your situation was. The same way Elvis outgrew Lauderdale courts, he would outgrow you.

What would he even need his make-up girl for while he’s deployed? The Colonel made it clear he’s not to perform while he’s enlisted, and you doubt wearing makeup will do him any favors in the barracks. And besides, Omegas are unable to even get a passport in Tennessee without explicit permission from their designated Alpha, who in your case, would still be your father.

The father whom you interact with very little these days, the last time being almost a year ago and that was simply to stock up on a year's worth of suppressants. Your father whose business is not seeing as many customers these days because as far as Kitty knows, you don’t need anything from him any more.

Bright side of this is that at the very least you’re not without options this time around. Kitty had made it loud and clear that you’ll always have a place at the Cathouse, and hell you have enough savings to see you through the next few years in Memphis if you simply wanted to wait out his time in the army. But neither seemed appealing to you, as either way your future would still rely on others' good will.

When Elvis had started making movies, of course he dragged you along for the ride up there. You were still the only one he trusted to do his makeup and as a result the studio ended up giving you a crash course as to how to do movie makeup, which you learned was a completely different beast to stage makeup, as you now had to toe the fine line of subtlety. Regardless of all that you did end up making a pretty important discovery, in regard to potential future prospects for yourself. You learned that in the movie making business, Betas are like gold in Hollywood especially for the more practical and technical parts of movie making. This is all due in part to the fact of their overall lack of appeal to Alpha actors, as well as not being as distracting for Omega ones either, not to mention they are far more reliable as they don’t have to worry about pesky heats or ruts.

You also learned that up in Hollywood, you could get access to suppressants about as easily as you could get your hands on a packet of M&M’s, as unlike in Tennessee you didn’t need to be mated in order to gain access to them. As a result, you discovered there were more than a few behind the scenes hands who were also Omegas that masqueraded as Betas in order to get work on the sets, doing wonders to make you feel less out of place there.

Janet, the head of the make-up department Paramount, was initially reluctant to have you aboard but was nonetheless impressed with your ability to pick up the craft as quickly as you did. You had kept her phone number from way back when and decided that now would be a good time to take her up on that job offer. She was ecstatic to bring you onboard but the hiring process being what it is you still technically need to be recommended by former employers.

“You sure I can’t sway you to come back here,” Kitty says as she’s signing the bottom of the letter. The sentimental part of yourself that you had believed you had smothered long ago is screaming yes in your head, not wanting to leave everything you ever knew in Memphis, but the pragmatic part of you knew that your days here are numbered.

You want to be able to bury yourself in her chest and tell her how she’s been like a parent to you all these years. To thank her for all the years she’s cared for you in whatever way she could, taught you your trade that has proven invaluable, steered you in the right direction. But all of that feels too final for your liking, and instead you remark “Unless you got a rich Beta man in the back, then no dice,” all the while giving a casual shrug.  

“Well at least you ain’t followin’ that good for nothin’ boy across the world,” she sighs in relief. Kitty was not a fan of Elvis, she made no secret about it, less so when you turned in your resignation to be his makeup assistant for the Louisiana Hayride. Your best guess as to the animosity is how eerily similar they are when you really pay attention. The same way Kitty could give a single look to any fellow Alpha she had ever met, and make them act right, Elvis could do the same, except make them act however he liked. They’re the type of people that just magnetically attract those around them.

But you also think that it is also on the principle that she dislikes any and all partners her children bring around… Which is ridiculous because everybody knows it’s impossible.

You decide not to waste the trip into town and start heading toward your least favorite place in Memphis. You only make this trip once a year anymore, and you’re hoping to make this as quick and painless as possible. But as the little shop below your old home comes into view, do you recognize what a tall order that is.

“What in the hell is this?” your father seethes as you approach the counter, throwing down a newspaper before you. You see yourself wide-eyed looking into a camera with Elvis leading you by the hand into the car after Russwood Park. The draft notice had left the paper's tongues wagging and apparently of all the photos of him that have been printed, it was just your luck that this one was apparently the one most worthy of being reprinted.

Rather than react with the same guilt or shame that any normal Omega would have when confronted by their father as to why they were seen with perhaps the most controversial Alpha in America, you idly pick up and open a candy bar that was sitting at the front.

“A newspaper,” you say with a mouthful of Baby Ruth. “Can I have what I came here for now?” He throws the pages at you, but if you learned anything from him, it is that flinching earns you nothing but letting the other person know you’re scared of them.  

“Don’t be cute with me girl,” he spits that last part as though you were a stranger and not his daughter. “Why the hell do I find out like this you’re living with that boy?”

“You didn’t care a single goddamn bit where I was livin’ before, why’s it matter now?”

“It matters because what you’ve been doin’ makes me look like a bad father lettin’ my own daughter run around with that… that…” he says snapping his fingers, searching for the right word.

“Degenerate?” you finish for him, as it is the most common insult you’ve lobbed Elvis’ way.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he seethes, a rumble emanating from his chest, but after being surrounded by the likes of Elvis and Kitty, this does absolutely nothing for you, and you wonder how anybody has ever been intimidated by this man.

“Well good news, the only reason you look like a bad father, is because you are a bad father,” you tell him with a smile on your face. “No one thinks of you enough to bother telling lies about you.”

“Outta the kindness of my heart, I been footin’ the bill for these,” he holds up the bag for emphasis. “Only to find out you've been holdin’ out on me.”

“Mmm-hmm, of course that’s what this is about,” a smirk on your face, figuring ou what has got him so worked up. “Why you so worried about money? Saving up for your next attempt at an Alpha kid that’s not gonna happen?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about you and that vicious bitch of a woman, you been costin’ me more money than what these pills are worth for years,” he spits.

“Pills you put me on,” you accuse. The argument ceases almost immediately when you hear the tell-tale ring of the bell at the front of the shop.

“You gonna pay me what I’m owed, or no?”

You want to refuse on principle alone, but you’re so close to being free from all of it, so you don't want to risk it so soon. But you know the kind of trouble something like that could dredge up for you specifically. So it’s with a heavy heart that you agree to pay for them once you get paid for the next movie.

But if your father is good at one thing, it’s believing in his own myth of being the big tough, and in charge Alpha. That you as an Omega will have no choice but to obey his will, even as he hands over the very tool that negates his influence over you.

You have no intention of ever paying him a single goddamn cent of any of it. You’re only on them because of him, and if he wants to scream and holler about how you owe him money, but he won’t be able to do a damn thing, lest he out himself as well.

Besides, you'll be long gone by the time he wises up to the fact that you won’t be paying.

Now there’s only one more letter you need, and it’s not as easy as you would have hoped for. After getting your medicine, you take a few days to really pluck up the courage to do so. He’s been a lot testier these last few days, as was to be expected considering the circumstances.

If all goes well you’ll be able to work on this final movie together with him, before you part ways, and leave with the crew back to California. If not… well you’ll probably just start making your trip far earlier than expected.

You find him in the upstairs office, looking through mail, a stony expression on his face, but it lightens considerably when he sees you with the food Gladys has sent you up with. Well, more like you insisted on taking it up as you’ve been hoping to catch him in a good mood, as there are few things on this Earth that put him in a better one than his mama’s cooking.

“Sorry to bother you E,”

“Ain’t no bother,” he insists, moving some papers out of view to make way for the dish. “I’m tryin’ to get a head count for how big a house I need on base in Texas.”

“How many you at now?”

“Including you? 7,” he says casually, taking a bite out of his food.

“Why would you include me?” You say genuinely confused.

He pauses at that, positively shocked by your response, until a grins splits his face and he gives a short huff of a laugh. “You almost had me there, Y/N,” he chuckles at your apparent antics, settling back into his affable disposition.

You swallow nervously at that, “That’s actually kinda what I came to talk to you about. I-I got offered a job from Paramount out west to work for them, but they’re saying I nee-”

“Jokes over,” he declares, his smile dropping a little, bypassing what you were trying to say. “You got me, alright?”

“... Not alright, Elvis,” you state trying to get your point across. “I’m trying to tell you I’m getting another jo-”

“Y/N,” he says, cutting off your plea, the look in his eyes familiar, but you’ve never had the misfortune of it being directed at you. “Quit the jokin’ now,” he says, his tone severe which you do not care for one bit, but you have to tread lightly if you want to get his sign off.  

“I’m serious Elvis… this… this probably isn’t the best time,” you sigh, for once in your life trying to be careful with your words. “Th-the studio needs letters from former bosses to know that I can do the job, an-and I was hoping you could write one for me.”

The tension hangs thick between the two of you once you are finally able to make your point. You swallow nervously but you don’t sway and inch as he stands from his desk.

“If this is a ploy to get a raise,” he said coldly. “You win Y/N, I’ll pay ye’ whatcha want?”

“No Elvis…” you sigh, trying to keep a cap on your frustration. “You’re not listening. I’ve got a new job lined up in Hollywood, I just need you to write a letter for them telling you I can..” you trail off seeing the expression of fury in his face.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now Y/N!?!?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not joking right now,” you say bitingly, your hatred of being yelled at overriding all other things.

“So what… you’re gonna leave me high and dry when I need ya’ the most!?” He says, something akin to heartbreak painting his features.

“Why do you gotta say it like that? Like I’m breaking up with you?” you argue, not liking how he’s making this a bigger deal than it is. “It ain’t like you’re gonna need a make-up girl while you’re doing drills.”

“But I’m gonna need you!” He asserts, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Oh don’t be like that,” you tell him, literally shrugging him off. “It’s not like I’m gonna be able to live on base with you.

“Then we don’t gotta live on base.” he waves away, as though it were that simple.

“Elvis… I don’t wanna go with you,” you say simply leaving it at that leaving no room for him to argue the logistics of it. It hurts but you know you gotta get out now while the getting is good, because if you wait any longer, he’ll be the one that leaves first and that will be all the worse. For the first time in your life, you want to be the one that walks away on your own terms. “E, I-I gotta go where the work is,” you try to justify.

“So that’s it ain’t it,” he says, his pursed lips turning into a frown. “this was all just a job to you and you’re leaving cuz there ain’t one no more?” he shakes his head at you, disappointment evident on his face.

That… that cuts deep. That he can reduce not only his role in your life like that without guilt, as though you’ve been playing the longest con in history, when you first decided to defend a scrawny 12 year old from his nay-saying music teacher.

“Yes Elvis, if that’s what you want to hear,” you say without a hint of hesitation, willing your tears not to fall now of all times. “This has all just one big job for me, has been since the very beginning. Now there ain’t no job to have and I gotta fucking move on with my life because I don’t fucking need you anymore!” It doesn’t feel great as it leaves your mouth, and the angry tears streaming down your face prove it.

Nor does it get any better when you watch him stagger a bit at that, as though he had just been shot, even taking a hold of the corner of his desk for full effect. A million emotions pass through his face in seconds until he eventually lands on pure unadulterated fury. “Get out! I don’t wanna fuckin’ look at you right now!” he shouts dismissing you, his hands shaking as though itching to wring your neck.

“You got it Boss,” you say bitingly while giving a sarcastic curtsey, to which you turn around and walk out of the room, paying no mind to the destructive sounds coming from behind you. In spite of the biting cold outside your rage is keeping you warm as you pace back and forth along the back patio, trying to figure out your next move.

You’ve had your fights with Elvis before, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen so upset past the point of not wanting to talk with you. Even the biggest blow out between the two of you was exactly that, when he had walked in on you with that Beta who served cotton candy.  

“Well now you know what I’d do for cotton candy,” you tried to joke after they had left, but Elvis proceeded to scream in your face, asking how dare you do something like this to him. You’d seen his territorial side before, as you’re not stupid enough to actually believe there isn’t anything behind all the times he’d casually pick you up and take you away when you happened to be talking to some Beta. But you did not care for being screamed at whatsoever, so you packed your things and proceeded to walk to the nearest bus station. You proved yourself to be far more stubborn than him, as you walked down the road, ignoring his demands that you get into the car as it crawled at a near snail’s pace to keep up with you, and talk you out of going back to Memphis.

