#their adopted daughter… <— delusional

[kaogens]

this was on my mind for like an entire week i needed to get it out there idc if its rushed

bonus :3

[yanderes-galore]

This is sort of a collab between me and @okchijt as we were discussing this on Discord while I was writing this. I'm in a watch party with them to watch Helluva Boss so... Here's some self indulgence about Blitzø :) Pacing is a bit everywhere due to our conversation process. Here's the pure brainrot!

Please Read Trigger Warnings For Mature Themes, The moment you click Read More you have consented to seeing this content.

Yandere! Blitzø Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Gaslighting/Blackmail, Trauma, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Fear of attachment/vulnerability, Enabling behavior, Jealousy, Delusional behavior, Mentions of Death, Paranoia, Poor mental health, Swearing, Mature content, Secret picture taking, Violence/Murder, Forced date, Blood, Threats, Guilt-tripping, Mentions of intimacy/Sexual content but nothing too graphic, Intoxication, Forced/Dubious relationship.

Word Count: 1446 words.

Blitz is an obsessive stalker yandere who is fiercely protective/controlling of his obsession.

The moment you leave his sight, Blitz has a tendency to panic.

He needs to know where you are and only trusts a select few people with you.

Said people are Loona, Millie, and Moxxie.

This is most likely an AU after Stolas and Blitz "break up".

In that case, Blitz may not trust Stolas around you.

Speaking of Stolas, said Owl Prince may be jealous and condescending towards you due to Blitz trying to be with you.

I'm going to be honest, Blitz would be a mess as a yandere.

His whole life he's wanted that domestic sort of life with his obsession.

He craves connection, even if he originally tries to push you away.

But if you manage to stay despite what he says... then you have a clingy Imp on your hands.

He's known you for awhile, be that as one of his employees or a close friend who sticks around despite what he says.

The obsession probably starts in this concept with you comforting him about Stolas.

He's scared to let you in at first, not wanting to look vulnerable.

However, push hard enough and be there for him?

Well now he can't let you go.

Like... LITERALLY.

Blitz is surprisingly affectionate towards you once he's attached, both verbally and physically.

Blitz would want his obsession to get along with Loona, his adopted daughter.

Speaking of which, Loona may be a subtle manipulator or step in if you decide to neglect to turn on Blitz.

Especially if it benefits her.

Moxxie would be concerned for the relationship between you two.

He may try to speak up about it, but the others would shut him down.

Which would cause him to just... stay quiet despite your feelings.

Although, Millie would enable everything, thinking the bond you have is cute.

When Blitz turns obsessive, Moxxie may be your only ally.

Moxxie tries to ease your worries, he genuinely wants to find a way to help both you and Blitz.

However... Blitz would be so UPSET if he saw you so close to Moxxie.

He has a fear of losing you, while he knows Moxxie won't steal you from him... he hates you being close with others.

As a result, Blitz may isolate you socially... or insert himself into everything you do with others.

For example, if you were clubbing... he's coming to.

Anywhere you go, he'll be there... be it out of sight or right by your side.

He's so obsessive with the idea of a "healthy" relationship, he completely forgets the fact he is actively messing up the only somewhat normal relationship he has again... since you've been with him through nearly everything already, he's blind to his actions.

What doesn't help is no one but Moxxie points out the issues.

Definitely bans any sort of mention of Stolas in I.M.P.

He doesn't want you or anyone bringing up his past relationships as he wants to move on with his new beloved.

He genuinely thinks you're his perfect match and refuses to hear anyone else out on it.

Blitz is normally really clingy and hard to get rid of, so he usually doesn't need to resort to kidnapping.

However, if he did, he'd lock you in his apartment with max security.

Going back to Loona, she'd pity you a bit but not actually help you.

In fact, she's literally the guard dog for Blitz.

You won't be able to leave as Loona can hear every movement you make.

If you're caught, she'll tell Blitz, or convince you to go back to bed beside Blitz on the couch.

It would be hard to even leave the couch as Blitz practically digs his claws into you and clings to you as he sleeps.

If you worked with him, you'd slowly be unable to go on missions since the job is so dangerous.

In fact, Blitz may keep you with Loona, it's unknown who's babysitting who though.

He may not care much about his own safety, but he cares a lot about you.

He'd probably break if you died on him.

Speaking of which, Blitz has already lost a ton of people in his life anyways.

If you, the only person who genuinely gave a shit, died on him?

You can bet he just... never recovers.

Not even the others can fix him.

Which is why he is so insistent on hiding you away.

Blitz would hate it if you neglected him affection, clinging to you like you're his only lifeline.

If you eventually caved and gave him affection, even out of pity, he'd break down in your arms.

That way he thinks you love him back... and he just wants to be loved.

Blitz would stalk you constantly, taking pictures and recordings along with following you wherever you go.

Human, Hellborn, Sinner, whatever... he'd follow you everywhere no matter where you went.

Be that another layer of Hell, or the human world, he just needs to be near you.

Your status and species of demon/human would change the dynamic between you and Blitz in some ways too.

He may even baby you, he isn't trying to be condescending, but he just...finds babying you cute.

Blitz is extremely manipulative, he may even be the type of yandere to gaslight or blackmail you into staying with him.

He'd guilt you into staying with him by saying "you're the only one that bothered to help him".

If he was drunk, he'd start rambling about how you helped him... essentially starting to trauma dump on you.

If you tried to point out the issues in your relationship with him, he'd act like there's nothing wrong.

If you tried to leave him and guilting doesn't work, he's find dirt on you and blackmail you into staying beside him.

Blitz would force you onto little dates (Like horse riding).

He's thinking you two are having fun, in reality you probably aren't.

Honestly, would it even be a Blitz concept if I didn't mention violence or murder in some way?

If you got hurt on a mission, Blitz would lose it.

No one would need to help him, he'd single handedly slaughter everyone around him.

By the time the bloodbath is over, he's covered in the stuff and immediately pulling you close.

He'd coo over you, telling you there's no need to worry... he took care of it.

That would most likely be when he'd pull you off missions, too.

If he ever lost you somewhere, he's threatening everyone for answers on your whereabouts.

You're so isolated with him there's barely any issue when it comes to "rivals".

Although, if he somehow sees you secretly speaking with someone other than him... he'd threaten them and if that doesn't work, he may attack them like some sort of feral cat.

Blitz would not blame his darling for anything, he's that delusional.

He thinks you could do no wrong and just blames those around you.

Obviously others are the problem, not him.

That includes Moxxie, as I can see him thinking Moxxie is trying to turn you against Blitz.

Ever seen scenes with Blitz being affectionate with Loona or the others?

Yeah, he's like that with you, but more intense.

He's practically all over you when it comes to affection.

Blitz sees everyone as a threat to his relationship with you.

Maybe not Millie or Loona, but that may include Moxxie.

It definitely includes Stolas due to his paranoia, he fears the prince will take you from him.

Striker would also count due to his motives.

I don't usually mention this in my concepts, but Blitz is sexually active.

He wouldn't force you into anything, but he's certainly needy when it comes to that.

Blitz wouldn't blame you too much if you called him Blitzo.

He'd calmly correct you, but treat it as a mistake and warn you not to do it again.

Blitz wants to know everything about his darling, both inside and out.

He may not say much about himself, but he'd nearly interrogate you about everything you like and dislike.

He wants to give the best gifts and foods for you since he adores you.

If someone ever hurt you in your past, or even the present, he'd just get revenge for you.

He'll make their fate slow.

Anything from a childhood bully or abuser, yeah they're gone.

Overall, Blitz comes off as a rather feral, intense, and clingy yandere.

You're stuck with him, like it or not, all so he can chase the companionship he never truly had in a long time.

[cher-rei]

pablo gavi smau [ P.G ]

summary: a documentation of your life as the messi family's adoptive daughter leading up to a surprise relationship reveal

masterlist

notes: posting this like this isn't based on my gavi fic that's in planning... the oc's name is sofía btw (translated spanish!!)

fía.pérez

liked by pablogavi and 2 234 563 others

fía.pérez la vida en este momento con mi chica favorita 💌 (life at the moment with my favourite girl) [tagged: aurorapaezg]

see all comments below

aurorapaezg 😘 [liked by fía.pérez]

pablogavi dejar a mi hermana en paz desafío: ir (leave my sister alone challenge: go)

→ fía.pérez deja de ser celoso desafío: ve (stop being jealous challenge: go)

user guys I just saw two pretty best friends...

user when are gavi and sofía not arguing though, like can we be fr 😭

user they make it so easy to ship them and I'm so here for it

user it's over once when see antonela or messi in the comments 😔

fía.pérez

liked by anotenelarocuzzo and 1 172 111 others

fía.pérez ciro + fía = <3

see all comments below

antonelarocuzzo mis bebés ❤️‍🩹 (my babies) [liked by fía.paréz)

leomessi mateo dijo que está mejor 😭 (mateo said that he's better)

→ fía.pérez en sus sueños 🙄 (in his dreams)

pablogavi ¿Y por qué no me invitaron??? (and why wasn't I invited???)

→ fía.pérez bueno, tal vez si hubieras respondido a mi llamada habrías (well maybe if you answered my calls you would've)

pedri los amantes se pelean (lovers quarrel)

→ fía.pérez sal de mis comentarios ahora mismo... (get out of my comments right now)

pablogavi @pedri me das asco. (you disgust me.)

pablogavi

liked by pedri and 897 382 others

pablogavi exponiendo mi angel 🤭 (exposing my angel) [tagged: fía.pérez]

see all comments below

fía.pérez estás muerto gavira. (you're dead gavira) [liked by pablogavi]

pedri ¿¿subtítulo?? (caption??)

ferrantorres ¿¿tu que?? (your what??)

user excuse me 😃

user HELP?? SOFT LAUNCH??

fía.pérez

liked by leomessi and 1 223 311 others

fía.pérez él realmente está aquí firmando las camisetas de todos mientras yo estoy allí 😒 (he's really out there signing everyone's shirt while I'm right there) [tagged: pablogavi]

see all comments below

pablogavi puedes tener el mío en su lugar 😉 (you can have mine instead)

→ fía.pérez preferiría morir ☺️ (i'd rather die)

pedri los odio tanto a ambos (I hate you both so much) [liked by fía.pérez]

user I don't even know if I'm delusional anymore

→ user girl I'm just here for the vibes, they're too cute to leave

fía.pérez

liked by pablogavi and 1 722 111 others

fía.pérez el chico en la pantalla es algo lindo 👀 (the guy on the screen is kind of cute)

see all comments below

aurorapaezg estás bromeando ¿no? (you're joking right?) [liked by fía.pérez]

pablogavi conozco a alguien que es al menos diez veces más lindo (I know someone who's at least ten times cuter)

→ fía.pérez ¿ah, de verdad? (oh really?) [liked by pablogavi]

ferminlopez @pedri hermano, ven aquí (bro get over here)

user we're getting closer!!!

user am I supposed to be screaming or crying rn??

pablogavi

liked by fía.pérez and 891 199 499 others

pablogavi mi vista favorita 👀❤️‍🩹 (my favourite view) [tagged: fía.pérez]

see all comments below

fía.pérez he visto mejores de cerca (I've seen better upclose)

→ pablogavi imposible mi amor (impossible, my love)

pedri ¿puedo finalmente dormir en paz ahora? (can I finally sleep in peace now?)

→ pablogavi nunca (never)

ferminlopez ¡¡vamos!! (let's gooo!!) [liked by pablogavi)

user screaming, crying, throwing up

user YESSSS!! I'M CONVULSING

fía.pérez

liked by leomessi and 2 321 112 others

fía.pérez mi niño bonito ❤️ (my pretty boy) [tagged: pablogavi)

see all comments below

pablogavi ¡¡no es justo!! no puedes llamarme tu chico bonito tan casualmente (that's not fair!! you can't call me your pretty boy so casually)

→ fía.pérez por supuesto que puedo (of course I can)

antonelarocuzzo te tomo bastante tiempo (took you long enough)

→ fía.pérez fue un proceso ¿vale? 😭 (it was a process okay?)

pedri yo todavía te odio (I still hate you)

→ pablogavi nada nuevo (nothing new)

user is this what heaven feels like?

[soojinieshifts]

INTRO TO…

MY LE SSERAFIM DR

Hana Arie Anná, mononymously known as Ari, is a Chinese actress, singer, and rapper of girl group LE SSERAFIM under HYBE’s Subsidiary Label Source Music. She had her solo debut on June 12, 2024 with the mini album “Dark Dreams”.