As the cars lined up and started honking, you refused him still, even his threats to throw you into the trunk if need be, you didn’t falter. It wouldn’t be any sweat for him to do so, what with that crazy alpha strength of his, but you both knew that would hardly be the end of it if he resorted to that. Finally as the bus terminal got within view did he finally crack and promised to never yell at you like that again.

“You drive me up the goddamn wall, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“You love it,” you declared, glad to finally be able to rest your feet, having picked the worst shoes to walk in.

“Yeah… I do,” he sighs and looks over at you from the driver's side. There is a bit of an awkward pause as you find your faces much closer than you remembered and he glances down at your lips.

“God, I’m starving. I don’t know about you,” you quickly say, turning your torso fully around to look out your window, trying to break the tension. “But I could go for a bite and I think I saw a diner up ahead.”

You hear him clear his throat, as he hoarsely replies with a simple “Yeah.” By the time the two of you returned to the motel, you’re the best of friends once more, and neither of you ever mentioned that awkward bit again.

You had hoped after all this time he would’ve let go of that weird possessiveness he has over you. With all the girls that he could have, why do you matter to him so much? You know you’re good with makeup, but you know so are many other girls. And he is capable of opening up to them as he does with you if only he ever got his head out of his ass.

Christmas Eve, Gladys spends the day cooking up a storm, roping in you and Dodger, determined to make this the best Christmas yet. Elvis is still not talking to you but you do find him when you’re looking for your purse, and you watch briefly as he stares deeply into the fireplace, something he’s been doing a lot since your fight.

But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks that you have anything to apologize for. You’ll be leaving with or without his permission… which you absolutely do not need either way. And if he chooses to end your friendship like this, then so be it.

Hell if need be you’ll go over his head and ask the Colonel for a letter. You have no doubt that if it means getting you away from Elvis, the Colonel will write nothing short of a glowing review and personally hand deliver it to Paramount.

Christmas day comes and everyone and their mother is over to celebrate. Everybody is living it up and trying their best to not acknowledge the big ole’ elephant in the room. Elvis seemed to be in higher spirits though as he proceeded to act like nothing was amiss, trying to make this a good Christmas for all. It’s almost as though the weather itself knew his plans for a perfect Christmas with the fresh blanket of snow that covered the outside.

Everyone tries to follow suit with keeping up the festive denial, though it doesn’t take long of the both of you obviously avoiding each other for seemingly everyone to notice something is wrong. Some point blank ask what happened between the two of you.

Some of the guys, weirdly enough, ask if you’re feeling sick, which is an odd experience considering that their eyes tend to slide right over you most days. You find yourself compulsively checking yourself in any available surface over and over again, trying to figure out what had them questioning your state. Nothing is out of place, your makeup is flawless and your outfit is perfectly coordinated and festive.

You look beautiful and nothing is wrong. You’re hoping if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe that.

You eventually call it a night after a few hours though not before presents are exchanged and you get the pleasure of seeing Elvis' eyes go a bit glassy once he puts on the new coat you got for him only to find the pockets filled with Gum and Guitar strings, because as upset as you are with him you’re not about to break tradition.

By the time you make it back to your room you all but pass out fully dressed on top of your sheets, and you feel the slightest twinge of guilt when you wake up wrapped in Elvis' old Crown Electric Jacket. You don’t really get a chance to dwell on that too much though as after taking your suppressant, do you notice the noise- or better yet the lack thereof.  

Graceland is many things but it is definitely never quiet, you learned that early on into moving in. There was always something happening, someone visiting, and something new to do, with the occasional errant chicken running around the house, so it takes not even an hour that first day for you to notice the silence.

It’s almost like a ghost town on the floor below, with the only soul to be found, being the head of this household idling away at the piano. You’re about to head back to your room, wanting absolutely none of this until you hear a “Y/N?” from the piano room. You silently curse his uncanny knack for sniffing you out when others couldn’t, while simultaneously breathing an internal sigh of relief that he no longer sounds angry at you.

“Yeah it’s me E,” you state as you walk into the room, resolved to whatever fate you had signed yourself up for.

He turns around to see you see his face flushed and his eyes puffy, no doubt he’s been having trouble sleeping again.

“Y/N… we’re close right,” he asks genuinely, and you know that that boss comment hurt him deeply.

“We’ve both seen each other without makeup, absolutely nothing is closer than that.” you answer.

That gets a chuckle out of him at least, and it’s almost a relief to hear it after going without it for so long. “How many years we been knowin’ each other?” he asks solemnly, as you sit next to him on the piano bench.

It’s as you're saying 8 do you actually realize how long it’s been. “Time is one sneaky sonuvabitch,” you say, your eyes still wide at the revelation.

He laughs a bit at your reaction, “It sure is,” he says. The next look you can’t quite read as he says, “That's 8 years of believing in my dream longer than even I did at some points.” His eyes wide and his face soft.

You’re very uncomfortable at the amount of vulnerability being shown right now and you quickly course correct by lightly moving his chin with your fist and saying, “Hey now don't chu go gettin’ soft on me Presley,” you say, laughing to mask your nervousness.

He takes your hand in his as he says “What I’m tryin’ ta say Y/N, is th-that it’s been 8 years of you supportin’ me in whatever way I needed.” He gives a sad smile at this, before he continues, “I figure it’s ‘bout time I pay that back. I’ll write whatcha need darlin’.”

You’re stunned at this, truly having believed you would be the first to crack. But here he is, subverting expectations as usual. You’re not the most physically affectionate person, you’ll admit, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge to hug him. Not the obligatory side hugs you give on occasion, nor the awkwardly stiff stance when someone hugs you. This is a full on arms-behind his neck bury your face in his neck kind of hug, as you squeal you thank yous over and over to him.

You remember yourself, you pull away slightly once you feel his hands on your lower back tenderly holding you to him, and with your hands on his chest you look at him directly in the face. His eyes gazing up at you, a soft smile on his plush lips, his breathing steady and strong, as opposed to yours which hitches in your throat.

You clear your throat, “Say where is everybody?” you ask casually releasing yourself from his grip and turning your attention toward the window, which showcased the freshly fallen untouched snow of December.

He approaches you from behind and idly places a warm hand on your shoulder, before saying“I let everyone know I need some alone time and I didn’t really wanna see anyone, till we hear back ‘bout the deferment.”

“Shit sorry,” you say, quickly trying to get up. “I’lll get outta your hair,” you say, only for his grip on your shoulder to slip down to your waist.

“You’re not just anyone to me Y/N,” he drawls, his face far closer than necessary.

"Okay weirdo," you say, turning away hoping your face isn’t radiating how warm you’re feeling. You focus your attention on the snow covered lawn before you declare, "But if this ends up like the Donner's, I'm eating you first."

That gives him pause and you see as he purses his lips, clearly trying to hide a smile before he leans in real close to your ear. You don’t fully understand why your heart seemingly skips a beat as he says in a husky drawl, "Not if I don't eat you first."

There was the briefest of moments when you feel your face heat up at his tone until you roll your eyes at him and move him and his stupid little lip bite away from you. You turn around and try to leave the room, content that your little orphan angry ass isn’t going to be thrown out into the snow just yet. But before you can do so, you feel him grab a hold of your wrist, “ain’tcha cold like that darlin’?”

You look down only to be reminded that you had not in fact dressed for the weather today and your short-sleeve blouse and light skirt reflect that. Though oddly you don’t feel the least bit cold, and you feel mildly perturbed as to how in fact you are feeling very comfortable like this. Though of course you hide your concern by saying “You forget, I’m cold-blooded Presley.”  

“Of course you lil’ lizard you,” he says with a smile on his face, as he’s taking off his own jacket. “But mama would have my hide if she found out I let you walk around like that and get sick,” and he drapes the warm material around your shoulders, and then chucks you under your chin to look at him. In spite of your supposedly “cold-blood” you feel uncharacteristically warm as he looks at you.

You quickly make your way back to your room, to open up that secret compartment of your purse to find your suppressants. You take them religiously and know exactly how many you should have left by this point, and you’re relieved to find the correct amount left. You quickly think back to everything that you’ve eaten in the last few days, and nothing sticks out to you that would have affected them and you don’t drink whatsoever so it couldn’t be any of that.

Finally you’re left with no choice but to chalk it up as nothing but you being paranoid. You decide to read on the couch, and somehow between the warmth of his jacket and the soft notes he’s playing, you find yourself in a hypnotic trance and you give into the heavy feeling of your eyelids.

You’re later startled awake when you feel something hit you squarely in the face, confused until the snow begins to melt on you and you feel the cool burn of the cold water on your chest. Elvis is laughing his ass off seeing you like this and nimbly dodges when you throw one of your house slippers at him.

“There were easier ways of wakin’ me up,” you remark through your exasperation.

“Ain’t one of ‘em as funny though,” he says slyly, and you roll your eyes, but your sigh tells him you can’t help but agree. “‘Sides that Twilight show’s ‘bouta start, and I knew you woulda done worse if I let you miss it.”

You’re surprised at that, and as you look out to the dreary looking sky you see that it has in fact been more than a few hours since you’ve been asleep. But it hardly feels like any time has passed between now and then as you still feel like you could sleep for another few hours or even days. You quickly disregard these thoughts though as he tells you it’s only a matter of time before your favorite shows starts.

You take a seat next to him just in time to catch the beginning of Twilight Zone, placing the popcorn between the two of you. You have always loved scary stories like this, and Elvis loved scaring you when you got too wrapped up in the stories. Low and behold as you’re anxiously waiting for Inger Stevens to come across the hitchhiker once again, you feel his cool hands grasp at your side making you all but jump out of your skin.

“I hate you,” you say mulishly as he continues to laugh. Though he doesn’t remove his arm from around your waist which takes your full focus off of the screen, as you look down at his hand curled around your side. You move slightly away from him only for his grip to tighten and you’re pulled even further into him until you're all but sitting on his lap. You’re viscerally reminded of Prom and wonder briefly if he even remembers that night anymore, or if it’s become lost in the shuffle amongst all of the other girls he’s had over the years, and an ugly feeling of jealousy shoots through you in that moment.

“Oh there’s the popcorn,” you say, as you use your whole body to stand up and get off of his lap. You grab it and rather than get back on the couch, you sit yourself on the floor, clutching the bowl in front of yourself as though it were a shield, as Perry Mason was just about to start. You’re hesitant to look at him right now, until he reaches down and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

“Wait I know how this one ends,” Elvis says, with a cheeky grin. “Perry Mason wins.”

He’s just a naturally touchy person, you justify to yourself, don’t read too much into it. “It’s not about if, it’s how goddamnit,” you assert, with a smile on your face. As the show continues you hardly notice when Elvis makes his way to the floor or when he casually throws an arm around your shoulder, though that’s mostly due to the fact that by the half-way mark of the episode, you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Even finding yourself leaning on him more and more, and if you weren’t so tired you would wonder why, considering that you spent most of the day napping.

No, you just find yourself silently grateful for that crazy Alpha strength of his to carry you to bed, your bed feeling more comfortable than you can ever remember it as you settle in.

Waking up to find Elvis in your bed is not unusual. Waking up to him under the sheets with you holding you around your waist is rare but occasionally does happen.  Waking up to find that you’re in his bed as he nuzzles his nose into your neck with a handful of your ass while… something… pokes your belly, absolutely unheard of.

You try to peel his hand off and carefully remove yourself from his grip, only for him to roll over fully on top of you and bury himself between your breasts. You stop breathing entirely for a moment, too worried that any sort of chest-heaving may wake him and make this whole situation all the more uncomfortable. Part of you wishes to go back to sleep and hope that this was simply a bad dream, but as he shifts you feel his thigh place itself firmly by your core, the action so sudden and shocking that you audibly gasp.

You feel him stir at that and your face is burning, embarrassed by this whole ordeal, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get as he plants a sleepy kiss on your neck and removes himself from you. You think you’ve reached new heights of humiliation, until you find him between your thighs and feel one of his hands start to travel up your skirt.

This has got to be a dream, you think.

“Ok, you’ve had your fun,” you say, trying not to make your skittishness so apparent. “You can quit it now,” but then his other hand travels further up and you’re almost too distracted to notice its twin hook on to your panties and begin to drag them down. And before you can make any noise of protest, it turns into a surprised squeak as you feel his hot breath waft over your now naked cunt. You’re frozen in place as to what the hell is going on, both fearful and hopeful as to what he’s about to do next.  

Those seconds seem to drag on for hours, there’s nothing stopping you from closing your legs or even covering yourself with your hands, but neither of these occur to you. Instead you lay there paralyzed as he further parts your thighs and using his tongue lightly trace up the seam of your cunt.

That sends you into overdrive and removes any possibility that this is a dream, as he languidly tongues your core. Your hips almost immediately buck up but he keeps you down with a forearm across your lower belly, as he tenderly nurses at your clit.

You grab at his hair but that only seems to further invigorate him, as his groans seem to reverberate off of your walls and he goes from focusing on that bundle of nerves, to delving lower and lower to that seldom explored entrance of your cunt. You restlessly try to push his head away from you, but your thighs apparently have a mind of their own as they box him in when you feel the tip of tongue lightly trace the rim of your fluttering hole.

His tongue, you are learning, has talents well beyond singing as you feel that wicked muscle eagerly delve into what little access you have (reluctantly?) granted him. The pleased hums he’s making, demonstrating how much he’s enjoying the act don’t help either.

Eventually you find your hands running through the hair that you, probably more than anyone in the world, are most intimately familiar with, even seeing the hint of his light roots that you’ve neglected to touch up in the last few days. You’re at the very least glad that the two of you are alone in the house, because you doubt you would have been able to muffle the downright filthy sounds coming out of your mouth.

The noises you’re making seem to only spur him further, as his thumb goes from an unhurried pace to a far more goal-oriented motions as his tongue goes rigid and plunges as deep as it could go and then, almost playfully, wiggles within you.

You’re left seeing stars, your pussy clamping down around his tongue, though he removes it almost immediately in order to prolong your euphoria by sucking on that little button of yours.

Even after all of that, you still held out hope that this was some weird sleepwalking episode and somehow feeling another warm body, he was going off of instincts until he removes himself from your pussy, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with his thumb, and looks you right in the eye with a look that tells you he has an appetite that has only been mildly wetted.

“Guess I ate ya’ first darlin’,” he remarks with a very sweet kiss to your lips, as though he didn’t just make you have the best orgasm of your life. God you’re so familiar with these lips, yet it still takes you by surprise as to how soft they feel against your own. You’re only human so lord forgive if you wish to indulge in the fantasy of perhaps every teenage omega in the country. But quickly you gain your bearings, remembering that as far as he’s concerned, you’re a Beta through, and through.

It kills you a little to remove yourself, breathing raggedly as you try to come to grips with what is happening. His eyes are blown out entirely, and he licks his lips as though you’re a meal waiting to be devoured, but even then you instinctively know he’s seeing you as you are.

This trance you’re both in is broken by the shrill ring of the phone from the upstairs office. He gives a soft curse, before he rolls out of bed and casually walks out of the room. You’re left leaning against the pillows. Looking up at the ceiling, utterly shell-shocked, mindlessly fixing your skirt to cover up your bare pussy as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.

But it’s as you’re doing that does an unbearable fire come upon you. A terrible fever emanating from your lower belly overwhelms you and as you helplessly inch out of his bed every instinct within you is screaming how bad of an idea that actually is. Every step away from that bed is agony, as though you’re wading through lava, away from any safe haven you may have found. Even trying to move your panties back into place feels scalding and you’re left with no choice but to remove them completely, leaving you completely accessible. You shiver at the thought, and not from the cold.

Briefly you wonder if maybe Elvis had something to do with this sickness you’re experiencing, but as you feel a throbbing emptiness from deep within you, do you realize that this is in fact a long ignored part of yourself that is simply roaring back to life. You finally recognize what exactly this is and recognize what sort of trouble you’re in.

You skittishly look out the door and, finding the office door closed with his voice behind it, you make a quick beeline to the staircase, and from there dash to your room, where you quickly barricade yourself in with your vanity table. And in the mirror are you forced to face what you are. Your eyes blown out, your clothes wrinkled and disheveled, the makeup you neglected to take off before bed smudged, sweat running from the warmth emanating from within you, and your whole body trembling under the effort to not flip over the table and run directly back to him. Not to mention the slippery feeling of your thighs as your slick runs freely, unhindered by any. You look at the very image of the idyllic debauched Omega and you finally recognize something is very wrong.

You have never in your life neglected to take your suppressant a day in your life, and quickly counting them, you find no extras, so that’s clearly not the case. It is as you are doing a double count do you realize something off about them. Looking directly at your suppressants underneath the light, they looked off. They were a slightly more yellowish white than they usually are and picking one up to inspect it, your nail catches the edge of it and it crumbles a bit. Neither of these things bode well for you. You desperately look for your extra doses of suppressants only to find them missing.

That’s when it goes from less than ideal to utter nightmare territory. You don’t know how nor do you know why, but your suppressants are no longer effective and you may very well be hurdling full force into heat, alone in a home with an unmated, virile Alpha. You immediately get to packing what you can, trying to figure out your best means of escape.

You try to assess your options as to where you can go for the next few days, but with all your options being either Alphas or out of town, you have no choice but to go back to your father. But your most pressing issue as of right now is how you’re going to get out of this room. Your windows are sealed shut, so you’re left with no choice but to venture out back into the house and pray he’s still upstairs.

You’ve done your best to ignore the steady stream of slick that has been running between your thighs, but the idea that he’s out there somewhere, causes a new rush of it to burst out, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose all restraint and give in to what your biology is demanding of you.

You made a beeline for the front door, your mind determined to make it out of Graceland but it was upon actually getting to the front door do you find your hands hesitating for a second. Some latent part of yourself really questions if it would be so bad to be his, questions why you have to fight it when he’s been nothing but good to you.

But it was your moment of hesitation that gave enough time for a familiar ringed hand to slam the door shut on you. “Baby, there you are,” despite the door now shutting out the cold, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Elvis I-I-I,” you swallow, his scent so heady and powerful you can almost taste him on the back of your tongue. “I need to leave.”

“I just got the good news,” he states, completely blowing past what you just said. “They granted me the deferment for the movie.”

“Elvis, I’m begging you,” you plead, as a bruising grip on your wrist forces you to let go of your packed bag. You’ve only ever cried once in your life in front of him, but now the tears flow freely down your face.

“Don'tchu worry your pretty little head ‘bout anythin’ darlin’,” he coos, wiping the tears from your cheek. “You go where I go, ain’t nothin’ gonna change ‘bout that.”

Even after all the time that had passed, you can still vaguely taste yourself on him, not an unpleasant taste, but your thoughts quickly turn to wondering how he would taste, or better yet how the both of you would taste together. The kiss becomes heavier and deeper as you wrap your arms around him and boldly run your tongue over those sharp canines of his, some masochistic part of you demanding to press harder.

Your chest is heaving, needing more oxygen than you personally think is necessary, and yet you find yourself giving pathetic little whimpers as he leaves your lips in favor of marking a trail of kisses down your body.

He kneels down before you, burying his face in the crevice between your thighs, the only barrier between you and him, being the thin material of your skirt. It was only then did you notice the brief relief from the fever you felt, all due to his close proximity. “You smell ripe for the pickin’ sweetheart,” he breathes out in a raspy tone, looking up at you as though he were in prayer, as his hand drags the zipper of your skirt down. It slips down fully with only the slightest of tugs, and your left trembling, bare from the waist down in front of him, as your thighs shift uneasily the slick that’s gathered making it all the easier.

You try not to look down at him, as though that will stop what’s happening right now. His tongue is now collecting every trace of your wetness it could find and just barely missing where you feel you need him most, to which you’re not afraid to voice your disapproval of.

“Don’t mind if I take the first bite,” he whispers, the tip of a canine barely scraping the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s that contact that reminds you what exactly is at stake here. Without warning you do your best to push him to the ground. He’s caught off guard but manages to catch himself before he lands on his ass, but the momentary surprise gives you just enough room to slip out.

You are about to sprint all the way back to your room, hoping to lock yourself in, until you feel an iron-like grip on your ankle. You’re barely able to catch yourself with your hands, but you're quickly dragged backwards. You desperately claw at the carpets, trying to find some kind of purchase only for him to grab a hold of both your wrists in one hand.

And that’s that. You’re thoroughly wrangled, no means of escape and no one coming to save you. You recognize how thoroughly fucked you are (or ar going to be) and that really no point in fighting it anymore, but you can’t even trust yourself enough to say that it wasn’t intentional on some level.

Let it never be said you’re not stubborn until the very end.

“Now I didn’t appreciate that one bit,” he hisses at you, and you hear the tell the shifting of fabric as he moves his pants down his hips, still holding your wrists down.

“Please Elvis,” you say desperately, only managing to wiggle your hips slightly which doesn’t help your case whatsoever. His hand is now splayed along your lower belly, as he lifts your hips into a new position to you, your cheek still stuck to the carpet. “You don’t want to do this,” you sob hoping he’s not too far gone, though with the way he groans at the feeling of your warm ass on the underside of his cock, even you understand there’s nothing that’s going to stop this from happening.

“What I want is ta tan your hide, for denyin’ me this sweet little pussy a yours for all these years,” he growls hungrily next to your ear, and those words shouldn’t have you keening and writhing like you were, but they do and you are. “But we’ll save that when it won’t be so pleasant for you. ‘Sides your cunt is achey enough already, ain’t it?” he purrs, the head of him prodding at your core, barely catching the rim of your entrance.

“Yes, oohh yes Elvis,” you whine, pathetically. “Please-”

You can’t say for certain whether or not you were gonna continue to deny him, all you can say is that all thoughts or hesitations seem to melt away as you feel him push himself in. Your eyes threaten to roll back all the way into your head, it felt so good. You're practically dripping wet at this point, but even still the girth is still something to contend with, as you’ve never had to handle equipment this big before, and at the angle you’re at you can’t quite make-out how much more of this you’ll have to take.

Elvis though is about as patient as he could be under the circumstances. He’s like steel wrapped in velvet, silky yet unyielding, as he sinks into you like hot butter, until finally his hips meet your ass. His heavy member has found a home in your cunt, and with the patience of a goddamn saint, he waits until your moans and groans aren't so ambiguous, and has the sound of a woman enjoying herself.

You’re low groan when he moves out, turns into a high-pitched shriek when he slams back into you. You sympathized with him when the papers started calling him The Pelvis but now being here underneath him , you can’t think period, let alone think of a more fitting nickname considering how well he’s wielding his to go at a harsh yet tender pace behind you.

In his rutting frenzy, he’s seemingly forgotten his hold on your wrists, but you in turn have abandoned your initial fervor to get away from him. You find yourself pushing backwards, desperate to keep him inside as best you can, frantically rubbing tight little circles on your clit with a single-mindedly chasing release, while you push off your other hand and try to meet his thrusts.

But he hasn’t quite gotten over that sadistic streak of his as he stops mid thrust and holds your waist preventing you from moving any further. You want to cry, you were so close, but the part of you that wants to be good and obey him wins out over the willful side of you, and you bury your forehead into the carpet. And as still as you can manage, you wait with bated breath for his next move.

“I tried bein’ nice ‘bout it, let you come to me,” he whispers in your ear as he moves the collar of your shirt out of the way, kissing the newly exposed skin. “But you gotta be so goddamn stubborn ‘bout everything,'' He hisses and you feel his warm breath waft on the back of your neck, and you know what’s coming next. You’ve dreaded this happening for years, but it’s so much worse than you ever could have imagined, because it’s coming from the last person you expected. You feel his lips curl into a small smile against your skin, and you feel the light scrape of one of his canines against your skin. “But I ain’t about ta have you any other way.” And without wasting another moment, he sinks his teeth into your neck marking you as his until the end of your days.