!★☆ 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑴𝒆

#☆…! Name: Han Arie Anná

#☆…!Stage Name: Ari

#☆…!Race: Asian

#☆…!Gender: Female

#☆…!Sexuality: Lesbian

#☆…!Pronouns: She/her

#☆…!Birthday: June 10, 2002

#☆…!Age: 21

#☆…!Zodiac sign: Gemini

#☆…!Place of birth: Wuhan, China

#☆…!Siblings: Kevin, Rachel, handong, xiaojun, ningmei (twin sister)

!★☆ 𝑰𝑫𝑶𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑭𝑭!!

#☆…!Brands: Chanel, Calvin Klein, Adidas, and Sanrio

#☆…!Positions: Lead Rapper, Lead Dancer, Sub-Vocalist, Center, and Producer

#☆…!Titles: Chinas Princess, Face of China, 4th gen’s hot girl, 4th gen rapper, 4th gen it girl

#☆…!Solo fandom: Ariboos

#☆…!Rep. Emoji: 🦊

#☆…!Projects: GLITZY! by Girls Generation (ft. ARI of LE SSERAFIM) - 2022, Dream Girl by Chungha (ft. ARI of LE SSERAFIM) - 2023, Diamond by KAZUHA (ft. YEJI of ITZY and ARI of LE SSERAFIM) - 2024 , Luv Me by JENNIE (ft. ARI of LE SSERAFIM) - 2023, Wish You hell (My pre release single before my solo debut) - 2024, DARK DREAMS (my official solo debut!) - 2024 , Magic by nayeon (ft. ARI of LE SSERAFIM) - 2024

#☆…!Trainee time : 6 years and 3 months

!★☆ 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔!!

🐯Chaewon — Best friends! Was close during her Iz*one days and have gotten stronger since. SHES ALSO THE MOST DELUSIONAL BITCH YOU WILL EVER MEET LIKE MY GOD. She has an obsession with gummy bears and other fruity candy currently. And she’s back with her ex (this is a good thing! I love them together!) so she’s finally stopped screaming ripping her hair out over her! I love giving her songs to cover cause it’s fun. And her vocal tone makes me ascend to the heavens tbh.

🌸Sakura — THIS IS MY MOM!! I actually love Sakura so much and I’m so mad that freaking swing RUINED her voice. Her natural voice is so pretty and I used to have her sing me lullabies back when I was scared to sleep alone because of the massive hate I got in 2022. She’s so amazing and it makes me so sad that people don’t see it and I love her talent and wished she didn’t feel the pressure to be the best all the time. I love her and Mina together (I want them to adopt me.) but I don’t love seeing them make out in the living room. I watched her once fall to her news because of my “alleged” project with Sabrina carpenter as she proceeded to beg me to take her to meet her…..(I did).

🦒Yunjin — SIGHHHH. Jennifer huh…(or as I call her Jenni!). We started off as basically attached by the hip,! Like this girl was my best friend fr and then we started dating 😭 (she asked me out in the most craziest way tbh…). Probably one of the most amazing things ever cause she was literally the most perfect gf….until she wasn’t. Long story short: we broke up and it was messy as shit. Then I got with ryujin and She started getting mad at me for weird reasons and then we were back to best friends like we used to be…AND THEN ON FREAKING TOUR SHE TOLD ME SHE WANTED ME BACK EVEN THOUGH SHE KNOWS IM HAPPY WITH RYUJIN??? Long story short….we’re just friends now but not as close as once were and it makes me sad cause..Jenni ☹️😞

🦢Kazuha — MY ZUHAAAAA MY SWEET SWEET BABY!! I actually was the main one who talked to her during trainee days and we still are just as close! This is basically my little sister and when she had her solo debut I freaking SOBBED because of the song she made for me :(. She’s my sweet little swan and has a very big collection of white tennis shoes…SHE ALSO STARTED DATING BELLE FROM KIOF AND I ABSOLUTELY LOCE THEM!! Ballerina and the princess is what they are.

🐈Eunchae — so this is my daughter Eunchae!! I’m not joking when I say I spoil and baby her. She’s literally my little and I just love her and her chubby lil cheekies. She goes through weird phases like how she used to always say “Gyatt” whenever I walked in the room….She always comes to me mainly whenever she’s overwhelmed or when things do become too much for her and I try my best to make sure she gets to live her life as a kid since she still is one. She has had a few cutie crushes on ppl but I don’t think she’ll date anyone right now. (And she’s scared to date rn…)

!★☆ 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬!

#☆…!Friends: NingNing, Seijun, Jennie, Jungkook, Soyeon, Hobi, Beomgyu, Felix, Jisung, Yeji, Garam, Jaylie, Natty, Jiheon, Maeyo, Keeho, Nabi, River, Reverie

#☆…!Gf: Ryujin of ITZY

#☆…!Exes: Jurin (2021-2021), Yunjin (2022-2024 I think ???)

[missglaskin]

Yan!Aemond Targaryen and yan!Aegon II (Seperate) with aunt!darling (Hightower) 

Note-To be exclusive, the reader is not stated to be adopted or not. 

Tags: Some explicit/smut, somnophilia, some delusional, perverted behavior, clinginess, forced marriage, dark elements 

Prologue: 

All your life you have been compared to your older sister. She married the king. Became the queen of the seven kingdoms. Birthed him many heirs. And what have you done in your life? A nose buried in a book and a head filled with stories. 

The court believed you to be naïve and innocent. Your father ignored you. What a disappointment you are. Your brothers couldn’t understand you. You spoke a language yet not known to them. Your sister had no time for you. As your father says, she’s busy fulfilling her supposed duties. 

All paid no mind to you. All except your sister’s sons.

Aemond

As much as Aemond loved his mother and went to her at times. He felt far more comfortable with you. Perhaps it was because you were much closer to his age. Or because you truly understood his feelings. And you taking his side during that incident with Rhaenyra’s sons made him adore you even further. 

Aemond realized his feelings were deeper than he assumed. His fondness for you was well known around the court. At the same court, many lords eager to ally themselves with the house Targaryen offered their daughters. Even ambitious ladies have made their efforts. The one-eyed prince was still not persuaded. For his eye caught the sight of another, his sweet aunt. 

You suspected nothing from Aemond. He was a perfect gentleman through and through. But then again, you are blind to it. The intense eye that watches your every move. That roams any exposed skin it can find. Whether it’s through the sheer fabric of your nightgown when your nephew welcomes himself into your chambers to bid you ‘good night’. 

Often you’re judged for spending most of your time in the library, eyes hardly straying away from the pages. But Aemond never did. Even being the reason, he has a passion for it. He’s found near you, also picking a book of his own. Sometimes, you can't help but rant endlessly on what you’ve read. Where you are met with sighs and a roll of eyes, it’s never like that with him. Aemond’s eye hardly blinks as he listens to your every word. In truth, he finds your voice to be smoothing, almost like a lullaby. 

Aemond’s desire is one of a burning flame. There’s no smothering or dowsing the flames. It just rises and rises. He wants to send the fire burning in you. From your heart to your core. His patience wears thin every day. His touches and attempts become more desperate. Daring to have you lean on him, to caress your cheeks, to trail your body. He finally reaches his end when overhearing his grandfather speak of his plans. 

His jaw and fist clench at the revelation of the plans. To wed you off to some lord. You were his. Body and soul, you are his. There was the temptation to fly off on Vhagar and offer the head of the lord at his grandfather’s feet. But he had other plans. Sneaking into your chambers, offering you a stroll in the city. Trusting him as you always do, you agree, hands in his. 

The building you enter seems familiar with its structure and symbols. There is confusion when seeing the Sept. Realizing what this is. And for the first time, you have seen it unleashed. All his desire, lust, furiousness. The ugly side of him that he for so long kept hidden. All of it just came to the surface and for the first time, you feared Aemond. Discovering that even all those years, you have never truly known him. 

Not seconds after the vows are exchanged, Aemond who insists you call him ‘husband’. Consummates the marriage still in the holy place. Finding yourself ashamed at the moans that echo the building as his tongue dives into your pussy. Feelings of pleasure overtaking you. Soon he joins you, groans and grunts heard as his cock slides into you. Not long after, his hot cum floods your inner walls. With shaky legs and his seed dripping down your thighs. Aemond brings you to his chambers, where the servants find you the morning after, running to inform the queen.

Aegon II

In his teenage years, your nephew was quite attached to you. Always running to you at the slightest trouble. His mother was ‘mean’ to him. His father ignored him. His grandfather scolded him again. Every time you took him in your arms. Knowing the feeling of being the ‘disappointment’ all too well. You knew how to comfort him-the right words to say. But as Aegon got older, his clinginess never withered, instead, it grew with each intensity. 

You haven’t noticed it. The way he looks at you. His lingering and ‘accidental’ touches. It’s as if Aegon wants to see how much he can get away. He pecks your cheeks. A sweet gesture. But is it when his lips brush against yours. Claiming you moved your head, and that’s why it occurred. Then it happened again and again. But Aegon assures you it’s just a friendly kiss. What nephew would have such intentions with his sweet aunt. 

Aegon rarely knocks when coming into your room. Many times he walked on you undressing. Aegon pretends to turn his back to you, but you caught him staring more than once. There’s also no privacy when it comes to taking a bath. He doesn’t excuse himself, sitting right next to you so he can ‘speak’ with you. All while your hands are on your body to shield yourself from his prying eyes.

You are sweet. A sweet wine. Sweeter than the Dornish and arbor gold. He dreams of tasting you. To drink you in like a starved man. And most of all, he dreams of fucking you. It consumes his every thought. But in all his mad, driven lust, Aegon loves you. A smile like yours pumps his blood so quickly that he feels his heart pounding violently against his chest.

Most men when visiting brothels demand the same thing; a young, beautiful girl to satisfy their needs. But Aegon demands an older woman and a certain appearance. But they sound nothing like you and he more so, hates it when they mention their name. After he’s done fucking them, Aegon wants to be held, to have fingers running through his hair and to hear whispers of sweet praises. Only for his fantasy to be ‘ruined’ once more. 

Every visit leaves him more and more unfulfilled. And it leaves him desiring you more and more. He felt the universe was truly against him. His half-sister has gotten her wishes and married her uncle, and what was he left with. A sister who only spoke in riddles. He wanted you. No, he needed you. So one can imagine the fury that came when you informed him of your proposal to lord Lannister. Any restraint. Any inch of morality within him. Gone. 

At night where a full moon appears in the sky. You are awaken. Thighs twitching. Feeling pinned to the bed, a weight pressing down on you. Needy whines reaching your ears. Aegon's eyes greet you when they open, a dark lust swirling in them. Faint moans involuntarily slip from your lips. You try to voice how wrong this is, the horror of it. But your body melts under him. The deeper he goes, the more your walls flex around him. 

You were wrecked with guilt. Not because you give yourself to him. But because you enjoyed it. You wanted more of it. That night, you found yourself unable to sleep all while Aegon slept soundly, clutching you tightly. Silently, you prayed your sister wouldn’t discover this shameful incident. But Aegon, your once sweet nephew, proved to be cruel. When he presented her and your father with the ruined sheets.

[liesmyth]

I'm not the OG adventure time anon but I will always say things about adventure time. first off 90% of adventure time is about Finn and Jake, and it is pretty good, pretty cute, very fun animation. about 3% of the remaining 10% is the bisexual situationship to bitter exes to lovers that haunts my dreams. We have Princess Bubblegum, who is made of sentient gum. She is the benevolent dictator of a kingdom of candy people she bioengineered to be sweet and biddable because her first attempt at making herself companions betrayed her and tried to lobotomize her for fun and profit. She's a control freak who takes her dictator duties very seriously and over the course of the series comes to realize that she really has to step back and respect other people's autonomy and choices and maybe even welcome a little chaos into her life. In the other corner we have Marceline the Vampire Queen! She's a thousand years old and she just lost track of her moral code. Marceline starts life as the daughter of a mortal woman and the literal devil, who loves her but is neglectful. After her mother dies in a post apocalyptic scenario she is adopted by a wizard who is slowly being driven to amnesiac madness by the very powers that allow him to survive and protect her. Her amnesiac adopted dad is also fixated on her ex girlfriend, who he keeps trying to kidnap and marry. anyway after the wizard forgets her she becomes a vampire hunter and then a vampire and is frozen emotionally as a traumatized and angry teenager. she plays the bass. she says things that make PB go "marceline that's too distasteful" while obviously being into it. PB's most prized possession is a band tshirt marceline tossed her at one of her shows but she sacrifices it to get marceline's childhood teddy bear back from a witch. PB does mad science on Marceline to turn her human again so Marceline can get emotional closure. it's very gay. since PB is pink and Marceline eats the colour red Marceline can eat her but the one time that happened the animators decided to troll and make it aggressively unhorny. they were extremely obviously exes early on but that provoked such backlash they weren't allowed to be in the same episode for literally years but then they got a full getting together arc featuring a finale kiss so who's delusional now, haters????

oh. wow.

[paanzermensch]

I'm so mad. I'm gonna create a completelyt insane headcanon so I won't be mad. Anyways. Been kind of teetering on the idea of Griff seeing his employee's like his kids. To the point Ive made it my own HC that Colette is his adopted daughter. I am delusional, I know. I take that with pride.

[crash-and-cure]

Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.

A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story. 

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit.  Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 

Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)

My Masterlist

Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not

Men are kind, Until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart

                 Flowers, Hadestown

Demi has never feared a single man in her life. 

Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them. 

That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow. 

And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard. 

Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.

Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.

She was perfect.

Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.

Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.

As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before. 

But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs. 

Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home. 

Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy. 

When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became. 

All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”

Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.

It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes. 

Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself. 

But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct. 

‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.” 

It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable. 

Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper. 

It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.

She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home. 

He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch. 

He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding. 

“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face. 

“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently. 

Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says. 

“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”

He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands. 

“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking. 

“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”

“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.

“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.

That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat. 

“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify. 

“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”

Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again. 

The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.

“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her. 

“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”

Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster. 

She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.

Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.

Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of. 

Demi fears no man.

But she does fear Elvis Presley.

—------------------------------------

Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away. 

To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant. 

You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.

It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed. 

But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own. 

So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.

She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life. 

You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.

And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow. 

He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.

He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”

“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands. 

If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.

“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand. 

You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved. 

But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”

He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.” 

It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.

“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.” 

“Really?”

“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”

“...Flowers talk to each other?” 

“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them. 

You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.

He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you. 

You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both. 

“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”

“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.

“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,” you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.

“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.

“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy. 

“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”

“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name. 

Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.” 

Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”

Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip. 

Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.

But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.

“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.  

“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do. 

She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving. 

“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.” 

“Ok Mama.”

When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar. 

After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.

You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you. 

“An onion?” he asks skeptically.

“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement. 

That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.

You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar. 

“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red. 

“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind. 

“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.

“Oh…This.” 

“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”

“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”  

“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.

You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”

“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”

“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer. 

“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”

“Ok.”

“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.

That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.

Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again. 

So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.

Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose. 

Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her. 

Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert. 

Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.

“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner. 

“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.” 

You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.

“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”

“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”

She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality 

You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her. 

Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”

If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town. 

Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.

In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is. 

He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love. 

On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.

He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.

“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke. 

He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back. 

“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief. 

He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.” 

“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words. 

“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.

You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made. 

When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud. 

Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby? 

You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do. 

You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home. 

Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)

The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that. 

You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly. 

There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself. 

For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.

And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived. 

You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop. 

Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color. 

You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him. 

It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in. 

He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious. 

But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?

It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.

And then one day

I had my love as perfect as could be

She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried

And it was all for me

There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields. 

It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another. 

His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you.  It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.

You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.

Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.

Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did. 

Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.

She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.” 

You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“But Mama-”

“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands. 

“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.

Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.

Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.

You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now. 

“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”

Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her.  She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name. 

You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.

These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly. 

Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.

Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.

It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running. 

Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.

Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.

About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.

They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.

Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you. 

You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.

But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all. 

It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away. 

The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble. 

You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place. 

The house is in desperate need of that these days. 

But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.

Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last. 

Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you. 

“Elvis?”

A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”

You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could. 

“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.

“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.  

You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.

With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach. 

“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.

He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.” 

You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”

“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”

You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.

He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.

The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes. 

“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.

“Who?”

That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did. 

“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.

“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”

“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought

“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”

“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?” 

“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary. 

“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you. 

“Oh.”

“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.

“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. 

“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare. 

“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?” 

You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much. 

“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”

“Graceland?”

“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.

There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”

“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”

“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?

Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days. 

“This-this is just for six months of work?” 

“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.” 

You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part. 

“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.

“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.

“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you. 

“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.

This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly? 

You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.

Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done. 

But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.

You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”

“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him. 

It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket. 

But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile. 

“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.

“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”

And just like that you’re off. 

You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.

Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much. 

“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.

Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway. 

But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.

That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie. 

As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake. 

Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome. 

You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment. 

“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning. 

“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.

“Oh do I know your Mama?”

“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”

Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”

“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there. 

There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there. 

That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.” 

Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama. 

It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.

You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.

But it never comes. 

That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply. 

Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted  and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.

“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.” 

This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses. 

“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with. 

Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need. 

“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’

It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.

You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system. 

He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.

You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.

“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had. 

“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.

“Really all of ‘em?” 

“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.  

He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”

“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip. 

“A flower farm?” 

“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.” 

“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters. 

“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.

It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now. 

You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.

It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.

The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.

A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.

“You’re early,” you casually remark to him. 

“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”

“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.

A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him. 

 “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.

“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.” 

His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.

“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.

A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.

“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter. 

The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much. 

It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.

Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.” 

You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.

That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss. 

But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?

But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse. 

Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.

Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words. 

It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.

You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast. 

Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating. 

But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.

Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it. 

Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand. 

“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no. 

“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from. 

“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch. 

“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.

In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes. 

“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh. 

As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.

That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst. 

“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.

Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly. 

“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”

“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.

“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions. 

“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob. 

You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream. 

You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself. 

You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet. 

“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.

A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good. 

“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.  

You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts. 

You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man. 

He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you. 

He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.

An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss. 

“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you. 

You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.    

His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.

As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep. 

The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.

Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis. 

Scratch that.

You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.

It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it. 

“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip. 

“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”

His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore. 

After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed. 

“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him. 

“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”

“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”

“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.

“What?”

“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”

“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”

“That doesn’t answer my question E.”

His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it. 

“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?

“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”

“What is it?”

“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.

“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.

You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving 

But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt. 

Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left? 

Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done.  All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?

You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder  to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the  home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep. 

But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go. 

“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”

You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.

Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.

You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you 

“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before. 

“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be. 

When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours. 

You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.

“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”

“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.

You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most. 

“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here. 

Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart. 

The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back. 

She doesn’t reply.

Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.

He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you. 

That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.

The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once. 

She doesn’t respond. 

You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.

The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind. 

These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.

You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…

Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.

Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings. 

You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers. 

You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him. 

As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.

With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front. 

And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope. 

And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters. 

You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be. 

She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these. 

You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him. 

Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home. 

You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.

It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders. 

You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door. 

You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.

It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot. 

You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly. 

“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.

You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.

But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”

Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse. 

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back. 

You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time. 

After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.  

“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.  

It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.

He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.

This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!” 

“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation. 

He may still very well be, you think. 

Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder. 

“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.

Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?” 

“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…” 

You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice. 

“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.

“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue. 

No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.

That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.  

You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?”

You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”

“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand. 

“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face. 

You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him. 

She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life. 

Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already. 

“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars. 

He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her. 

If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity. 

“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do. 

“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.

You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest. 

“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.” 

“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that. 

“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.

“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated. 

“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”

There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you. 

He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t. 

Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you. 

You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so. 

With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home. 

You close your eyes and you don’t look back.

Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.

Taglist

@venus-haze​ @djsjs13949​ @ilovehobi101​ @butlerslut​ @richardslady121​ @giabelia​ @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051​ @myradiaz​  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale​ @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis​ @dkayfixates​  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen​   @marriedtoeddie​ @cuteejeno​ @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​ @thatbanditqueen​ @softsatnin​ @literally-just-elvis-fics​​ 

[classificationhell]

So it's most likely not going to happen in the fic I am writing for him, but imagine Mourningstar's delusions go so hard that he genuinely believes that you are his babygirl, and not in the adopted way. Like in order to help him heal more his brain decided to fabricate that everyone died that night except you. You were taken from him, but not by death. The angels must've taken you and then sent you back down once he proved he wouldn't lift a finger to help those filthy sinners ever again.

Even if you look completely different, even if you insist you don't remember this man he's so sure in his delusions. Of course you don't remember him you were just born when it happened that's why you look at him like he's a stranger, oh babygirl he's so sorry he missed so many important milestones for you. He wonders why the angels didn't tell you about your Daddy, but it's alright he'll tell you all about your family and about memories he has of you as a baby.

It all makes so much sense now! Angels wouldn't be so cruel as to murder his entire family. The reason he didn't make a grave for you was because he couldn't find your body, and a small part of him held hope that you were alive somewhere. The reason why Charlie's nursery only had the one crib was because him and Lillith had decided to co-sleep with you in their bed, yes, yes, it's all so clear! He must've been so deep in his grief he had momentarily forgotten, oh babygirl he's so sorry but he remembers everything now!

He will tell you all about the day you were born and how excited Charlie had been for a sibling. He'll tell you about how she used to play dress up with you and read you her favorite stories and how you'd giggle. He'd tell you about how he used to make you watch in wide eyed wonder whenever he'd use his magic around you.

What you aren't his second daughter and you came from another family? Oh honey, the angels must've kept you in a state of sleep and you dreamed the whole thing, shhh, don't get upset now, Daddy's here, and he'll help you remember the real truth about your past. Poor thing you must be so confused, don't cry Daddy's here now.

For those of you who have no idea who this unhinged man is allow me to introduce him to you. Essentially he is Lucifer if Lillith actually attempted to form a legitimate army to take down heaven due to the extermination and as a result was punished by the angel of death taking away his wife and child. He becomes more and more secluded and insane in his grief until he finds an Omega Little regressed, being chased by an exorcist (in my fic), crying out for their Daddy and he saves them and becomes immediately attached and regardless of pronouns or actual gender he calls them his babygirl or princess. He is unhinged and delusional but truly does love them.

[hiraethhaven]

i adore the fact that i'm not the only one who sees strong "mother-daughter undertones" in lestat's and claudia's relationships.

the idea got me thinking and spiraled into au variations of some sort. i'm usually not into mpreg headcanons... but what if claudia somehow was their biological daughter, like a born vampire child? fuck real-life anatomy, let them conceive a baby together out of some kind of ancient vampiric miracle law.

or, if it's regular people au, could louis or lestat be transmasc and carry a baby? for some reason, i see lestat being the bearer of the child.

alternatively, claudia could still be an adopted "slightly troubled" child (as lestat sometimes thinks lol), and they could also have a biological daughter later (idk why but i envision the kid being a girl). loustat have that "girl daddies" energy to them :))

i still imagine them having problems similar to the show ones. but in my head, it progressively gets better as they make an effort to work through their mental problems and be a functional family for their kid(s). it comes slowly to them, but over time, there's more sincere talking, sharing troubles, going to therapy.

long story short, let a gremlin (me) be delusional for a sec ;)

[chronicbeans]

Hazbin Hotel Rewrite - Niffty

Our favorite girlie! I faintly remember her being a "yandere" in some early versions of her character, but I'm not sure. Either way, I decided to roll with that idea for my rewrite, as well as make her a guest. Since this also talks about her backstory during life, I call her Delilah. I love the idea of two of the hotel guests knowing each other in life.

TW: Obsessive Behaviors, Compulsive Behaviors, Murder, Poisoning (Accidental and Purposeful), Unrequited Love, Internalized Acephobia, Anxiety, Conforming to Period Accurate Gender Roles/Internalized Misogyny, Delusional Thoughts

In life, Niffty was a woman named Delilah, who died in the year 1960. She met Baxter while going to university to become a nurse, and he had gone into a medical course to help with his studies. Yes, THE Baxter. The mad scientist. They both bonded over being outcasts, Delilah for her anxiety and Baxter for reasons I'll get into during a different post.

Delilah was madly in love with Baxter, but always felt there was a problem with her. Sure, she was madly in love, but she never felt a desire to be intimate with him. In fact, she's repulsed by the thought! She was always taught that love and sex went hand in hand, so although she felt the love, she feared he'd look down on her if she couldn't compensate for the lack of physical desire.