The sheer amount of pleasure and pain surging through your body makes you feel everything and nothing at all. All that registers really is the euphoric feeling as to where the two of you are joined together -at long last- so you didn’t miss a single moment as you feel the base of his cock start to swell. You're so startled that you try to pathetically crawl away only for him to take a hold of your still sore hips and bring you flush against him, as he seemingly grows and grows within you, well past what you ever thought could have fit up there.

You briefly black out for a moment not so much reaching your peak, but being rocketed to heights beyond what you could have ever imagined. Longer and more intense than you’ve ever been able to achieve, with a partner or otherwise, you’re a shivering pile of flesh, no longer tied to another worldly want other than the man behind you.

His moans are pure ecstasy, his hands undoubtedly leaving bruises on your hips, and his member resting heavy inside of you. Even though, on some level, you know it’s a fool's errand, you nonetheless try to separate yourself from him only to be given a painful reminder why this thing was often described as being “locked in.” You could feel yourself already stretched past your limit, refusing to let go of him, and you hear him groan from the new sensation, as tears flow down your cheeks from the pain.

What’s worse is that when you finally give up and snap back into place do you both shudder at the sensation as he reaches some part deep inside of you. You black out for a moment from going from intense pain to immense pleasure almost immediately can do that to you only to now find yourself on your side with Elvis behind lazily rocking his hips into yours as he leaves blistering kisses where he can and scorching trails everywhere else he could reach.

You’re left with no choice but to stay put and try not to enjoy every roll of his hips against yours, though you stubbornly bite your own lip to prevent yourself from making any noises, approving or otherwise. But this plan quickly falls apart as your mulish defiance of him and his wants are nothing compared to the swift slap on your pussy that causes you to bite down hard on your own lip. Your stupid protruding canine gets your lip, and upon your instinctual cry and release of your lip do you begin to taste the coppery flavor of your own blood. You attempt to hide your face only for him to grab a hold of your jaw, only to lick up the small trail of blood to your chin. You’re way past being able to be shocked by him anymore, and simply choose to relish in this sinful act, with a man who has been trying to clean up his image for the past few months.

If you had to guess, you’re like that for roughly an hour, until finally he’s at a size where you're finally able to remove yourself from him without discomfort, other than the veritable flood that comes gushing out of you without his cock to keep all of it in. Towards the end, he had shifted you so that you were back on your knees, your head resting on your forearms, with your ass in the air and you could only watch mesmerized as a small stream of his milky white seed runs down your thigh only to stop where your knee meets the floor where it proceeds to disappear into the ivory carpet beneath you.

You hear him purr behind you, apparently just as captivated by the show your pussy is giving him. In one swift motion you find yourself on your back and as he follows the path his cum had trailed down your leg, back to its source. You gasp as you feel him dip his fingers back into you and he hooks some of the seed out of your cunt only to use your now open mouth to stick them in there.

It’s almost like a switch goes off in your head with that first real taste of him. You no longer try to fight with yourself, not even choosing to give in really, because with the way you're feeling right now it’s not even really a choice anymore.

“Anything that ain’t goin’ into your pretty pussy is goin’ in that smart mouth a yours, you understand lil’ mama?” he purrs, satisfied as your tongue splits his fingers trying to get every single drop of him you could. “We don’t wanna let any of this go to waste now do we?”

“No,” you cry desperately, truly ashamed as to what you’re becoming. But you have no time for those thoughts as he surprises you by returning back down to your pussy.

“Keep your mouth open,” he orders between your thighs, words slightly muffled as they are against your lower lips. You're confused as to what he’s doing until he gives a light press on your lower belly and his cum gushes out of your poor abused hole and into his waiting mouth. He takes what comes out before he crawls back up to you to get a hold of your jaw, a dangerous look set in his eyes.

You dutifully do as he says and open up. Once that hot, heady flavor of your combined fluids hits your tongue you’re gone, without ego and fully submitting yourself not only to him but the primitive Omega brain that wants nothing more than to be his. You even wrap your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, so that the two of you could fully share this obscene cocktail that you both have managed to create.

“Aww baby,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “We wasted so much goddamn time not doin’ this.” In your state of mind you can’t help but agree.

He takes you on just about every available surface of the house, and you truly believe that the only reason he didn’t venture outward was due to how cold it was. If you had the capacity to think beyond seeking your next release you would feel ashamed as to what everybody will undoubtedly smell when they return. But all you could really focus on at any given moment was how good he felt inside you, or tasted on your tongue.

As frantic as he was to keep as much cum inside of you as possible, he also seemed to gain a specific kind of pleasure seeing you drip with his seed and having you swallow it in penance. You can’t get enough of any part of him and he makes good on his promise as to where his cum would go (where it belongs,) and for a solid week you are sustained almost solely on that save for whatever Elvis can scrounge from the kitchen. There’s almost a soft melancholy when you swallow him, as though he’s truly saddened over the lost potential of that particular load, as though he’s not stuffing you full of it seemingly every hour.

But in your haze you were all too happy to take what he could give you, you cunt greedy for all that he can give you.

And it’s underneath him that you learn about Alpha anatomy. Knotting, as you learn it’s officially called, is something Elvis can only do two to three times a day before he has to rest. Doesn’t stop him from trying every single time, nor does it stop him from having you

It becomes easier and easier each time, until you find yourself after each peak desperately grinding on to him, hoping that his knot would make a reappearance and make you feel whole. By the third day you even find yourself falling asleep with it within you, finding the fullness comforting, as though reassuring you that he won’t disappear on you in such a vulnerable state. The few times he’s left the bed you’re left a helpless, writhing mess desperate for him, even when he’s promised you he would be gone only for a few minutes. Part of you thinks he leaves more often than strictly necessary, considering the smug look he gives seeing you so needy for him and practically begging for his cock as you fruitlessly tried to replicate that sense of fullness only he could give.

“Empty,” you mewl, at this point incapable of full sentences.

He’s decided to torture you a bit rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. The hand splayed on your soft stomach prevents you from moving too much, wanting to take his time with you. Your whimpering begging for what you want desperate

“You ain’t ever gonna feel that way again,” he whispers through his kisses along the mark he left. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, ain’t no way you won’t be carryin’ my baby. Ain’t that whatchu want sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you cry desperately, willing to agree to anything, if he would only give you what you wanted, perhaps marking one of the few times he’s won a battle of wills against you.

You’re more animal than woman that week, a slave to her desires, a creature whose sole purpose is to be fucked and have his babies, if Elvis’ whisperings during this time are to be believed. You worry as to whether or not this more primitive side is due to your lack of experience with being in heat or if this is what to expect from every heat going forward. You feel as though someone else has taken the reins to your body and you’re simply meant to enjoy the ride.

Elvis on the other hand stays aware, and he takes care of you throughout it all, making sure you eat enough and drink water, makes sure your lips don’t dry out, licks at your wounds to help speed up the healing process, etc. You’ve never felt so needy, and you’re barely coherent enough to form complete sentences, and so you show your appreciation by being both as vocal and as obedient as possible.

He usually spends recovery periods licking you clean, though not necessarily where you initially thought he would’ve. You can’t help but conclude his love affair with the taste of your blood considering how much time he spends on the small wounds he’s made all over your body.  In his initial eagerness to explore your body in those first few hours, he had “accidentally” nicked you every so often, the sole exception being the twin crescent marks you can feel on your neck and on your ass, which was clearly nothing less than intentional. Though your state and his efforts have significantly sped up the healing process, you know by the end of this you will be left with a constellation of scars.

“This one” he said lightly running his fingers along the marred skin of your neck. “That one’s for the world baby,” he coos, as he gives it a light kiss, making the slap that lands perfectly on top of the mark on your bottom, all the more surprising. “That one’s just for me and you. So you best not forget who that belongs to.”

“Never,” you sigh happily.

It’s almost funny when you think about it, how the world demands a clean-cut, sexless teen heart-throb, as though a majority of them aren’t also beholden to this primitive state of theirs. Looking at him now above you, his teeth sharp and bared, his grunts and groans echoing throughout the house, the bruises and scratches you’ve been able to leave on his torso, even the stubble you’ve felt more than you’ve seen, all paint a very primal portrait of him. He’s something wild, untameable even, someone who isn’t afraid to show how he is beholden to his own desires and instincts as the rest of the world hid from them, and tried to act like they don’t exist.

If it weren’t for the knot you would be hard-pressed to find much of a difference between this Elvis and the standard one.

By the end of your heat, you’re thoroughly exhausted, you don’t even have the energy to be mad at him anymore. You’ve just resolved yourself to your fate that will forever be tied to the boy you once thought you knew. You don’t even have the luxury of knowing whether these thoughts are your own, and not some long suppressed Omega part of you that simply wants to enjoy the way his calloused guitar hands gently rub the soft part of your lower belly.

But if this week has been about satisfying long-standing desires you’re not about to hold back on your desire for knowledge. Specifically how he discovered your secret.

“I wasn’t ‘bout a let you go without a fight baby,” he whispers, comfortable in not needing to hide anything from you anymore, as you’re thoroughly ensnared. “I was cookin’ up some not so nice plans to keep you by me no matter what. Only for a goddamn Christmas miracle to drop into my lap.” he says, allowing you to make your own pace at which to ride him.

“Your daddy sent me a bill in the mail, and I think you know what he was charging you for, dontcha?” he purrs, lazily thumbing at your clit and watching as your breasts bounced in rhythm with your frantic bucking.

“Bein’ the good mate I am, I let him know that you weren’t gon’ need any of that shit no more,” he says, giving a firm slap on your ass seemingly just because he felt like it. “And I some interestin’ things about them pills. You know what stops them pills from workin’ right?” he asks, lazily rutting into you.

“What?”

“You add a lil’ heat,” he growls, and suddenly his obsession with the fireplace these last few days makes perfect sense.

He spoke to you of how he’s been dreaming of this for years, and how he’s known that you were it for him, even when he thought nothing physical could happen between the two of you.

But even as he spoke, there was an ever present air of inevitability when he spoke to you as to how he envisioned your future together as though this was always meant to happen. And it was only a matter of you catching up to him. Afterall you were the one who taught him to ignore what he didn’t want to hear. And he didn’t want to hear no from you.

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[depravitycentral]

Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me

Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that

Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that

Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?

Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️

Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con

I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!

My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.

Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.

But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!

Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.

Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.

Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.

Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.

This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.

Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu

[silent-sanctum]

✧ Polaris ✧ - Jotaro x Reader

PART 9: Get to Know You

— The previous parts of the fic can be found in the pinned post of my profile. Hope you enjoy! —

I rise from the dead yet again! But sorry for the wait! College's been rough with the workload but I've managed to put out a new part! No warnings this time, just joot's emotional development and a bunch of jotaro and reader fluff interactions~ But what if I told you that there's 2k+ more story over in my AO3? It's exclusive over there because it contains my OC's lore (aka the character the reader's standing in place of here). However, I promise you it's worth reading with jotaro gradually learning to open more to you and both of you just basking in peace. Regardless, hope you enjoy!

word count: 2.6k

Bright light dawned beyond his shut eyes.

Already? Jotaro stirred from where he lay on the grass, flexing his arms to stretch, though he did expect his left to be a bit heavy. Through his early morning squinting, he turned to the spot where a girl should be lying only to find it unoccupied and his arm free.

“Morning~”

Jotaro sat upright and turned to look at you sitting cross-legged across from him. He quickly swept his gaze over you to check how you fared- faintly flushed cheeks, puffy eyes, fixed hair, smoothed-out uniform. You appeared good compared to the state you were during the night prior but-

“How are you feeling?”

You looked up in thought, humming as you planted your hands on the ground to lean on them. “Better? But admittedly still like shit. As expected, I couldn’t sleep for long and ended waking up shortly after falling asleep but,” you glanced at him with a soft smile. “Company was able to get me through the hours.”

Jotaro nodded once at the words with the smallest of smiles on his face responding to yours.

“So yeah. I somewhat patched bits of myself back to… this.” You gestured to your body with one sweep.

“That’s good.”

You tilted your head with concern. “How about you?”