So, how does a girl in the 1950s compensate for that? Showing how good she is at household chores, of course! While she knew Baxter was never one to care for the idea of "man works and woman stays at home", it was the only way she could think of to compensate for her perceived flaw. She began cleaning often, inviting him over for home cooked dinners, trying to get him to see how good she is at this "housewife" role in the hopes he'd confess his love to her. She'd even given up her dream of becoming a nurse, as although she passed her course with flying colors and got her license, she never actually pursued a job in the field. No, instead, she became a waitress, since that'd give her more time at home to practice her sewing, cooking, cleaning, and other chores she'd need to do to become perfect.

However, unfortunately, Baxter got married to someone else. He even adopted a child with her! Delilah could see it in his eyes, though... he didn't love her! Of course he couldn't! He always confessed his darkest secrets to her, not his wife! While there were never any secrets about him not loving his wife, it was still important stuff... like his planned cruise trip and his plans to experiment on his passengers. He promised to talk to her through the radio, not his wife. If he truly loved his wife, he'd tell her that, right? It wasn't because he thought Delilah was just as crazy as himself, and nothing more, right?!

And off Baxter went, going on his trip. As much as she missed him, she took it as an opportunity. He took his daughter with him, but Baxter's wife was still at their house. So, she decided to ask his wife if she could visit, since they were "good friends" due to their shared connection to Baxter. She said yes due to feeling lonely at home. When they had dinner, Delilah poisoned her drink with bleach and hid her body in a closet.

Then, she simply decided to move herself into Baxter's home! After all, somebody needs to take care of his home while he's away, and his wife certainly isn't going to be able to. He'd come back soon. Right? She kept waiting for a message on her radio, hoping it would spark to life with his voice, talking about the beautiful ocean view, how his experiments were doing, or... of course, professing his true devotion to her, and that he's always secretly hated his wife. However, the radio never jingled with his voice. Just silence.

Night after night, she began losing sleep. Soon enough, it was the year 1960... Baxter had left at least a year ago, but hadn't returned. She tried staying up all night, but alas, nothing. She was beginning to fear the worst, but tried to stay calm. She kept cleaning, trying to cover the smell of the corpse in the closet with various air fresheners, candles, fabric cleaners... bleach. And the bugs had started coming in, so she bought a large array of pesticides to kill them.

She died by accidentally poisoning herself. She'd set out a few drinks on the counter, alongside a jug of a roach killer she planned to use for the newly found roach infestation. However, due to having stayed up for three days in a row, she accidentally ended up pouring herself a cup of her roach killer instead of her drink.

In Hell, she quickly latched onto Alastor. Why? He's the Radio Demon, and she still holds out hope that she'll hear Baxter over the radio. And while that may not have happened, Alastor unintentionally reunited then by taking her to the Hazbin Hotel with himself to be Charlie's "first real client" because of Angel's lack of motivation to redeem themself. Which, eventually, Baxter ended up checking in later on.

She had two eyes before meeting Alastor, and had her sacrifice one of her eyes to seal the contract. She's self-conscious of it, wearing a pink glass eye on place of it, with her real eye being blue. She has two antennae on her head, and wasp wings on her back. Her skin is a pastel pink, with her hair being a pastel orange. Then, her dress is a light, sunny yellow shirt dress.

Delilah named herself Niffty, claiming it's to show off her nifty skills as a housewife. In fact, she's so nifty at it, she was the only one to recognize Baxter when he entered the hotel, recognizing his voice when he introduced himself. What sort of housewife would she be if she didn't recognize her "soon-to-be husband"? Likewise, Baxter recognized her from her excitable demeanor and speech patterns. This only fed into her delusions that they were meant to be from the start.

Before Baxter shows up, she mostly does the same that she did in life, except with the added on annoyance of Charlie trying to get her to unpack her life story and insecurities so they can begin the process of redemption. It doesn't work well, as the most she'd get out of her is stories of her and her future husband. She never gives Baxter's name, though. She just calls him "future husband" as if that were his name. Why would she give away her future husband's name to some woman? Sure, Charlie may have a girlfriend, but Niffty has seen the portrait of Charlie and that Von Eldritch guy, so she knows Charlie is into men. Niffty already perceives herself as at a disadvantage due to her asexuality, so she doesn't want to give Charlie, or any woman, a possible advantage.

She oftentimes gets weary around pesticides, especially insecticides, due to her death. She now takes the form of a wasp like demon (specifically the parasitic H. Hebetor, as they are highly immune to radiation, representing her obsession with Baxter). That's why she's taken to using fly swatters, knives, and other less effective means of getting rid of bugs.

Once Baxter does show up, though, Niffty silently praises herself for going to school to become a nurse. Now she gets to be the only one technically qualified to take care of Baxter. Not that Baxter really needs it, as he knows how to care for himself enough to be independent. However, she insists on being present in case he ever does need her... And because it's another way to compensate of her repulsion to sex.

What if he falls out of his wheelchair and can't get up because he feels extra weak that day? What if he gets sick and throws up? Well, Niffty would already be there to help him! She knows how to help him into and out of the wheelchair, how to properly clean up and dispose of any biological waste... Even better, his equipment is all from the 1950s, so she's familiar with the exact type of wheelchair and bed he has! No need to learn how to work with the new, modern medical equipment, and an excuse to be around him 24/7!

Despite her obsession, she's a lot calmer than the canon Niffty. She doesn't obsess over "bad boys", she obsessed over her one bad boy. The love of her life. Her future husband who just doesn't know it, yet. Her pookie, Baxter. She's convinced they're meant to be, so she has no reason to get all hyper and excited. A proper wife would be all dainty and proper, not hyper and hysterical. That's what she was taught, after all.

[mamamittens]

Platonic Yandere Crocodile and teen daughter reader who ran away and joined a pirate crew (The Whitebeard Pirates)

Oof, something money can't buy, huh?

Well, he's definitely going to be pissed off, wondering what it is that Whitebeard's got that he doesn't. Is it a surplus of brothers? Because Crocodile can recruit more men to act like brothers if that's all it is. (Yes, he's likely spoiled his daughter to some extent even if he's well aware of how damaging it is to never tell your kid 'no')

He's likely going to fall onto the conclusion that this is a long con on Whitebeard's part to take his daughter. Why else would she ever leave if not part of a horrific, manipulative scheme for the worse serial adopter to add yet another child to his ranks? He's got a lot of practice after all with a crew that large!

As a result of this 'scheme', Crocodile is likely going to do his level best to blackmail Whitebeard into giving back his kid or stealthily taking her back when they least expect it. And boy, when he gets his daughter back, she's going to be worse than grounded. Rapunzel is going to look like a free spirit by the time he's done.

She's certainly never leaving his side, sight, or field of influence after this escapade.

If she's lucky, he'll take it easy on her as part of his (delusional) conspiracy that Whitebeard targeted her personally to spirit her away as opposed to just taking her on when their paths crossed (assuming that isn't, in fact, what actually happened). She's in for a lot of lectures about weirdoes looking to steal her away from him at the very least, and for that?

She's got my sympathy. Crocodile strikes me as a bit of a secret misogynist when it comes to women/girls he's close to. Real patronizing, that sort of thing.

[gamerbearmira]

More resident evil 8 Au things!

So first thing Miranda is absolutely Insane/delusional in game at least to me she was (she quite literally fits the definition of insanity by doing the same things over and over again expecting different results) and I wanted to explore that a bit more in this AU than what we got in the original game, we did get more insane/delusional Miranda in the DLC but it wasn't enough for me because I find her insanity/delusional thought process to be fascinating. Does she need to chill? absolutely! Will she? Never. She's the absolute worst and she will continue to be the absolute worst until Ethan kills her. And your right Miranda is stuck on f tier on everyone's tier list! (Even the Lord's except Monroe because he's a suck up)

Part of Miranda's reasoning for removing Mirabel from Alcina was because to Miranda she was ready to start her lording duties (which she was not she was a young child and that's a lot of responsibility for a young child) but it was mostly because Miranda was getting jealous and kind of paranoid over the relationship that Mirabel and Alcina and her daughters were starting to form at the time and separated them.

Because while you are correct that Alcina and her daughters wouldn't be the best at raising an emotionally vulnerable child like Mirabel was, they to me wouldn't be the worst and would try their best to give her the best childhood they could while she was with them. Were they perfect? of course not, but they tried really hard to be better for her. They all tried to be as nonviolent as they physically could because they could tell that violence bothered her, they spent as much time as they could with her playing/reading/ teaching her things etc, they would give her anything she asked for without asking her to do anything in return and if they did ask her to do something it would be something small like 'finish your school work' or 'clean part of your room/playroom', and most importantly if they did something to hurt her even if it was on accident they would take the time to apologize and try to make up for it. All in all while she was there they absolutely spoiled and doted on her and for the most part Mirabel was actually fairly happy with them, Alcina and her daughters really stepped up to make a safe space for her and treated her as one of their own. Of course she was upset and sad about being away from her family and so far away from home obviously she would have been a lot happier at home with her family but she couldn't be with them because of Miranda. And Maribel does love Alcina and her daughters she isn't just grateful to them for what they did for her. She genuinely loves and cares about them as her adoptive family and will sometimes call Alcina mother and the daughters sisters (never in front of Julieta or her actual sisters though she feels too guilty). She just wishes that they could be better people but they can't because the specific mutation that they have makes it to where they need to eat human flesh and to me their mutation also affects how they act and increases their aggression to the point where it's impossible for them to be in control of their anger and that causes them to lash out a lot and because of that Mirabel tries to keep a distance between them because it hurts her that they can't be better people because of their mutation.

And you were right the creepy casita was not alive when Mirabel first got there it was originally just a regular house that was modeled after her family home with a couple of changes. Like how Casita has their courtyard but it is made completely of tiles The creepy Casita has a garden type courtyard in it with patheways around it and obviously the creepy casita has a very large basement for Mirabel's experiments. And whereas casita is mainly a yellow color with orange tiled roof the green tower and the pink and kind of maroon highlights that it has on the one wall in front and then the one wall in back The creepy casita is a mainly gray color with a black tile roof and a dark purplish Tower and two different types of darker blue colors on the walls The darker of the two shades on the back wall. The way that The creepy casita basically comes to life is that one day a little bit after being sent there (let's say 3 months) Mirabel kind of has an emotional breakdown because of how lonely she had felt and all of the pressure that she had been under and kind of explodes this black mold out of her body during the breakdown and it seeped into the floorboards and walls which Mirabel didn't realize until suddenly the house started to comfort her like Casita used too and the house has been alive ever since.

Miranda forcing Mirabel to experiment on her family just months after getting them back was something that she was always going to do. Her intention when she went to get them was that they were going to be experimented on and it was going to be done by Mirabel because she wanted to experiment on the miracle/magic but at the same time she wanted to test Mirabel and see where her "true loyalties lied" it was just a very happy bonus to Miranda that Mirabel had stopped doing some of her experiments so that she would have an excuse to have her experiment on them and that she could pin the blame for having Maribel experiment on them on Mirabel herself saying things like "if you had just continued to do your job none of this would have happened".

As for ideas for how the family looks. For the most part everyone looks the same the miracle protected their bodies from too many physical mutations so all of them only really have one mutation. Antonio has his eye and I do like the idea of the mold spreading a little bit but not too far across his face I feel like it would spread up to the side of his nose and a little bit into his hairline (kind of like zuko scar from Avatar but a little bit more scar going towards the nose).

Alma has a fairly decent size scar on her throat That kind of looks infected by the black mold like there's a little bit of black veins coming from it and sometimes the scar will start leaking black mold but other than that she looks normal

Julieta has no physical mutations besides the times that her hands start to open up and leak black mold she has scars on the top of her hands though just underneath her knuckles.

Peppa Felix and Augustine don't have any obvious physical changes Peppa's back has scars that look like lightning strikes but are completely black. both Felix and Augustine have autopsy scars across their chest that also look like they're infected with the black mold having little black veins near them and also will leak black mold.

Isabela and Luisa's mutation affects their arms Luisa has scars underneath her biceps and both of her arms have black veins instead of regular veins whereas Isabela has vines that are completely covered in black mold wrapped around her arms.

Bruno's mutation comes and goes basically his eyes start filling with the black mold to the point that it is leaking out of his eyes it makes his eyesight go completely black and he can't see anything for a random amount of time.

Dolores's mutation is barely noticeable because it covers her ears and her ears basically look like they are completely infected with black mold on the inside in a little bit on the outside.