The probable bruises spotting all over his back and arms as a result of the chaotic whipping ached at the mention but he paid no attention as he shrugged with casual ease. “I’m fine.”

“Jotaro,” he paused at the mention of his name. He stared into your eyes and felt the weight of your gaze towards him. One that, paired with a gentle smile, carried an array of sentiments unable to be conveyed through words. “Thanks for last night. Really…”

You had a lot going on behind your confident strides, and to this moment Jotaro has yet to know about them. But with the shared look of trust between him and you, he was in no hurry to figure them out.

He tipped the visor of his hat down as a sign of acknowledgment and as means to cover his warming cheeks.

“Alright,” And as if nothing happened, you were up and standing with a clap and dust of your clothes. “Enough with the sappy stuff, we should head back to the others. They must be starting to think we did something freaky last night knowing them.”

Getting up as well, Jotaro rolled his eyes at the thought of the Crusaders poking fun at them for the nth time. “Definitely.” Though, by the feel of the mellow sunlight on his skin, it wasn’t too late in the morning and a bit more exchange of words would be nice before returning to the annoyance that was the group itself.

It’s been a while since you’ve properly talked to him like this after all.

“Let’s?”

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

With you leading the way back, they both returned to the main campsite and was greeted with the bizarre sight of Kakyoin dropping what looked like a literal piece of shit into a bowl Joseph’s breakfast pudding, before offering the bowl to the old man to feed the evil-faced baby with enthusiasm.

Jotaro didn’t question what the reasoning behind it was nor did he care that much, though you were about to if it wasn’t for Avdol, the moralistic guy that he was, politely telling you that infant was devious for some reason and what the other student did wasn’t entirely wrong.

You glanced at Kakyoin’s arm, read the “BABY STAND” carved on the skin, and understood, joining them to watch the whole feeding happen.

Polnareff woke up minutes too late to witness the child suffer from feces-tasting food.

Letting that be a bygone, the Foundation managed to track the group by the time the sun was high in the sky. In two separate teams, one transported the grimacing infant to a nearby village while the other brought the Crusaders to a remote island where they would wait for another vehicle departing for Egypt.

A submarine if he heard right.

The island itself wasn’t all too bad- Fine sand, lush tropical trees, and the tranquil ambiance of the sea. Jotaro wouldn’t mind waiting here. In group fashion, everyone kept themselves preoccupied to pass the time. The Frenchman ran off to god knows where, you and the older adults engaged in simple conversation, Kakyoin probably went to look for Pol to make sure he didn’t get himself into any trouble-

While Jotaro was left sitting by himself on the sand, a lit cigarette in hand when finding some temporary peace in the near-rhythmic crash of waves.

It felt… strange.

Even though he’d asked for breaks numerous times during their battles, a weight grew heavy on his shoulder at the fact that with each passing second, his mother’s life was slowly dwindling away and all the times they got blocked off by either an enemy or mundane inconveniences were seconds thrown away that could have been used to further progress this damn trip.

He took one long drag of his cigarette and sighed deeply, letting out a small plume of ashy gray into the air. All those times he cursed at her, dismissed her motherly affections, downright ignored her… Jotaro placed his hand on his nape, scratching lightly as if it would alleviate the rising guilt in him once he realized what he’d been doing.

What was this for? Why was I so mean to her when she did nothing but love and care for me? For a well-kept facade I didn’t even want in the first place? He hated that it took a life-or-death situation for him to ponder like this. Mom… I should call her soon…

“The young Joestar is in deep thought I see.”

Jotaro snapped out of his thoughts to notice Avdol taking a spot beside him. “So?” He took another drag.

“There’s nothing wrong in self-reflection from time to time,” he said. “For someone in their youth, all this chaotic fighting and constant travel must be starting to make you wish you’d be in school right now, right?”

“It’s fine,” the teenager shrugged. “School sucks and it bores me.”

“The high grades Holly-san told me you got throughout your academic years says otherwise.” Jotaro grumbled something incoherent that he himself didn’t know what the words were. “You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?”

“It’s shitty to think about how much of an asshole I was…”

Avdol chuckled. “I’m not going to say you’re wrong. You definitely disrespected your mother most of the time all of us were in the same room together, but as terrible your behavior was-” he patted the delinquent’s shoulders. “I know you still love Holly with all your heart. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t the case.”

Jotaro remained silent. He wasn’t wrong…

“Toss all my other wisdom talk aside if you wish, but I hope this advice would stick with you,” Avdol turned to his clasped hands. “Holly’s still here and when you return to her, I suggest you let her know how much you love her the way you can instead of pushing her away. Cherish the ones you love while they’re still here with us.”

If it were weeks ago, Jotaro would have done what Avdol said seconds ago and dismiss this sagely talk as nothing but some sort of “respect your parents” propaganda. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel the urge to ignore his words now that he’s stuck worrying over his mother’s life.

The spark in his cigarette dimmed down to ashes. “What’s with the random inspirational speeches? You a counselor or something?”

The Egyptian smiled. “Teacher actually. If I wasn’t doing readings or fortune telling, I worked with children, especially the troubled ones, and guided them with the right knowledge and values to live through life. That is until DIO found me and I had to seek Mr. Joestar for protection.”

Jotaro scoffed. “You see me as a kid then? Is that it?”

“Are you not? You’ve yet to mature past your rough edges after all.”

He clicked his tongue, thought not entirely disagreeing with the adult. “Whatever.”

“An answer expected from you.” Avdol stood. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Who knows? You might be a teacher in the future as well if fate deems it to be.” With that, he walked back to the others and left the reserved teenager alone with his thoughts.

Yeah right… like that would ever happen. Time continued to pass as he remained sitting on the sand, mulling over what Avdol had said to him together with memories of his mother stirring in his thoughts. At some point, Jotaro had dozed off, leaning on his propped-up knee with the remains of his cigarette left somewhere on the sand beside him.

When he came to, the sun was halfway down the horizon, dimming the sky above as the stars slowly made themselves visible. He expected to wake up by himself as is the case every time he took his naps, but with one glance to the side, he found you watching the sea beside him.

You noticed him staring so you spoke. “You’re awake.”

“I assume the sub’s not here yet?” The pointed stare and silence you gave him the answer. He sighed. “Figured.”

“Mr. Joestar and I took one stroll around the place and there’s a bunch of neat little hideouts on the island you could have slept in. It’s more secluded and quiet, has enough wind to keep cool, and the grass is short enough to not be itchy,” you said. “Why choose this spot by the water?”

“Ambiance,” he said in return. “I like the sound of waves. It’s… calming.”

He took one glimpse at you to gauge for your reaction. You weren’t looking at him when you had that soft smile on your face as you had this faraway gaze facing the mellow movements of the ocean. “The waves make me relax too. It’s what helps make it so beautiful aside from its glittery surface.”

Jotaro thought about what you said to him back in Singapore. The ocean looks beautiful, don’t you agree? Fresh from his talk with Avdol, he couldn’t help but be nostalgic for a second. “Mom used to take me to the beach when I was little… usually when I felt like shit. And it helped somewhat.”

“Lucky you. My birthplace is by the sea and by this point, you already know I had a rough past. So, I’d watch that huge body of water sway with the breeze and let myself listen to the waves as a mean for comfort.” This time, you faced him and locked his gaze with yours. “Looks like we’re not so different from each other, huh?”

“You tend to overshare though.”

“But you’ve gotten used to it by now, huh?”

He shrugged. “A bit.” A bit? A complete understatement considering his level of tolerance to her numerous bouts of talk. “But it’s either that or spend the rest of lunch bored out of my mind.”

You cooed, cupping your cheek with a small tilt of your head. “Are you saying you miss the simple times of lunch with yours truly? Or am I hearing things?”

Though he hated admitting it, he thought about what Avdol said and with some heat to his cheeks, Jotaro tipped his hat over his eyes and gave one small bob of his head. Not allowing him the silence to wallow with self-embarrassment, you giggled as you shoved him lightly.

“And here I thought you wanted this bitch to shut up.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jotaro looked at you this time, finding some sort of relief in the fact you blushed deeply at the sentiment despite the teasing you were fond of doing to him. “I still prefer some peace and quiet.”

“Hey I’m not judging,” you raised your hands. “Not when I also miss our mini rooftop breaks. It’s… a nice breath of fresh air. Literally.” You let out a breathy laugh, eyes closing from your smile.

Jotaro could feel his heart beat a bit faster than before. One that always came with warmth on his face, his hands turning clammy and his stomach feeling a sensation similar to that of fluttering butterflies. It happened more often the more they made progress to Egypt.

Fuck. I don’t want to think about this. He took in a deep breath and sighed, blurting out the first thing that came to mind to divert the subject away from the familiar banter. “Admitting you like the smell of smoke now?”

“Huh?”

“It can’t be a breath of fresh air when I smoke next to you every time.”

You rolled your eyes. “The winds blow them away from for most of the time so I don’t really care, but don’t think I’ve noticed you’d smoke less and less the more we hung out.”

Jotaro cocked an eyebrow and fished through his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. To prove a point, he flipped the lid open to reveal five sticks remaining inside out of 20. “I beg to differ. This is my 3rd pack this trip.”

Which was a lie. It’s his first and is this empty only because Polnareff wanted some to smoke and practice the delinquent’s parlor trick for the nth time.

“Yah!” You leaned forward to try and snatch the box off his hand. “Are you trying to kill yourself on purpose?!” You swiped again only for Jotaro to lean back and stretch his arm away from you with a smug smirk. My turn to tease. “You can’t do that now, we have unfinished business!”

“I don’t care.”

You deadpanned. “Liar. Now give me.”

Without anyone noticing, you ended up sprawled over his lap still struggling to reach for the pack of nicotine in his outstretched hand. Too preoccupied with making sure your grabby hands won’t reach it, Jotaro didn’t notice the slim strip of rose-gold creeping up behind him to snatch the box off his hold.

The delinquent clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “You cheated.” Though you didn’t care as you leaned back with cheeky smile and tiny shimmy, pack of cigarettes now in your hand. “Doesn’t matter. I can always buy another.”

“To practice your little cigarette trick for the masses?”

“I can do 5 at once.”

“Shut up. You’re lying.”

“I can show you.”

You scoffed, tossing the box back at him with defeat. “Unbelievable. You really do have a death wish.”

Jotaro grew acutely aware of how much closer you got to him without you noticing, so close that he felt his shoulders brush against yours and the back of his hand overlapped with your smaller, softer one. His chest tightened and his pulse increased yet again beneath his aloof expression.

As the two of them watch the sun set below the horizon, he stilled as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Respecting the quiet air of the area, you said to him in a hushed voice. “I’d rather you not die on my watch. I don’t think my heart can handle any more of those.”

You said it with nonchalance and a smile, but he knew better. He slowly turned to glance at you still facing the ocean. Any trace of playfulness you had minutes ago dissolved, making way for that tone of sadness and longing to make its appearance just as it did prior to your breakdown.

Under the touch of your hand, his fingers twitched ever so slightly, wanting to graze your skin as minuscule means to soothe you. But Jotaro had a feeling you just needed company and nothing else at the moment.

He allowed you to rest your head on his shoulders, peacefully watching as the sky grew dark and its stars started to twinkle.

“I won’t.”

[beep-beep-sunny]

Reddie week- Day 2- Occupation swap!

My daddy likes boys. I don't know why that's such a big deal. I'm not a dummy. I understand that they don't mean he likes boys just as friends like me and Hank from my class. Otherwise, mommy and daddy wouldn't have broked up. I get it. It's about in love. Like Aladdin and Jasmine. They aren't both boys, but that's okay. I'm sure there are other examples of boys I'm just not thinking of. 

Mommy already sees other boys. Daddy comes to watch me when she goes on her "dates" and we watch Bluey on TV or play hungry hungry hippos. Daddy is great at games, but I'm better because I always win. Still, daddy deserves to play games with someone he can beat. Someone he can go on "dates" with. Maybe on a magic carpet. Daddy likes cars, and that's a very cool and special kinda car. I wanna ride on one. Maybe if daddy's boyfriend has a magic carpet I can ride in the backseat and fly up high. That would be cool. That would be super cool.