As for bugs for each family members redesign I picked bugs a little bit based off of their personality so

Dolores: house fly

Pepa:Yellow jacket

Felix: rhinoceros beetle

Alma's I kept the same from the movie: monarch butterfly

Camilo: Firefly / lightning bug

Julieta: Honey Bee

Augustine: Red Ant

Isabela: Jumping spider

Luisa: Ironclad beetle

Bruno: sweat-fly

As always any and all artwork is appreciated!

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK. SO LONG 🥴😭

As an apology, I will be writing a snippet and doing more art. I'm so sorry for taking so long I got busy 💀💀

ANYWAYYYY. Miranda being insane, like an actual psychopath??? Like is it really surprising. In the backstory, and the main game AND DLC she is literally making some of the most insane decisions. And she doesn’t have anyone’s best interest in mind,except in this instance maybe Mirabel. And even then,it’s only because Miranda wants to use Mirabel to get back Eva. She will never chill 😭

Her getting jealous of Alcina is wild lmao 🧌 she’s one to talk,I mean. Be so fr Miranda,,,,At least Lady D and her daughters did their best to care for Mirabel, to some extent. And they taught her stuff. The most that Miranda ever did was give her some clothes and some infected toys. Other than that??? Trauma and some terrible scars and the ability to fly 🤕

Also shoutout for dupe Casita coming to live and coming in clutch I mean. Mirabel was probably so scared and stressed out, like that must’ve been a God send for Mirabel cause me??? I would’ve tapped out SO fast 🙏

As for the experiments. The fact that she was always planning it?? Like sort of implies sge had to have been watching and been aware of the Madrigals for a while, planned to take Mirabel, probably break her down and then make her experiment on her family. How low does she have to go 🌚 Also thinming, Miranda also took some residents of the Encanto right??? Bro 😭 you think Mirabel sees some of the people she used to help??? Crazy

Guess the residents weren't very evil 😔 BUT THE BUG IDEAS SO COOL...will eventually make designs for anyone, but for now, these residents who aren't evil

Also very random question, but do you think Pedro has any relevance?? I mean. Do you think Mirabel might've seen that consciousness can be stored and thought about Pedro? Not bringing him back tho, though she's not as crazy as Miranda lmao 💀💀

Idk just thinking. ANYWAY. WILL BE DOING A SNIPPET WITH ART...probably with Alma, Antonio, and Mirabel somehow. Idk, it's after Antonio's experiment so he's still recovering. But idk if it should be before or after Alma's experiment because I kinda want Mirabel to just apologize, but then I kinda want Alma to be self-aware and realize that she's going to be next, or up next at any given point.

[separatist-apologist]

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1

-

In recent memory, Lucien couldn’t remember ever feeling fouler than he did that day, standing in the throne room between his parents to greet a personalized list of women his mother hoped might one day be her future daughter-in-law. Lucien had tried in the beginning, offering a smile as he kissed gloveless hands. He’d filed away names for later, trying to paste them against genuinely lovely faces.

He’d expected to meet five women—maybe ten. But this had been going on for hours and he’d lost count of how many women he’d been shown. Fifty? With more that had arrived that his mother deemed otherwise unacceptable and therefore weren’t worth his time or attention. They’d be looking for him, too. Lucien felt like a piece of meat dangled before a wild animal gnashing its teeth hungrily. 

“Mother,” he said when the doors closed, catching his parents before they could beckon for another. “Surely this is too much. Please.”

“It’s good for you to meet your future court,” his father said, drumming long fingers against an ivory carved throne. Gold crowned both his fathers dark head of hair as well as the back of the chair, making it seem as if the King of the West radiated pure sunlight. His mother was a vision just beside, draped in a cream dress and a threaded crown of gold woven through her vivid auburn hair. 

“Isn’t that what all the activities are for? I feel…” he couldn’t say it, couldn’t force those spoiled words from his lips. “I need some air.”

He could see their frustration etched over their features. Was this truly the life laid before him? Would he one day be sitting in his fathers chair beside a woman his mother arranged for him, their son between them? The thought made Lucien want to gag. He hadn’t asked to be a prince, after all and right then, resentment burned hotly through him.

“Take a breath, son—”

“I won’t,” Lucien interrupted, fingers curling to fists. It wasn’t the first time he and his father had disagreed, though it was the first time that his mother would witness it. “This is too much.”

“This is duty, Lucien. Or did you imagine it was all dress up and sword fighting with your friends? We are on the precipice of war and every man has converged on our home to demonstrate their loyalty to our family. You repay them poorly by scowling and acting like a tantruming child,” his father cautioned, gold eyes narrowed in warning. 

“They’re delusional if they think I’ll marry one of their daughters and elevate them far above their stations!” Lucien snapped, stepping from the dais to the swirling gold and gray patterned floor. “There are simply too many women and not enough time—”

“You will choose one of them,” his father said again, harsher this time. 

“Let’s not fight,” his mother interjected quickly, also rising to her feet. Biting her bottom lip, those russet eyes were swimming with apprehension. “Surely there is a compromise to be found.”

“Amera,” Helion chided, his tone softer than before. 

“If you want to pick a wife, I won’t stop you. Any available woman in this city can be yours…so long as you choose one before the end of the summer.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will choose for you, based on your mothers recommendations,” his father snapped impatiently, crossing one powerful leg over the other. “There will be no more scheming or whoring, Lucien.”

“I know you were hurt when Lady Jes—”

“Don’t,” Lucien whispered, unable to hear his mother speak her name. “Please, mother. My heart can’t bear it.”

“There will be another, my sweet boy,” his mother murmured, reaching up to cup his face in her soft hands. Lucien pulled himself from her grasp, heart thudding in his chest. He hadn’t dared to ask if she was coming, too. He didn’t want to see proof that she could be happy with someone else. That she’d made the right choice in leaving and she’d been right—they didn’t belong together. “Any woman?”

His father pinched the bridge of his nose, recognizing Lucien’s intent but his mother was sincere. “So long as she is of southern birth, yes. Any woman.”

“Fine. I will bring you a daughter to dote on by the end of the summer if you free me from the obligation of choosing one specifically from your list.”

“You better take this seriously, Lucien,” his father warned, leaning forward to look at his only son. “Or it will be me who chooses.”

Lucien had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His father would do whatever his mother told him to, and his mother would look out for Lucien’s happiness as best as she could. It wouldn’t be love, but it would be tolerable.

How delicious, he thought, to pick some commoner from the city. A woman who knew how to clean her own laundry, something Lucien had never been tasked to do. With the added bonus of keeping him out of the palace and the madhouse of his mothers machinations.

“I accept this arrangement. I won’t let you down,” he added to his mother, guilt pricking at his conscience. His father understood this was malicious compliance based on the hard set of his mouth but his mother’s eyes were shining with hope and Lucien so hated to disappoint her.

Perhaps his father was banking on his sons better nature because he waved him off. “Go get your air. I expect you at dinner tonight. Sober,” he added, guessing Lucien’s plans. 

Lucien exhaled a breath, slipping down a corridor and away from the madness that had befallen the palace. Jurian wasn’t hard to find, leaned against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out toward the gardens.

“Washed hair?” Lucien began teasing his friend with a bump to the shoulder, “That must mean Lady Vassa has arrived.”

“She has,” he admitted, dark eyes nodding toward a mass of bouncy copper hair half hidden amongst the foliage. She was with a friend, back turned so Lucien only saw the long, thick tumble of loose golden brown curls and a lavender dress clinging to a slight frame. “Playing her favorite game, of course.”

“The one where she pretends you don’t exist? Has it occurred to you that perhaps she doesn’t like you?” Lucien asked, poking Jurian in his bare arm. “Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“That would show her, wouldn’t it?” Jurian muttered. 

“Here,” Lucien said, stepping from the veranda onto the stone laid path that wound through his mothers rather impressive garden. “I’ll say hello for us both. You can stand beside me silently brooding. I’m certain that will win her affection.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Lucien only grinned, swaggering as he made his way toward the pair of giggling women. There was no possibility either of them didn’t know Jurian was approaching, though Vassa was the first to look at Lucien. Beautiful as always, with her full mouth, her pert nose, and those big, cerulean eyes brimming with mischief. He liked her, if only because she was so unafraid and unimpressed by him. Lucien imagined if he asked Vassa what she thought of him, she’d tell him frankly and without an ounce of flattery.

Lucien opened his mouth to tell her she was looking lovely. “You look…” The words died on his lips as her friend turned at last, looking up at him with the biggest set of brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. The tumble of her hair, the slope of her neck, the way her mouth was shaped…Lucien’s palms began to sweat.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. How had he never met her before? Who was she? 

“Stunning? Perfect? Like the woman of your dreams?” Vassa’s voice cut through the buzzing in Lucien’s ears. He couldn’t take his eyes off her friend long enough to even respond to Vassa. Instead, he found himself sweeping into a deep bow, all the while holding her gaze. 

Her cheeks flushed but when she tried to curtsey back, Lucien was quick to catch her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. She smelled like jasmine and honey. She looked like a daydream. Perhaps the heat had finally gotten to him and this was an angel coming to usher him into the afterlife. 

“This is my sister,” Vassa told Lucien, her amusement burning. Beside him, Jurian coughed pointedly, a mere blur to Lucien. “Elain.”

“Elain,” Lucien replied before Vassa’s words settled. “Since when do you have a sister?”

“Since always,” Vassa retorted, arms crossed over her verdant dress. “Sorry you’re so unobservant you never noticed.”

“I would remember you,” Lucien insisted, memorizing the shape of her face. “Where have you been hiding?”

Cheeks flaming, Elain’s eyes slid to her feet. “I ah…”

“She doesn’t come to court precisely for this reason, my lord,” Vassa interrupted, unaware Lucien was moments from throttling her. “Vultures, the lot of you. Men are so obsessed with finding wives they can’t allow a lady even a moment of peace in the garden.”

Jurian barked out a laugh, causing Elain to jump back just a little. “I prefer the quiet of the countryside,” she said, her voice somehow more beautiful than her face. Lucien wanted to bathe in it, wanted to close his eyes and listen to her speak. And it was becoming increasingly clear she did not want to be anywhere near him based on the way she looked as though she might bolt at any second. 

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, releasing her hand with great reluctance. “That both of you made it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you’re so delighted to see me,” Vassa chided playfully, thrusting out her own hand so Lucien could give her a similar kiss. He did, grinning like an idiot while watching her companion from the corner of his eye. Let her see he wasn’t a threat—that he was charming, and funny too when he wasn’t struck dumb. 

“If you knew the day I’d had, you’d know just how grateful and relieved I am to see you.”

“Do you need me to check your ego, prince? You’re not that handsome, you know.”

Lucien tipped his head back to laugh, genuinely delighted for the first time all day. He needed to hear that and perhaps wanted Elain to see that he could laugh at his own expense. He was a prince, sure, but also the kind of man she could tease a little.

But when he looked back, Elain was still watching with a carefully guarded expression. 

“And how have you been, Captain?” Vassa asked, finally turning to look at Jurian. 

“I count the minutes you’re away,” Jurian replied dryly. Lucien swore Vassa’s cheeks flushed and a touch of shyness slid over her features. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Jurian to catch too. Her father would never allow this match—Lucien knew for a fact Lord Koshington was looking for someone for his daughter. Perhaps them both. Lucien could ask for either woman if he wanted but Jurian would never be able to convince a lord of Koschington’s merit for the hand of his only daughter and heir. Whatever man Vassa married would be entrusted with the estate and Jurian, for all his accomplishments, was simply not the sort of man Koschington envisioned for her.

Lucien suspected Vassa would do her duty and marry as she was told to while carrying on an affair with Jurian as so many other ladies at court did. That was an open secret no one did much about so long as there were no disputes over it. Occasionally some errant husband would become enraged and kill another noble, giving them all something to gossip over while Lucien’s father dealt with the headache. 

If Vassa asked him, though, he could have interceded on her behalf. Perhaps he could make Jurian nobility if he went to his father shamefaced and apologetic and agreed to be a better son. Lucien’s gaze cut to Elain. She was a lady, wasn’t she? Southern born, which was the only true criteria his mother had laid down. Perhaps, he reasoned, he could use his marriage as a bargaining chip for both Vassa and Jurian.

He’d elevate one daughter to a princess and in exchange, Koschington would allow the other to marry his Captain, now Lord of some tract of land further north. Of course, that all hinged on Lady Elain even wanting him and as they stood now, things looked bleak for Lucien. Not to mention if he had such a visceral reaction to this woman, perhaps he would to others that were more agreeable.