I started kindergarten in the Fall. I'm in Mr. Tozier's class. He wears funny, colorful shirts and does voices that make me laugh a lot. When we learned about animals he made all the sounds. My favorite was when he made the goose sound. Mr. Tozier is the coolest.

And a boy.

And daddy likes boys.

Then I had an idea. My daddy and Mr. Tozier could be in love! That's a great perfect idea. I just needed to find a way to get daddy and Mr. Tozier to talk. When they talked they would obviously instantly fall in love because they are both awesome and fun and they both love me. It would be the greatest thing to have two daddies!! 

I started small. Daddy tells me every day that I'm brave and I decided to prove it. I made sure Mr. Tozier was close and I climbed up higher in the jungle gym than I had ever climbed. The other kids watched and some waved and giggled. By the time Mr. Tozier noticed how high I climbed and started running towards me, it was too late. I bent my knees like a frog. Mr. Tozier saying ribbit ribbit popping into my head as I hopped off the roof (where I definitely wasn't supposed to be) and fell hard onto the ground. 

Plop

I yelled and yelled and yelled some more. How was I supposed to know it would hurt THAT much. Mr. Tozier reached me quickly with his kind blue eyes twisted up in worry. "Frankie!" He yelped. "How'd you even get up there?" He was concerned, but I couldn't help but notice he also sounded impressed. This was going perfectly according to plan even though my arm hurt a whole lot. 

Mr. Tozier carried me to the nurse's office. "I'm gonna call your parents, okay? Just sit tight buddy." I made a froggy sound and his worry melted away just long enough to do an, admittedly much better, froggy sound. 

He rushed out the door. Oh no. "Call my daddy!" I shouted after him, hoping it was loud enough. My voice was usually louder, but my arm hurt too much! I waited to let my tears fall down my cheeks for after Mr. Tozier left. He probably thought I was very brave. Mr. Tozier and daddy will talk about how brave I am all day long until they fall in love. 

Daddy didn't come. Mr. Tozier must not have heard me. When I saw mommy come through the door with her arms stretched out like she was ready to clean my dirty cheek with her spit, I cringed a bit and then started crying. This time it wasn't from the pain. Well, it wasn't just from the pain. This was going to be harder than I thought. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47678521/chapters/120180805

This is just the first chapter. I'm posting snippets for reddie week, so I am mentally able to finish them all. Whichever snippets people like, I'll finish! Happy reddie week and pride month!!

[kafkaoftherubble]

做工前肯定要讲几句有关249的事: 憂太的 领域展开

// I Must Talk About c249 Before I Work: On Yuta's Domain Expansion

This post contains spoilers for Chapter 249 of Jujutsu Kaisen.

If I don't dump it here, these thoughts will distract me later! I'm already very distracted lately! Too distracted for my own good! Ahhhhh!

First off, I was eating so good. Yuta fans, simps, appreciators, and Rika (good taste, y'all)—rejoice, for this chapter is basically 95% Yuta! That's right; the next 5% was Yuta's Eyebags!

Look at this! He's so cute! So handsome!

Oh, I have to learn to exorcise spirits now. Then I can kick that fake Rika away and become his Rika!

Also, some people are somehow even more handsome just by being shown slow breathing. Is it just me who thinks that? Or is this what "rizz" truly means? I mean, look at that slight frown! Look at those eyebags! Look at him breathing!

... I'm sorry. I'm usually not one to write something with such trifling, substanceless content.

It's just... Yuta, man.

Anyway, the main point. Please, look at Yuta's

Domain Expansion

Shit is so magnificent. The many swords are obviously the first thing one would notice (and all that joke about Unlimited Blade Works and that Bleach... thing), but it's the abundance of crosses and the knots behind them that attracted my attention.

I'll get the easy out of the way first.

The Crosses

I would suspect these are meant to be "gravestones." Not too hard to think of "till death do us part," right? Though, to be fair, death didn't do Yuta and Rika part. In fact, it strengthened Yuta's split-moment craving for Rika and cursed her—in true dukkha fashion—into something quite macabre.

If one's Domain is the extension of their mental-scape, then it makes sense that Yuta's would incorporate gravestones, since his genesis as a cursed energy user effectively began on the day Rika died.

----

The Knots

Now this is the part that attracted the most of my attention!

Japanese knot-tying traditions are largely influenced by Chinese knotting (中国结) [1]. The word for knots in Chinese, 结, means "to bind," which then comes to represent all kinds of "union." Marriage, for example, is 结婚 (hanzi) /結婚 (kanji) [2][3]. Given Yuta's "love" motif, you can already see why the knots are part of his Domain.

There are plenty of meanings for the word 结, inter alia, it's a pun on 吉 (blessed) [2][3]. The fact that these knots are intertwined also comes to represent "interdependence," "connection," and "bonds." [2]

It's a bit of a stretch, admittedly, but I suppose one could probably draw this to that time Yuta described himself as "blessed." He is blessed because he was loved—he is enriched by connections and bonds with other people.

-

What is the knot type in Yuta's domain, then?

There are two candidates I could find.

I always rank each possibility from the highest confidence level to the lowest, so here goes. Note that I'm using the Chinese name (I would love it if someone added a more Japanese-focused viewpoint in this post on a reblog. I'm much more familiar with Chinese and cannot read Japanese, so...):

(1) 双钱结, The Double Coin Knot, 淡路結び [1]

It's shaped like two copper coins that are intertwined, hence its blessing is largely related to fortune and money [2][4].

However, the pronunciation of 钱 ("money") is similar to 全, "whole." Meanwhile, there is a pair of coins in this knot. This gives 双钱 an alternative reading—双全, "a pair that makes the whole." It also means 好事成双, "good things come in pairs." [4][5]

Yuta, as a jujutsu sorcerer, is more of a pair than an individual—he fights with Rika and is connected to her. These two together make a whole. A force of good that comes in a pair.

Due to sturdy enough sources corroborating the meaning of this knot, the similarity in appearance to Yuta's Knot, as well as the very fitting "pair + whole" symbolism, I have a higher confidence in this knot being the one in Yuta's Domain.

(2) 八字结, The “Figure 8” Knot

It's a pretty dime-a-dozen knot where the number 8 is formed. It has pragmatic purposes (eg. rock climbing), but here, because these two loops are intertwined, it apparently means "honest love" and "unchanging friendship." [6]

I rank this knot as lower in confidence level. It does at least pertain to the motif of love, according to one source, but it doesn't resemble Yuta's knot quite as well as the Double Coin Knot.

A bit of a caveat, in the spirit of intellectual honesty and rigor: The meaning of this knot has been found in only one source (see Citation #6), and it doesn't actually pass my internal rigor test. I've tried to search for corroboration from Chinese sources, but no dice. The only site in Chinese that corroborates the meaning of "eternal love" has busted web certificates and links.

----

The Name of Yuta's Domain Expansion

The translated name by OP Scan is terrible. It certainly pays homage to Yuta's fame (infamy?) as "The War God of Pure Love," but the actual kanji is 真贋相愛。

真 - Truth or real

贋 - False or fake

相愛 - mutual love, or reciprocal love, or "in love."

真贋 literally means "truth and false. Together it usually means "veracity." Here though? I'd interpret it as "The (Mutual) Love Between The Real and The False."

Isn't this shit metal as fuck? I mean, it's also fucking poetry. Truly the kind of magnificence only one with premium quality eyebags could provide!

It's worth nothing that 真贋 itself makes a contrasting pair, which again, links back to the Double Coin Knot's meaning.

I'm sure yall can make your own interpretation of what 真贋相愛 could symbolize vis-a-vis Yuta and Rika. Let's go, people!

----

Tangents to My Research - Side Dish

Knots have come to be a very important symbol of relationships, especially love, since the Tang and Song Dynasty [1]. To draw to the Japanese side of the practice, Chinese knotting practice reaches Japan during the Tang Dynasty as well [1]. It's not too surprising that this love connotation could also have been passed to Japan.

The entangling property of knots also comes to mind the term "连理（枝）", which means "interlocking (tree branches)." Here are two poems referring to the word:

(1) 同心结缕带，连理织成衣. —By Luo Binwang (骆宾王)

We tie this ribbon into a concentric knot, and we turn our interlocking branches (of love)into our clothes. Translation mine.

(2) 在天愿作比翼鸟，在地愿为连理枝 —By Bai Juyi (白居易）

In heaven, I want to become a Biyi Bird (with you). On earth, I want to be (a mesh of) interlocking branches (with you). Translation mine.

The Biyi Bird is a mythological bird recorded in the purely fantastical geographical treatise, The Classics of the Mountain and Seas (《山海经》). The bird is born with only one eye and one wing on one side. To fly, it needs a partner with the other eye and wing of the other side—and the two will fly together as a complement. [7]

It's very lovey-dovey and romantic and shit.

...Damn, Yuta is really all about love and connection, isn't he?

----

Wow, I didn't work on my actual job at all. Because I deadass spend hours just on this. Seriously?

But then again, there has been a precedence to me breaking my lackadaisical attitude toward writing JJK-related things—and that is when it concerns my favorite character. You don't need to click on the link to know who that other one is; it was Gojo Satoru.

Yuta, bless his rizz, deserves all of my time. If he dies (NO FUCKING WAY, GEGE!!!), then at least I have made something of worth about him.

Thank you for reading my ramble!

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

Citations:

"Chinese knotting" from Wikipedia

"中国结的历史来历和寓意" ("The history and meaning of the Chinese knotting") from 妍妍旅行记 on Sohu.com (in Chinese)

"Chinese Knots, Winding the Best Wishes with Cords" by Beijing Tourism

"双钱结寓意和象征，双钱结编法" ("The meaning and symbolism of the Double Coin Knot; How to Make a Double Coin Knot") on 结艺网 www.zhongguojie.org (in Chinese)

双色绳的编法有哪些？("Whast are the ways to make knots using two different colors?") on Zhihu (in Chinese)

"19 Popular Types of Chinese Knots and Their Meanings" on AnyofChina

"比翼鸟" from Wikipedia (in Chinese; English page not created)

There are also other links embedded in the ramble; these are references for that one specific instance and so do not warrant their inclusion under this section.

[shadowmaat]

The Jedi were evil all along!

I debated replying to the thread I saw condemning the Jedi as "rigid" and implying they weren't that different from the Sith, but I would have been the only voice of dissent and given that one of the replies was from a Red Hat Cultist veering off on a frothy anti-Obama rant, I figured it was safer to just make my own post.

Look, no one is saying the Jedi are perfect, but they sure as fuck aren't evil, either. If you're basing your entire opinion on the thoughts and experiences of one individual then your view is incredibly flawed and you should maybe think outside the narrow hole you've dug for yourself.

From what I can tell, some of the worst critics of the Jedi seem to be fans of Anakin Skywalker. Or at least a carefully curated version of Anakin who was a perpetual victim and never did anything wrong. It seems to boil down to "if the Jedi had just let Anakin be openly married to Padmè, nothing bad would have happened!" Which is... certainly a take.

The one argument I see trumpeted over and over (and over) again is that the Jedi prohibition against "attachment" is terrible and wrong and makes them no better than the Sith. This hinges almost entirely on the idea that "attachment" is the same thing as "love."

It isn't. Fans have spent decades explaining why it isn't only to have their reasoning mostly ignored in favor of the more angsty/tragic idea that the Jedi were forbidden to love. 🙄

"Attachment," IMO, can best be summed up as a literal interpretation of this ever-popular gif:

[img: Rosa from Brooklyn 99. She's holding a small yellow lab puppy as she says, "I've only had Arlo for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."]

Anakin has, admittedly, "had" Padmè for three years instead of a day and a half, but when he thought she was going to die, he killed everyone in the Temple, then killed her, and then continued on a murderous rampage for the next 19 years or so.

"Attachment" is dangerous for anyone, but especially for someone like Anakin, who has additional powers at his command, rigorous training in how to use them, and three years experience as a war leader.

Personally, I also have questions about whether or not marriage is actually forbidden among the Jedi or if Anakin just assumed it was because "attachment." I can see it not being a common thing, and I can also understand a relationship coming under scrutiny to insure that it's a healthy form of love that won't interfere with a Jedi's ability to do their job, but it wouldn't surprise me if Anakin never looked into it because it would mean "sharing" Padmè with others.

Even if marriage wasn't allowed as a whole formal, legalized thing it doesn't mean Jedi can't form relationships. It would, as usual with the Jedi, be about balance. Can someone balance their personal relationship with their commitments to the Order? Can they set their loved one aside to do what must be done? Or will they drop everything to immediately rush to their loved one's side regardless of the risk to others?

We all know what Anakin would do; we've seen it with our own eyes.

The point is, condemning the entire Jedi Order because they didn't give Anakin everything he wanted, when he wanted it, and without question is a little bit of a stretch. Plus, all jokes about his inability to keep a secret aside, it isn't as if he ever went to them to discuss things.

"Well, he didn't think he could trust them because they hated him!" Uh, no, they decidedly didn't hate him, he just believed they did. It all hinges on his beliefs, not reality. And while you could certainly blame Palpatine for reinforcing his beliefs that the Jedi can't be trusted and that everyone hates/is jealous of him, it isn't as if Palps made that up out of thin air: he built on the seeds already within Anakin.

"That's because the Jedi-" No. Insecurities are rarely rational, and while you can argue that the Jedi "didn't do enough" to help Anakin, there are a few salient points to remember:

Anakin isn't the only Jedi in the Order; they have thousands of people to consider.

You have to know there's a problem in order to help.

The person has to be willing to accept that help in order for things to change.

The last two points also apply to those who would condemn Obi-Wan in particular. He has to KNOW a problem exists and then he has to talk his way around to try and get Anakin to accept his help. I know from personal experience just how heartbreakingly difficult it is to help a loved one when they won't admit there's a problem or they won't listen to your advice.

I can think of a lot of ideas that would be fun to experiment with in terms of making changes to the Jedi Order, but most of them involve adding more distance from the Senate and none of them are about catering to the specific (perceived) needs of one Jedi.

[copperbadge]

So I was looking for an older post related to the writing of Fete and publishing on AO3, and came across this quote from you: "I'm kind of in awe of romance novelists who can put out new content every few months"

And look at you now, four novels published in seven months! Even if we go back to when you started adapting Fete into a novel, I believe it's under a year?

Thanks again for all the work you put into this 'verse. Can't wait to start the new one on my lunch break today.

LOL yes I suppose I have somewhat self-fulfilled that prophecy, haven't I. If you count from the time I started writing Fete as a screenplay it's something like a year and three months, but if we start from when I adapted that screenplay into a book -- which was a reasonable amount of work -- then yes, four novels written last year, three published, and this one being posted. I think I actually wrote Infinite Jes in about three weeks, that one went extremely fast, and I think LATT was only five weeks.

Plus while working on this story, I wrote roughly 50K of Royals/Ramblers, and some other stuff. (There's a really self-indulgent short story about Noah and the Dychev that may never see daylight, and one just called "Shivadh Alan Turing" that's about a midcentury programmer attempting to build an AI, but is really an excuse to write Michaelis as a kid being taken to see the computer by his father.)

Admittedly, it's easier when the world is built -- writing sequels is pretty much like writing fanfic, really. On the other hand this series is helping with my worldbuilding skills a great deal as I branch out, because while it's like writing fanfic, you still have to add new stuff -- like Reverb in book two, Galia in book three, various aspects of Eurovision in this one.

I'm usually working on a couple of other stories simultaneously within this world, but it depends on where my head's at, which ones -- right now of course Royals/Ramblers, but I'm also cheating on Royals/Ramblers with one I don't have a title for yet that's all about football in Askazer-Shivadlakia, and building the "world" of the Royal Shivadh Football Academy is stretching my abilities a bit.

[miyamiwu]

Re your post about how Isagi's desire to become #1 is getting repetitive. Is it just me or does this constant repetition of "BM/Isagi must win" feel a bit ominous? Because I keep thinking about how PXG v BM could possibly play out and obviously given Isagi's plot armor, a BM win seems very likely. BUT realistically I don't think both rivalries (Isagi + Rin and Isagi + Kaiser) will get resolved within this match + we don't know what Kaiser is planning, not to mention all of the other stuff happening in the background. So my thinking is it probably won't be a decisive win for Isagi like maybe BM loses resolving the rivalry between Isagi and Rin but Isagi loses the bet against Kaiser and he becomes the overarching rival to beat throughout the next arc. OR BM wins but it's thanks to a combination of plays from everyone + the bet comes to a draw, no one is really satisfied etc. Like I love Isagi and I think he's come a really long way but admittedly I was kind of hoping for an Ubers win. I mean the stakes are high regardless but a loss would have been particularly dramatic right before they go up against PXG. For this upcoming match, I can't say for sure who I want to win but whoever it is, I want it to feel earned. I want to see the struggle and the payoff, even if that's stretched out to another arc. Bc Isagi thinking "winning is the only thing that matters" just brings me right back to U20 - Rin beat Sae but in his mind, the cost of that was "losing" to Isagi. So what's the cost here and who's paying it? 🤔 Sorry for rambling in your askbox but would love to hear your thoughts and how you're feeling about the upcoming matches 💞 okay bye Lizzie!!!

Oooh I love your idea here. If Isagi does win, I want the cost of it to be him questioning the Blue Lock philosophy, whatever that may entail. And the next arcs will revolve around him building his own philosophy. It's high time he stops taking Ego's words as gospel because that man isn't always right.

And the NEL arc introducing different team philosophies has to amount to something, okay? The takeaway can't simply be "Ego was right all along."

I personally want Isagi to lose, though. I seriously think his character needs more drama, and it has to come from himself and not his friends or rivals.

Chigiri has his leg, Kunigami is traumatized, Bachira has lost every game so far (we don't know how he's taking this, though), Yukimiya has his eyes, Igaguri has this fear of inheriting the temple and becoming a monk, and NagiReo is... NagiReo

Isagi, on the other hand, has nothing else going for him. I can't think of what drama to give him, but I'll take anything. Even if it's him having to be subbed out because of fatigue from pushing himself too hard. He's already fainted once, too! Ego doesn't really advocate for self-care...

[theblueskyphoenix]

Finally this guy appears. 

Dear GERSH it took me awhile to get this design right. I did an initial design back in November of last year that I was... eh... about. Mainly it didn’t feel creepy enough. So I let it sit for a bit and focus on some of the other characters. Finally came back to it today after having a dream and seeing this version of him. 

So, Storm and I sat down, watched some episodes and I sketched while watching. (Fun fact I am still making my way through the series properly. XD I’m in season 3 and having a good time.) And so... we get all this. 

I basically broke Skeleton King into pieces to try and improve the original design I had. Started with his head, then worked towards everything else. Cause truth be told the hardest thing for me to nail down was his head. Mainly in that... I had to allow myself to break way from giving him a realistic skull. Odd thing to say but this is due to the fact of doing things in my style rather than doing as the show did. The show stylized his skull in a way that made sense. I can’t get away with it as well in my style. So hence I had to think of something. The solution being allowing myself to warp his skull into something monster like due to what happened to him. So skull was stretched out, jaw is detached and he has his sharp teeth. Very happy with this skull over the realistic one. Again, I know, odd to say but I really wanted to keep the essence of what it was like in the show since I do like the design. Just a matter of translating. And with the realistic one I just didn’t think he was scary enough. He’s supposed to be the stuff of nightmares for Chiro. This realistic skull wasn’t it. This one? Absolutely. 

Then as for the rest of of him, the body was honestly the easiest part since what I had done initially I was already okay with. Just made minor tweaks like simplifying how much bone we see, how much bone he has, and modifying his outfit, Like giving him full on pants since admittedly, have his leg bones showing came off as a bit goofy to me. Same with the claw feet. Just seemed to silly so he gets full on boots. 

Last piece was his staff and I just decided to redesign the whole thing from the ground up. Kept elements of his canon one but wanted more power to exude from it. 

After all that, we then get the concept art render at the beginning of the post. Where we see his cloak as well and all the pieces put together. 

Tough challenge, but very happy with the end results. I look forward to doing full renders of this guy in the future. 

And yeah. Hope you all enjoy my take on The Skeleton King. 

Catch ya on the next one.

[yukidragon]

Not sure if you've talked about it before (Apologies if you have and I just didn't see the post) but I was replaying the game and when Jack starts talking after the whole "You don't miss him, do you?" "..." "Aw, Sunshine..." exchange, it sounds so personal.

"He promised you the moon and stars. But what did it all amount to, in the end?" That's not the entire exchange but the way it's phrased... Sure, it could be Jack trying to nudge MC away from Ian, trying to really hammer it home that considering getting back together with Ian isn't worth it, all the heartbreak. But for some reason, it sounds to me like Jack is talking about his own experiences?

Now, we have absolutely nothing to go on but I feel like he COULD be talking about someone he used to be in a relationship with (or at least was very close with), who also worked on the show. Could be a director or... (and this is me reaching. Like, REACHING reaching) but what if Jean (aka Raspberry Rory) and Joseph were involved? If Jean (or a director) promised Joseph the moon and the stars, made all these lofty promises? To be together forever, to reach new heights? But then the relationship crashed and burned. Perhaps they didn't expect Joseph to get as popular as he did and got jealous. Maybe other things happened and all those dreams of staying together? Nothing but dust. Which would hurt Joseph, who, from the tidbits we got had a VERY unstable (home)life, very, very deeply. Opening up to someone is hard and was probably harder for Joseph and if his partner was a guy, that would doubly go because of the attitude re: homosexuals of the 80s. Or maybe whoever Joseph opened up to played him like a fiddle and took advantage of his vulnerability?

Hence why Jack sounds so bitter when he is talking with MC during that scene.

(Bonus points if 1) Jean and Joseph were involved. 2) If Jean was the guy who killed Joseph in a fit of jealous rage. 3) Ian really is Jean's kid. Can you imagine the fury Jack would feel upon connecting all the dots?)

That line from Jack stuck out to me too. It inspired me to write one of my darkest theories, the Tragedy of [Redacted] in fact.

Also, maybe it's just me, but when Jack almost seems distracted at this particular part, as if he's remembering something. He's looking away the entire time he says it and sounds a little distant, which is a credit to his VA to put so much emotion in his lines.

Jack He promised you the moon and all the stars…And I bet he did it so well… … Jack …But what did it all amount to in the end? … Jack He doesn’t love you…He can’t love you… … Jack Nobody who can do what he’s done to you knows what love even is.

It certainly lends more evidence to me that Jack is seeing parallels between the way Ian hurt MC and something that happened to him in the past.

Although it's a popular headcanon that Jean was jealous of Joseph or even was the reason for the murder, we don't actually know if that's the case. For all we know, Jean could be revealed to be someone just as sweet as the pastries he pretended to bake on the show.

I do, however, think that Joseph was taken advantage of back when he was alive. The way he cautions MC about "other people" makes that pretty clear. Also, he asks what Ian "provides" to MC to make their pain worth it. Did he have a toxic lover who "provided" him with something he needed as Joseph? Did they make him feel like he had to "provide" something they deemed significant enough for him to be loved?

It's possible too that it relates to Jack being a star... specifically the way he was used by LambsWork Productions. Producers could've promised Joseph the moon and all the stars... or at least a life of stardom. But in the end they erased everything about him. They didn't actually care about him at all.

That possibility is a bit of a stretch, admittedly, due to the emphasis about love. Also there's the fact that Jack is a yandere, whose love has been twisted. His past probably plays a big part in that, all things considered...

Given some of the hints we've gotten about Joseph's past and the way people treated him, I have a feeling that he had quite a difficult time when it came to love...