Still. It was a thought he wasn’t willing to wholly discard. Not yet. 

“I’m sure you two are incredibly busy,” Vassa said, still looking at Jurian. “We should—”

“Will you be at dinner tonight?” Lucien blurted out, once again looking—and speaking—to Elain. Her eyes widened, glancing over at Vassa to answer for her. 

“Only if you promise us a good table.”

“Consider it done,” Lucien said, sweeping into another bow. It was an instinct that told him when true danger was approaching. Some call in his blood, a pull that turned his usual heat to ice. 

Eris was near.

He could feel the prickling on the back of his neck, the awareness that he was being watched much the way prey must feel when a predator was near. He didn’t want to be caught here by Eris—didn’t want this showdown to happen in front of a woman he might want to court.

“Until this evening, then.”

Vassa merely waved him off, looping her arm through Elain’s to guide them further into the foliage while he and Jurian watched, both enamored. Just until the rounded a corner and Lucien could shake off whatever spell Elain had unwittingly cast.

It was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head.

“Eris is near,” he said, his voice slipping into a growl. Jurian cast one last love-lorn look in Vassa’s direction before setting his jaw.

“Well. Let’s give him a southern welcome.”

Lucien grinned. “After you.”

The moment Elain and Vassa were out of earshot, Vassa immediately burst into laughter. 

“Stop it,” Elain chided, bewildered and a little embarrassed. The prince—the actual prince—had been gaping at her like he’d never seen a woman in his life. Elain hadn’t expected to meet him so close. He was handsome, just as Vassa had promised, though she’d undersold how attractive he was. Even with the trio of brutal scars raking down one of his russet colored eyes, gouged so deep into his cheeks they still seemed fresh, Lucien was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Beautiful in a dangerous sort of way.

Beautiful and he knew it, had been told so his entire life. Something about that annoyed her. She didn’t want to be another fawning woman, delighted he’d paid her a moment of interest.

Exhaling, Elain rounded on her friend. “You couldn’t say one nice thing to Jurian?”

“No,” Vassa replied quickly, some of her amusement fading. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“He’s handsome.”

“As handsome as the prince—”

“That’s enough,” Elain interrupted primly. “The prince is not hurting for beautiful company. I doubt he will be thinking of me come this time next week.”

“And if he is?”

“Then I shall disabuse him of the notion,” Elain replied, biting her bottom lip. “I have no interest in being an amusement and later discarded when he grows tired of whatever country charm he imagines I possess.”

“Oh, but how fun to watch him run himself ragged for your affection. You’re better off just letting him trail after you for a few days—the longer you resist, the more he will imagine you as his great love.”

“You’ve read too many novels,” Elain complained, reaching for a pretty pink rose. The petals were satin against her fingers, the scent of it sweeter than she remembered. Perhaps there was magic in Rhodes that didn’t exist in the country. 

Or perhaps she, too, had let romantic notions cloud her senses. 

“Maybe. If I…” biting her bottom lip, Vassa faced Elain fully. “If I told you something, would you swear yourself to secrecy no matter what you heard? No matter how much trouble it would cause for you?”

“Of course,” Elain swore, standing upright again. “Anything you need, consider it done.”

“Father is never going to let me leave the city unmarried. He hopes, distantly, the prince might finally show some interest in me beyond friendship but realistically he intends to shop me around to other lords who are suitable enough. I’m being allowed a small taste of freedom but by the time the summer wanes, he’ll have me married and he’ll be looking at you, too. 

“It will take time and he’ll need the kings blessing. As long as the Sun King is preoccupied with his son, he’ll move slowly on everyone else. If I had a mother, perhaps she might appeal to the queen… and I need to take advantage of it.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

Vassa shot Elain a confident smile that didn’t meet her eyes. She was scared. “It is my hope that Jurian will make an offer of marriage. And if he does…I intend to accept. To marry him in secret and ruin myself before father ever learns. There is nothing you can do to help me, nor could you stop me. I just��wanted you to know that I brought you here because I wanted us to have one last summer together. And perhaps I was hoping you might find someone and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty leaving you behind.”

Elain flung her arms around Vassa, burying her face in her friend's neck. “Don’t worry a jot about me. I’ll be fine. And your secret is safe with me—if anyone asks if I knew, I’ll lie so convincingly it’ll make the gods weep.”

Vassa hugged her back, exhaling a warm breath against the skin of Elain’s newly exposed neck. “I knew I could count on you. Let's speak no more about it—Jurian hasn’t asked and maybe he won’t. For now, let's discuss what we’ll wear to dinner tonight. Something that will ruin Prince Lucien’s evening.”

“You’re a menace. Do you know that?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon giggling through the garden, all talk of Jurian and Lucien banished from conversation. In truth, Elain forgot about the prince entirely by the time she reached their shared chamber to wash away the sweat of the day and to change. The clothes she’d brought with her had been neatly hung in a nearby closet along with a row of new gowns likely purchased on her behalf by some harried servant. Elain laid a few out on the bed before deciding it was far worse to be the only person out of fashion in a room filled with worldly ladies than it was to worry so much about modesty.

Besides, the gowns hid everything—they merely lacked so many of the stiff layers she was accustomed to. Elain wouldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ability to button herself rather than needing two servants to help get her into her layers and tie everything up, even if she did feel a tad exposed in the silken jade gown she found herself in. Wishing she’d paid more attention to how everyone else was dressed, Elain elected to leave half her hair down with pins in her little wristlet, just in case she had to quickly pull it up. 

Vassa was waiting in the wide, marble lain halls in a gown of violet that looked utterly stunning against the golden brown of her skin. If Elain was terribly out of fashion, her friend surely would have said something, but instead she looped her arm through Elains and began walking her through the palace. 

Vassa had been before enough times to know the layout, allowing the pair to dawdle as Vassa pointed out paintings she thought Elain would enjoy and or explained what marble bust belonged to what long-dead king. There was something deeply thrilling about seeing the history of her home up close and personal—something that made her feel strangely proud to live there. 

A feeling that slid into anxiety the moment she and Vassa walked into the grand hall. Reproposed for a banquet, at least a hundred little tables dotted the expansive room, all facing the long, high table where the royal family would sit. The king was already there, a golden goblet dangling between his fingers as he surveyed guests pouring in.

Was it her imagination, or was he looking at her? Definitely her imagination, Elain decided. She wasn’t nobility, and Vassa’s family was minor nobility at that. Still…those golden eyes, set against warm, dark brown skin, seemed to stare right through her, seeing everything she was and everything she had ever been.

Someone she didn’t recognize approached the king, drawing his attention—which had never been on her—far, far away.

“We’re probably back here,” Vassa murmured, clasping Elain’s between her own. “If we get seated quickly, we can eat before anyone else.”

“I am starving,” Elain admitted with a breathless laugh. The entire thing was exhilarating, so decadent that Elain felt utterly alone in that room as she drank in the gilded walls, the high, arching ceilings and the glass windows that rose up to meet them. Beyond them, Elain could see the placid sea, brighter than any blue diamond and clearer than any sky.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Prince Lucien appeared from seemingly nowhere, eyes bright. He looked…well. He was absurd in his beauty, so lovely in his gold trimmed blue jacket that

Elain’s teeth were set on edge. He’d braided the top half of his head, pulling it back with a leather strap that somehow made his cheekbones seem sharper, his jaw more defined. The rest of his hair curled loosely about his shoulders, longer than Vassa’s when her friend wore it unbound, though not half as curly. 

He was looking at her again and Vassa knew it.

“You’re much more accommodating this time than you were the last time I was here.”

“Give it time,” Lucien replied with genuine amusement. “When father begins one of his terrible speeches it will be nice to have someone nearby to rescue me.”

“You tease me,” Elain complained. As if she could rescue a prince from his wordy father.

Lucien placed a large, ringed hand against his heart. “Lady Elain, I would never.”

Elain doubted that given the twinkle in his russet eyes. Still, though, it was kind of nice to be the object of his interest, however short-lived she suspected it would be. Warmth flooded through Elain’s face, impossible to hide given how fair her skin was.

Lucien’s smile was laced with pleasure. “This way, ladies.”

Vassa merely rolled her eyes, bouncy curls blowing in a nearby breeze. Elain kept her eyes down, well aware everyone in the vicinity was looking at her. Oh, how she wished they weren’t—not like this, at any rate. It wasn’t that she hated being the subject of their attention, but she would have preferred it be because she was stunning in some new dress and not because the prince’s fingers were grazing her elbow. 

The table wasn’t just close—it was the first one before the high table—a seat reserved for people far more important than Elain and Vassa. They weren’t alone—Lord Koschington was already there flanked on either side by men at least a decade older than him. All three rose from their seats to bow to the prince before returning to their conversation, leaving Elain and Vassa awkwardly staring Lucien down.

“Well,” Elain finally said when she couldn’t stand it a moment later. “This was generous of you.”

“You’ll find I can be very generous, Lady Elain.”

“Just Elain is fine,” she promised, embarrassed all over again. 

“Well, just Elain, my generosity comes with strings, if that helps to put your mind at ease.”

“Oh? What strings are those?”

“Lunch with me? And if it goes well, a turn around the garden.”

Elain nearly said no. The urge was automatic. Something stopped her—the notion that if Lucien spent a few hours alone with her, he’d realize how woefully plain she was, how inept her social graces in comparison to other women. His interest would wane and she wouldn’t have to be firm with him at all. That was, truthfully, a best case scenario. 

So Elain nodded, lowering her eyes demurely. “That would be lovely.” Lucien’s delight radiated like pure light just beneath his skin. “You’ve given me something to look forward to.” And then he was gone, leaving Lord Koschington watching with curiosity and Ealin even more embarrassed than before.

“I’m not surprised he likes you,” Vassa began, but Elain wasn’t having it.

“Sit down,” she demanded.

Vassa only laughed. “Bossy. You’ll make an excellent princess.”

Rhodes.

Curling his upper lip, Eris glanced at the dirty streets beneath his gleaming boots. How he loathed the Southern Empire. The city itself was too self-satisfied with itself, certain they were the gods favored people. A blessed empire, having risen from the ashes of centuries of subjugation by the north. The scars for the people weren’t healed—it had been King Helion’s grandfather who’d shaken those chains and thirty years of bloody fighting just to establish a true home with recognized borders. Recognized, Eris thought bitterly, by his father and the late King of the Spine. 

Helion had ended that conflict, invading the north's once impenetrable capitol and genuinely terrifying the realm with the might of his military. If he could break down those walls and get inside, he could potentially cross the spine to the east or the desert to the west. He could have the whole of the continent if he wanted it.

Of course, Helion’s reign hadn’t come without its scandals. His victory cost a princess her life and Archeron his wife. It had also cost the west their queen when he’d stolen her away in the dead of night, declared her marriage to Beron Vanserra completed under duress, and married her himself. 

North and west had a reason to hate the south. Eris had never forgiven Helion for losing his mother and Nesta Archeron, heir apparent to the Northern throne, had never forgiven Helion for the loss of her mother and her younger sister. Eris had heard rumors of her fury.

But meeting her was another thing entirely. He’d made her no promises, of course…but he knew she was thinking the same thing he was—if they married, they could unite their kingdoms and turn their eyes to the south. They could eradicate Helion and take it, too, if they wished. And oh, how Eris wished.

The prospect of asking for Nesta Archeron was the only reason he’d accepted the invitation to the south. Might as well look around for himself. Helion would be looking for peace and his mother absolution, but Eris was looking for exploitable weaknesses. 

Something he could offer up to Nesta Archeron so she had no recourse but to tell him yes. It wouldn’t be love, but Eris didn’t require that. Didn’t want that. His would be a marriage of political convenience and if he needed genuine companionship, he could always take a mistress. 

So there he stood, soaked in sweat and angrier than he’d ever been as he stared up at the monstrosity that was the palace. His half brother was being fussed over—a golden prince Eris would keep alive as a political prisoner in his court, forcing Lucien to do his bidding with the threat of a sword hanging over his head.

It was Eris’s favorite daydream. The destruction of Helion’s court, the ruination of his empire, and his son and wife forced to live in Eris’s home under Eris’s rule. Despite himself, he smiled, ignoring the butler who wanted to give him a tour as he strode into the palace. He knew it well enough and didn’t want the royal family to know where he was until he was ready to make a grand entrance. 

Helion’s kingdom was said to house an impressive collection of knowledge and the rarest (and items stolen he didn’t want found) were housed within his personal collection within his palace. Eris had never been interested before, annoyed by the philosophers and scholars that inhabited these spaces. Old men obsessed with the sound of their own voices who had never been told their ideas weren’t interesting. 

But today was pure chaos and if the Sun Palace was anything like his home, everyone would be congregated wherever the wine was, neglecting their responsibilities under the deluded belief no one would find out. Eris took the stairs two at a time, eyes darting around him to be sure no one was watching.

Though if they were—and if he was caught—he’d simply feign ignorance. No one stopped him, allowing him to climb higher and higher, walking down halls with his hands jammed in the pockets of his cream colored pants. He opened bedroom doors like they belonged to him, ran his oily fingers over windows and paintings, and kicked over a potted plant just because it amused him to do so. 

And when he reached the room he’d come all this way to see—Helion’s famed library—Eris found it delightfully abandoned, just as he’d expected it to be. There were three more towering floors, attached to what he supposed was the highest tower of the palace. Spiraling stairs led to rows and rows of books unreachable even by the rather tall ladders. Desks and chairs on the first level were, he supposed, for scholarly pursuits that seemed to vanish once one reached that second level.

The third was entirely off limits to anyone but Helion’s most trusted. And they were gone, Eris thought, stepping through the arch way. The room itself could be hidden behind wooden ivory double doors carved with some brightly painted fresco of a heroic battle long faded from memory. 

Eris made it two steps before a woman materialized from a too-bright golden sunbeam pouring into the room. One moment he’d been walking toward items hidden from everyone else in the realm and the next a curved blade was pressed against his neck and his back was slammed against a wall. A slim knee slid between his legs, pressed threateningly against his manhood while a pair of vivid green eyes stared him down cooly.

“I’ll need to see your pass before you take another step,” she said. Eris blinked, taking in the shape of this woman. Thick waves of blonde hair cascaded down her back, tumbling against her shoulders and framing what was, objectively, a beautiful face. Her bronzed skin seemed to shimmer in the light as though dusted in sunlgiht and those eyes of hers—green and flecked with gold—were lightly lined in black kohl. 

“I don’t need a pass—” he began, utilizing the haughtiest voice he could muster given the position he found himself in. In any other circumstances, overpowering her would have been a simple thing.

But Eris wasn’t willing to risk his throat, nevermind his cock and balls. 

“You do,” she replied, both her knee and her blade pressing just a little rougher. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged, one eyebrow raised as though it wouldn’t matter. He was going to see her personally punished for this, he decided. 

“Prince Eris—”

“Oh, a prince,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you have a pass?”

Eris was rarely speechless. But right then, looking down at a woman that was primed to kill him over a book, Eris found himself at a loss for words. 

“No,” he spat, outraged that some nobody was preventing him from snooping. And no one, in his life, had ever dared such defiance. This woman did, though. She didn’t care he was a prince or the queens eldest son. She merely saw an intruder and felt empowered to spill his blood against her feet if need be.

“I’m glad we agree. If I remove my knife from your throat, are you going to leave peacefully?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. Had they been home, Eris could have thrown her in a cell for that hateful look on her face alone, not mentioning the way in which she addressed him. 

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Eris promised, his lip curling with disdain. To her credit, the woman stepped back, removing herself entirely from his body, though that knife remained between them. “I’ll see you punished for this.”

She smiled, smoothing one hand over the yellow of her dress. “Of course, your majesty.”

“You think I won’t?” Eris hissed, unsure why he hadn’t stormed out. Just leave. Fuck the last word. 

“Oh, I’m certain you will,” was her reply, eyes burning with amusement. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and the king will allow me the privilege of hearing your explanation as to why a future foreign king was skulking about a room filled with state secrets. Surely you must have known, but maybe they educated you poorly back home and you can’t read?”

Bitch.

“I can be wherever I like—”

“Wrong, majesty. You know, we hear rumors about you here. Of your…ambitions. I’m sure your impending marriage to a northern princess is mere gossip hardly worth the rags it's printed on, of course, and this little trip was merely an accident.”

Eris’s lips parted, an insult on the tip of his tongue. Who was this woman? Eris wanted her family name more than he’d ever wanted anything, if only so he could burn it from the face of the world. When he came marching into Rhodes with an army, she could be the first person to meet his sword. 

“Some people would think it was unwise, insulting a future king.”

Her eyes flicked to the knife in her hand. “I think some people might thank me for protecting my home. In fact, I think a parade might be held in my honor if you took another step toward me and fell on my knife.”

“Is that a threat?” he demanded.

She smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. I was starting to think these subtleties were flying right over your poor, illiterate head. Yes, your lordship. This is a threat. A wiser man would recognize he’d been caught and leave, but I can see you’re not wise and so perhaps I ought to spell it in simple terms you’ll understand: your mere presence in this room could be considered an act of war. Remove yourself, or I shall do it for you.”

Fuck her.

“This isn’t over.”

She followed behind as he turned on his heel, burning with an anger so hot it would have manifested as flame against his skin had he any magical ability. Eris could feel its heat shimmering off him, fingers curling and uncurling with the urge to teach her a lesson she’d never forget. She was no one, some lowly peasant made to feel important and elevated by a bastard king. 

Eris expected one last quip—turned around to face her. She flashed him a smile, those eyes still sparkling with amusement.

And then slammed the double doors in his face. On the other end, he swore he heard soft laughter though maybe he imagined it. Eris exhaled, overwhelmed and frustrated and furious all at once.

It wasn’t over between them.

Eris would have the last laugh.

Ellesmere was easily the worst city Cassian had ever visited in his life. Velaris was the best, of course, and Rhodes was nice if a little hot for his taste. He’d seen Allfeld once which personally was enough given how much pollen seemed to be in the air, though it had been autumn at the time and he’d quite liked the glittering jewel-top trees that dotted the sloping hillsides.

Ellesmere had no charm whatsoever. Only fog and a constant misting of rain that left Cassian damp beneath the leathered armor he wore. 

He’d put on wool socks to keep his feet dry that day, tucked into boots that were supposed to be waterproof and hoped for the best. Rhys was supposed to be out charming the nobles and who the fuck knew where Azriel had gone. By the time Cassian dragged his ass out of bed, Azriel was nowhere to be found and Rhys was agonizing over a lock of hair that wouldn’t lay just right. 

Cassian was grateful no one expected perfection out of him. He’d shaved his face—though the dark stubble would be back before noon—and pulled the thick, dark waves that cascaded to his shoulders into a half messy bun. Good enough.

Dumb brute, remember?

As if he could ever forget. At home, Cassian was a hero. People cared about the words that came out of his mouth, respected him as someone of  great intelligence. But out here, he knew what they saw. The other kingdoms must employ idiots to lead their armies, or something particular about Cassian gave off the impression he liked the taste of blood. And Cassian had never once tried to correct that notion given he did like a little blood smeared across his mouth. 

But it irked him at times, chafing against him like rough material against soft skin. 

He had a job—only one, at least, while he was trapped in this gloomy hellscape, which was to get a sense and scope of the military power Ellesmere commanded. How did they fight, how many of them remained, their tactics, their training. Anything Cassian could weaponize against them. Cassian needed them to believe he was one of them.

Less than, even. That he couldn’t take even a day off from swinging his swords when truthfully, were he back home, Cassian would have been parked at Ritas waiting for a massive plate of eggs and bacon. Ah, well. There would be more of that later, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting the best weather Velaris had to offer to the rain. 

And breakfast wasn’t horrible, at least. He’d been allowed to eat alone given there was no expectation he would eat with the royals. Cassian picked through one of his books, wasting time hoping the weather would clear and the sun would come out, even if it didn’t warm the air. When it became clear he wasn’t going to get his wish, Cassian sighed, armed himself, and made his way toward the training yard housed within the palace walls. He’d seen barracks on his way in, tucked off in the distance, when he’d first come into the city. That was where Cassian really wanted to be. 

If Rhys did his job well, Cassian would be invited to watch them train and possibly train alongside him. It was ego the way so many cities assumed they had something to teach him. There was a reason Velaris hadn’t been invaded, though Cassian knew everyone loved to chalk it up to The Spine. The mountains were passable, their coast relatively undefended. There was little need, though they did have a Navy. 

Cassian was always waiting, sword in hand. 

Today, though, was just about seeing the best of the best. They’d be looking to impress him, knowing full well Cassian would tell Rhys. All in good time. Cassian liked to think he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut with a face that always seemed pleased right up until his sword was pressed against someones throat.

They expected that from Azriel. Maybe they expected that knife in the back from Rhys. But despite his titles, no one ever expected that from Cassian, though he was always the quickest to jump to bloodshed. 

Eloquence was Rhys’s domain. 

Cassian shuddered when he stepped outside, shaking out his hands to try and keep himself together. This period of time in his life would pass until he forgot it entirely. There was no way in hell he’d ever agree to return here and was grateful Rhys wasn’t actually interested in any of the princesses on offer. 

Cassian wished he could say the same. He’d half forgotten Nesta Archeron—could have forgotten her completely for the majority of the day, even—had she not been walking toward him in a well-fitted violet coat dress, the hood pulled over her face and lined with immaculate white fur.

Her fair cheeks were flushed from the chill or exertion, making those silvery eyes of her brighter by comparison. The scowl on her face couldn’t diminish the beauty that radiated from her and just like it had the day before, Cassian felt struck by her. Nesta’s whole person was its own blade at his throat, threatening to spill him open at any moment. 

She halted when she saw him, hands jammed into her pockets. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he wondered if she’d speak to him. It was only after a moment of staring that Cassian remembered he probably ought to bow. That felt strange—Rhys had never required that and Helion was so casual it was cause for teasing if Cassian were to try. Something about Nesta demanded it, though, and so Cassian felt himself bending at the waist, one hand on his stomach. 

“You mock me?” she asked, unaware of the sincerity of his pounding heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassian heard himself say, his every word laced with amusement rather than the reverence he felt. And though he was so much taller than her, Cassian felt small as Nesta approached, her spine ramrod straight. He wished he could convince her to come to Velaris and teach his soldiers that sort of posture. 

Hell, maybe she could teach him, too. 

“Where are you going?”

Straight to hell, he thought privately as he tried not to imagine what she was like when she liked a man. Jealousy gnawed at him knowing Rhys was here to court her, swallowed quickly before Cassian was consumed. Glancing at one of the hilts peeking over his shoulder, Cassian offered her another quick smile. “To train with your guards.”

She scoffed. “I should think one sword would be more than sufficient.”

“Oh? Something you want to tell me, princess?”

He hadn’t meant for his words to sound suggestive. Cassian was genuinely asking her—were they not capable of fighting off a warrior holding a weapon in each hand? But something about her made everything he said sultry and Nesta’s cheeks burned with heat. 

She was sweet. Cassian wanted to taste her. 

“Just…they’re more…” Nesta was flustered. He knew if he came any closer she’d take off like a skittish baby deer, fortifying herself for their next interaction. Put her at ease, a voice whispered in his head—it sounded suspiciously like Mor. So Cassian relaxed his posture, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He was, afterall, just a man.

And he wasn’t a threat to her. Everyone else, perhaps—and one day she’d hate him for the part he was playing to keep her father from starting another war—but not her. 

“They’re mostly decorative,” Nesta finally said, coming back to her senses. “And I suspect you are the opposite.”

“Shrewd of you,” Cassian praised, taking in this information. “I would think the palace guards were the best your kingdom had to offer.”

She rolled her eyes. “If that were true, Feyre would be easier contained within its walls.”

Cassian filed that away, too. Where did the little princess run off to, he wondered? And why was Nesta telling him this? She didn’t strike him as the uncareful type. No, Nesta was giving him little crumbs he was certain were leading somewhere. The expression on her face was too well guarded for anything else. 

“And you?” he guessed.

Nesta only shrugged. “Where would I go beyond the palace walls, General?”

Cassian’s body went tight all at once. Fuck, but that voice… “Anywhere you like, I hope. Unless this is a cry for help and you’ve actually been held hostage?”

The faintest whisper of a smile spread over her features. Pretty thing. Cassian wanted to touch her and thought that was the quickest way to lose a hand. 

“My life is one of endless wonder,” she assured him, her voice dry and laced with sarcasm. “I am incandescently happy.”