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur 

[qwuilty]

Hiii, if i get this right, this should be posted right at 12 AM here meaning it’s officially my birthdayyy (feburary 1st) and for my birthday im posting more postal 1 dude headcanons and no one can stop me on my Special Dayyyyyy >:)

His mental collapse in Postal 1 is mostly due to a progression of several events in his life, but mainly due to a sort of midlife crisis escalating his worsening mental health. 

I kind of take the advertisement quotes as a kind of semi-canon, which includes the “His classmates voted him most likely to succeed” one as well. I generally kind of think of him as being not a very popular kid (mostly due to his ‘strange’ behaviors and lack of social prowess) nor a very athletic one, but he was a Smart kid.

Being Smart meant he got told he was doing a good job, that people were proud of him, so he had to keep being smart, even if it killed him. And it worked through elementary to middle school to high school, however he completely crashed and burned once he couldn’t stretch himself any further.

The lack of a more rigid class schedule, the stress of expectations, his candle of mental energy being essentially a charred pile of wax embedded to the table, his worsening mental health and lack of medication, it all lead to him having a pretty bad breakdown and dropping out shortly after with everyone else kind of keeping their distance from him due to his “sudden” freakout. 

From there he stagnated heavily, having to watch everyone else he knew make it and do what, to him, was supposed to be easy. Everyone expected such good things from him, and in his mind, he failed to go over the last hurdle at the finish line watching everyone else run right past him and over his exhausted body. Now he was stuck back at home in a dead-end job after already taking so long to get out the nest already. 

The feeling of being watched started as the feeling of persecution from his peers due to his perceived failure, then paranoia that they were going to harass him, then delusions of a sudden intense increase in violence that spread as he left for college mixing with paranoia about world events and government surveillance, which well... You know how that ends.

I personally don’t know what I headcanon his major as, usually i default to an english major however i have seen other headcanons i like, so admittedly it's kind of in the air for me. However, even if it's not his major, I think he’d enjoy english and writing often. He's got a good flair for melodrama.

Because he’s paranoid of any potential issue happening, he’s self taught in first aid care either for himself or others as well as several other essential skills like hand-sewing. Both to keep himself busy in that downtime after his plans fell out and because of the fear of the worst case scenario that eventually became reality.

This one is more just a fun one, but I like to imagine he was a dinosaur and dragon kid growing up, he just kind of has that energy to me. Another fun little note is that actually, Postal 1 was released on November 14th, which is exactly nine months before Valentine's Day! I just think that's neat. :) (It’s also National American Teddy Bear Day!!)

Prone to compulsion and repetition, it provides the feeling of something familiar to him with the uncompromising spontaneousness of life. Some are simple, quick ones and some are more complex, some even potentially harmful but he greatly fears the consequences of not following through. Probably superstitious as well, things like knocking on wood or avoiding walking under ladders still get him even as an adult. 

He’s not as judgemental of other people dealing with similar delusions and issues as he is to himself. He does panic a bit when confronted with a breakdown as he usually has no idea how to help in the moment, but he tries to be helpful how he can, even if that’s not very much. At the very least he tends to be more sympathetic towards people he notices struggling like he does.

Simultaneously fascinated by and terrified by horror movies, he finds the theming and cinematography of them very enjoyable but he’s also very prone to insomnia afterwards. Y'know the whole “watched a horror movie before bed and now i’m afraid the horror monster is in my hallway” deal, it’s a nasty cycle. </3

His love language is acts of service, he likes to feel useful to others and doing tangible things for them partially so he can feel worthy of love at all. In terms of receiving he prefers quality time, but for those who aren’t used to him it’s hard to tell what he even qualifies as “quality time”. Since he grew up mostly by himself either hiding in his room or with his parents out, he’s been alone for a good while and mostly just wants someone to physically be there even if you don’t do anything. 

He’s picked up woodcarving as a small hobby, he’s gotten better at it over the years but perfectionism leads to little abandoned projects left behind before they’re ever finished. He’s fairly creative and has a sense of wonder under all that grunge, just not the energy or confidence to really pursue anything with that.

He needs some kind of music or sound while he sleeps, mostly through an old CD player resting on his nightstand. He’s got a small folder of easier listening cds he’s gotten from thrift stores as well as the ones he already has, the kind you find that are heavily discounted in the back. They’re in fairly bad condition and it’s definitely not helped by him constantly having to replay them, but it’s better than laying in complete silence.

He’s gone through a few jobs, especially after his college time trying to keep afloat. Most jobs he left were ones he had to quit due to the stress or he ended up being let go due to complaints of his uncomfortable behavior. Mainly unintentionally disturbing staff members and being fired for unaffiliated reasons on paper so they can just let him go and not have to tell him why to his face. It’s not even that he does a bad job or that he’s rude, it’s mainly his height and mixture of quietness, muttering, and lurking around the area that gets him written up.

He greatly prefers winter to any other season, partially because it allows him to layer up more without overheating to feel a bit safer and partially because he isn’t as sweaty when it's colder. But during summer he usually cycles through a couple old band shirts that still mask his form well enough, the boots are all season though. He’s also generally grumpier during summer, even having grown up in Arizona the heat bothers him as well as how bright it gets outside.

What doesn’t help him with that is how easily he burns up in the summer, partially because he still dresses pretty heavy even with his “warm weather” clothes, but also because of how pale he is. It’s like he freckles a little and then it’s all pain from there. </3 

He doesn’t have a proper driving license and never learned how to, which adds onto his feeling of being far behind where he ‘should’ be. He did use to have a bike he rode to and from work but it got crushed under one of his neighbor’s cars and was completely irreparable, meaning he had to walk to and from work leading to him eventually stopping showing up at all.

Prone to zoning out, either lost in thought or just kind of a gap where he really isn’t there. He enters a state of auto-pilot, his mind either unraveling a thread that got too messy or trying to boot back up, it can lead to him accidentally hurting himself by either tripping over something or if he’s doing something like needlework, partially why he doesn’t cut his own vegetables very much.

In addition to that, he’s got a lot of small nicks and cuts on his hands, it’s not that he’s klutzy, just sometimes unaware of his surroundings. The only time he’s been fully, 100% there and in the moment instead of fretting over the past or future was during the events of Postal 1, and even then it was more because he was in a state of a very high adrenaline rush trying to stay alive. He most likely had to be hospitalized by the end of it, considering how far he’s walked as well as the inevitable blood loss and bullet wounds even if he’s using first aid kits. 

When he’s unemployed his sleep schedule is a rotating nightmare, he starts with waking up incredibly early and progressively sleeps at later and later times until he ends up getting up by nighttime and falling asleep in the morning. When he isn’t, his sleep schedule is a bit better, but due to bouts of insomnia he sometimes has to run on basically nothing for the entire shift. At this point he could probably sleep standing up, or at least start to before waking up in a jolt of panic.

I feel like as a kid he was pretty gullible, though that was half because his parents didn’t teach him better and half because the world seemed so strange already, it was hard for him to tell lies from reality. As an adult he’s gotten better about being skeptical, fool him once shame on him, but you won’t fool him twice. At least if he can help it you won't. In exchange however, this has made him very skeptical of genuine things as well, even positives.

Even before The Incident he had an interest in guns, as I said in my previous headcanons post I imagine he was taught how to use them by his dad, but he’s mostly fascinated by how they work. Maybe a little too curious for his own good towards them. He could find himself staring endlessly at something like a handgun trying to figure out how it worked and looking into its different mechanisms and little design quirks. 

If he wasn’t afraid of accidentally blowing his arm off and of the government tracking his package orders to get parts, he probably could have made his own firearms. It doesn’t help either he finds this an incredibly hard hobby to just discuss casually to others especially considering his already ‘off’ look to others, so he often just keeps his mouth shut about it and enjoys it in the privacy of his own home.

He’s had a couple relationships, some mutually, some more one sided through his own ideas of the person and how their relationship would be. With new partners he tries to give an impression of being ‘normal’ VERY hard, almost walking on eggshells because he’s worried about them seeing his true colors. In a way, it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy as he starts to burn out on having to mask his actual personality, leading to a very sudden cold shoulder and often the relationships were dropped right there as the expectation of how he was suddenly broken and they had to see him at his worst.

For the ones he imagines, it’s always from a distance as he finds it incredibly hard to even initiate contact with someone he’s into, incredibly petrified of coming off as weird. Still, when he crushes on someone, it becomes a small bout of fixation until they either get freaked out by him and distance themselves or the daydream fades away. He had tried lying about being in a relationship with a past crush of his, but she eventually found out and was well, frankly disturbed and disgusted by his actions. 

He’s partially a romantic, at least compared to the other dudes, however it’s mostly in theory and far less in practice. He has a lot of thoughts about romance and doing grand gestures, but as mentioned before actually getting that off the ground is practically impossible if the person doesn't know how he is going in. If they do get past that initial crash, he does try to be traditionally romantic, just not entirely well. He got you flowers. Or well, a single flower. That he hurriedly yanked out of his neighbor’s garden so he wouldn’t notice him so it’s kind of crumpled up. There’s also still a clump of dirt stuck to the stem.

He had tried to go to therapy, mostly at the insistence of family after noticing his isolation and volatile nature, but he finds it very hard to open up to health professionals. There’s a feeling of disconnect with him and them, either with his past therapist or the psychiatrists evaluating him at the end of Postal 1. It’s hard to open up, even harder to do so to someone writing down things about you like you’re a lab rat in a test, or at least that’s how he feels about it. Eventually due to being busy, visit rescheduling was forgotten and he figured it was best to not remind them.

His dreams tend to be very strange and slightly unsettling when he can remember them, semi lucid at times but in places he REALLY does not want to be conscious. He figures it’s best to avoid thinking about them, trying to parse any meaning from them just leaves him panicked about what it could mean for his future or what it means inside his head. Usually sleeps curled up in a sort of fetal position, he snores but in very long gaps, so you may be a little worried seeing him laying there and breathing so softly it looks like he isn’t alive until he lets out a loud snore.

Not actually much of a drinker, he already deals with fairly frequent headaches and the thought of getting black out drunk and doing god knows what worries him. He’s mainly only a social drinker to try and get that ‘liquid confidence’ but since he’s not really getting invited out to drink or inviting anyone IN his tolerance is pretty low. 

Drink of choice is really just shitty canned beers, it’s what he can afford and while he hates the taste, when he needs to be drunk it gets the job done. I don’t think he’s on the same level of drug cocktail that Postal 2 and onward dudes are on, but he’s probably experimented with some pot before. Hallucinogenics would be a fucking awful idea though, don’t give him those.

His hallucinations tend to get worse and worse the more tired he is, he mostly experiences visual hallucinations as well as audio-based ones, but also some physical ones too. It’s kind of a sign that he needs to book it to bed once he starts noticing them ramping up worse and worse. Sometimes he does not get the luxury of being able to go right to sleep though, those are his least favorite times to be awake.

He can be pretty protective, both of his things and people in his life. In terms of his belongings, he’s worried about them getting broken leading to him kind of hovering over people who borrow things from him and making sure they aren’t too rough with them even to the point of coming off to others as obnoxious about it. It’s not that he means to come off as rude, he’s just very worried since he has to kind of hold onto them a while and gets attached.

In terms of people however, it’s a mixture of his brewing savior complex and desire to keep those who can stand him from getting hurt on his watch. Mostly in terms of making sure something won’t fall on them with his height advantage, stepping in to do more dangerous things, it can come off a little patronizing but he means well. If you come at him gently about it and explain he’ll back off, but there’s still that air of anxiousness to him, that fear of something terrible happening extending outwards to others as well.

Very much prone to a black and white view of the world. Good and bad, right and wrong, he was taught over and over what they were, so breaking from that is hard for him. And he wants to do good, he wants to do so much good and make others happy, but the world is a messy shade of gray that he just. Can’t comprehend sometimes. Good people are supposed to protect others, not harm them, he knows that. But sometimes you have to hurt a few to protect the many, at least that’s his justification for it all.

And to end this on a kinder note i wanted to share things that reminded me of him but i don't want to potentially spam to random tags cause tumblr search is weird, so small collage of stuff that makes me think of him