“My apologies, my lady,” Cassian murmured, needing to get some air before he did something monumentally stupid. “Far be it from to cast aspersions on you and your life. But…if you find yourself wishing you knew how to wield a blade so you could…I don’t know…move more effectively in the world…you know where to find me.”

And then he kept walking, refusing to touch her as he passed though it was hell not to even brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. 

“Why would you do that?” Nesta asked when they were shoulder to shoulder, staring straight ahead. Cassian watched her from the corner of his eye. 

“You’ll need to know if you’re going to marry Rhys,” he replied, the words ash on his tongue. Nesta didn’t move.

“That’s it?”

“Maybe I want a reason to see you again.”

Her breath curled around her face like a shadow, vanishing in the gloomy morning light. “I’ll think about it.”

There was nothing Cassian could say that wouldn’t make him sound insane. So he nodded, clenching his jaw to keep his words leashed before he took off walking again. There was no reason to arm that woman—and every possibility she would take everything she learned and turn around and use it against them.

And yet the thought of Nesta pressing a blade against his throat was so erotic that Cassian had to lap around the garden twice before making his way to the training yard, later than he’d meant to be.

And still—it was worth it. 

[alwaysshallow]

coffee at midnight, part 5

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

After a time that you've spent on a mission, it's time to relax a little. (3,5k)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AO3 version

Being on obligatory leave was weird for you.

It's not like you were a workaholic (well, maybe a little) – you appreciated free time if it was given, most of the time, even if it was weird. You were used to battlefield, to keep your eyes open and being on alert, so when you were at home, every little thing distracted you. Knocking to your door, wood cracking, everything had your attention, which was... irritating, but you got used to it after being at home for more than two days.

But you've had at least two months of sitting at your ass in the apartment. You needed something to do, or else you'd get crazy; mostly you kept yourself busy, having a purpose. Certain routine.

Maybe that's why military was so good for you – because you had one thing in mind. Being the best version of yourself, and in that category was a lot of different things. Protecting, killing if you need to, making people feel safe, risking your life multiple times. Adrenaline usually pumped in you like crazy, but it was your jam, no one else's.

As Laswell's daughter (adopted, but that really didn't matter) you were raised like that – to be the best to not give a shit, to believe in your capabilities. She'd remind you multiple times, and every time you replied with small smile and "I know, mom". You wouldn't ever actually forget the talk she gave you when she found out you want to follow her path.

Million questions if you're sure, if you know what you are doing. And you knew. It wasn't only because Kate taught you that way, to help people, to bring good out in this world. It was a fascination about the job, begging her in your teenage years to bring you somewhere; she didn't, her limit was you meeting price. Fifteen and curious, you asked him like crazy about his missions, and he answered your every question with undeniable amusement in his eyes.

Not because you were nosy, but because you were so curious. So, so curious, and it somehow made him happy.

Despite those talks that you're good for everything, it was hard to believe, while you had to prove yourself in front of everyone, work twice as hard and sometimes it wasn't enough too. No matter how beaten up you were, how tired you were.

It wasn't a secret that women in military had a tougher route than men, and you liked to be delusional about it until you weren't actually here. The amount of sexism you experienced, inappriopate comments about where your place is, you couldn't keep up with counting.

Kitchen was their answer, of course. You ignored them most of the time, in military no one would survive without thick skin, but... sometimes it got to you.

Especially when tasks were based on teamwork.

You hated moments where they acted like nothing's wrong in front of your supervisor – the minute she or he was gone, situation changed dramatically and you apparently weren't a comrade, but "just a woman". Climbing somewhere with them a bit lower than you occured in comments about your ass, shooting exercises with trying to get a rise out of you when they tried to correct you.

It was nice experience though, shooting lessons, when you hit ten point mark, and they just watched with a bit open lips. The satisfaction was insane, considering that they almost got them all too.

Almost, a key word.

Some were actually nice – it wasn't like all of them bugged you and you hated the entirety of men in military. It was just... the effect of those toxic ones, like everywhere; one person that behaved badly, could give an ick. You started being reserved, sticking to women friends (which was hard too, not only because of number but also because of competition) and men that were normal.

As normal as you could be in military.

With time, they got bored and you could function better. Could be as well the effect of the first mission in Afghanistan since from that time they treated you like a human. They were so eager to go, and after coming back several months later, they seemed like different people.

War changes everyone, you were different too. Listening about war, training; something completely different than actually taking a part in it. Pictures of buildings in pieces were nothing, comparing to real life experience, where you marched with weapon in your hand, experiencing real life tragedy.

Sometimes you wondered where people failed – a war like this shouldn't happen, ever.

Over time, military gave you an opportunity to learn something; specialize, as they said. Your mums told you that taking their money is more than responsibility (you couldn't do anything else but laugh at it), so you took something. Something that was interesting enough to dip in – and that was on being IT specialist with a bit of Cyber Operations.

All in all – hacking, protecting your own systems and going through others without being caught was something that you absolutely loved and the fact military paid for it was more than rewarding. It was something you were good at, your skills were your baby to care about and be proud of when someone needed your help; even if it was late at night and you were already sleeping. Firewalls to crack, intel to get, everything could wait. Adrenaline in your veins pumped even more when you had to do it in a field, a gun in your free hand, while another cracked the code.

Happened a tad too much, but you managed – those capabilities brought John Price to you, proposing you the job, not because of his friendship with your mother, but because you were good. Good with your shooting skills, cooperating. Because you had something that he needed very much.

Best compliment you could get, so that's why you were more than confused what to do in your spare time. Two whole months (or more) without being in the field, where you belong.

Wasn't the easiest to turn your routine upside down. From active and in field, to resting and at home, but things were easier when you started watching your show that you abandoned a while ago; of course because of work. Minutes turned to hours of binge-watching Criminal Minds (comes with a job, right?) and ordering something from your local restaurant every now and then because you didn't feel like cutting.

Especially with your arm that still shook a bit and your actions could result in a very bad way, so you chose the safest option for your own safety.

Two weeks passed longer than you expected though, and you're just... well, not only mad, but also bored to hell. You even texted your mother if they don't need any digital help or something, just something to keep yourself busy with because, frankly, you were ready to work again, to go out, to shoot.

Not your arm, though. Your arm was pretty mad at you most of the time and it happened to strike you every now and then, when you forgot your meds.

Mostly, the good thing about your days were when something interesting in TV shows happened or if you were waiting for a food delivery guy that knew you probably better than his own mother at this point. Every little knock to your door was loved, and every time you opened with enthusiasm and a small smile.

Except that one time, after almost two weeks, it wasn't a delivery man with your Thai food that you've waited so patiently for almost an hour.

"Evenin', Rosa. Missed me?"

When you made him his coffee (with insane amount of sugar and caramel with whipped cream on top of it, just as he liked it), he told you everything that happened during your absence. Spots that were on map found by you were their magazines, loads of stuff in here; weapons, other plans, some stuff that Price had to translate and check, but it was valuable.

You couldn't be more satisfied when he told you this, feeling like a kid on Christmas day; less happy you were when he remarked that they don't need your help and your captain pretty much sent you his regards.

Not what you liked, obviously, but it was something.

After explaining one thing, it came down to another – what he was actually doing here since it was still a full-ass mission, not a vacation. Hell, you won't forget the lazy smile he gave you back then, his head tilted to the side.

He looked like a Cheshire cat.

"'s my duty off the field, keepin' you all safe 'n cozy." he winked, ruffling your hair. "Y'know, gotta take care of my girl, yeah? Sucks without your ass around."

You barely managed not to roll your eyes. "Just tell me."

"That's the pure truth."

Well, it wasn't. After laughing at your reaction once again, he told you about Price saying something about sending some of the boys on "vacations" to regenerate properly – boys, Gaz and Soap only. In normal circumstances, it wouldn't be even an option, but since they called a special unit to help them earlier, they had even too many people, so he decided to treat the youngest.

Considerate of him, really. Another reason Soap believed in, was sending him home to take care of you, but you just laughed at that. He didn't know how to take care of himself, taking care of you? Hell, it sounded like a fable that you're feeding kids with.

At least, you thought like this until the next day, when he showed again at your door with groceries in bag, his smile wide. He was gonna cook for you, and the minute you opened, he entered your apartment like it was the most casual thing ever (it was). You said nothing, when he opened fridge and complained on amount of everything, asking how could you eat so little.

You were eating quite normally; Johnny, on the other hand, had eating habits that occasionally horrified you, but given his profession and his strength... everything explained itself.

What horrified you more though, was his cooking skills. Not like they were bad, but you really didn't want him around fire or things that he could easily burn; that's probably why you've decided to make simple sandwiches with him.

Well, it wasn't quite making from your side, considering you only gave him a few ingredients or told him where your knives were. He wouldn't let you do a damn thing, and even if it irritated you badly, he literally couldn't care less.

"'m here for you, hen. Don't complain." he pointed at you.

You'd lie if you'd say you didn't enjoy it, Soap's company; you were almost grateful that Price sent him on leave. That guy wasn't only a walking chaos, but made everything around himself like it, and that was exactly what you needed. Exactly what you needed to break with that boring routine, driving you crazy. Burnt eggs, a lot of dirty plates (he promised to take care of it later, and you both knew the best he's gonna do, is just loading the dishwasher), TV shows that you loved to comment with him. He always had snarky comments about contestants in Rupaul's Drag Race, even if he stated million of times that show is lame.

Yet, he watched with you, so both of you were lame in a cute way, which you were oblivious of. In your dictionary, a word cute, applying to you and soap, didn't exist.

What was shocking in that second visit, was the fact Soap didn't feel like going anywhere from your couch after you've decided to go to sleep. Instead, he asked if you have a sparrow pillow and something to lie on.

"It's not like you have to stay here with me. I'm perfectly capable of staying on my own. Been doing that for almost two weeks now" you said, as with his help, you transformed couch into a cozy place to sleep.

"Mm, just missed ya ass, lass." he pointed at you. "Insufferable little witch you are, y'know?"

"Oh, you love me for that." you rolled your eyes, chuckling.

It shouldn't be surprising to you that "one" time went to multiple times.

Every time he had an excuse to stay – he either was feeling dizzy and heavy after eating something, wanted to spend more time with you or just help you in every day activities. One day he even had a good point; you had to visit the doctor, and he intended to drive you here. Your arm was still too weak, and you needed to rest it, not possibly injure it more since a desire to be back in field was enormous.

With him staying at your place though, came a little more than just his presence – his things. At first it's hard to notice – toothbrush next to yours in cup, some of his clothes, it all felt necessary, he stayed at your place, after all. You started to notice after a few days, though; his PlayStation next to your TV with various games, his clothes in your closet. He even asked you one day if you have better space to place them.

It all felt like he's moving in, not just staying on accident, testing his luck. This motherfucker knew his way with you, and used it all the way, testing your patience because he loved to play with you. Not only competing in games, shooting, military trainings, but in real life.

"You know, your shower head is acting up. Pressure should be high, it's barely coming out at times" Johnny called out from the bathroom. "A man wants just to shower and he can't do it properly."

You laughed, rolling your eyes to yourself. His shower routine. "Annoying, isn't it? I usually don't have time to fix it or call anyone, so..." you shrugged.

"I'll fix it. Not really something to call people on" he huffed, almost offended at your statement; it's something he usually did. Soap didn't really believe in hiring someone to do things, he was sure that he would do these things himself, and not only he'd save money, but he will do it better.

"You will? You know" you turned around, to face the bathroom door "I don't want you to mess it up even-" your voice catched in your throat, mind going completely blank, when you saw him. It felt like God was testing you; Soap in nothing but just white, plushy towel, loosely wrapped around his hips. Any time it could slip and leave you with him all for yourself.

The thought made your cheeks burning hot a little, especially the moment he cocked his eyebrow and leaned against the wall, smirking. He knew how he looked like, how he could easily use it against you, not really trying. Soap's abs and sculped body luring you in, due to years of hard work, military and simply taking care of himself.

A lot of scars just added to image.

"-even more." you finished your previous sentence, clearing your throat.

Somehow, it was very amusing for him, to see you like this. You weren't the type to blush, not in the slightest – after all, you saw everything before; for example, when you stitched him up. How was it different than other times? Military is full of pictures like that.

Yet, there you were. Acting like a girl that saw a man first time without pretty much nothing but a towel, even if the truth was far different from it. Soap was just an eye candy, whether you liked it or not, and it was a big trouble in times.

For a time like this, for example, when he was in your apartment, trying to take care of you, with your towel, using your stuff. His scent was everywhere.

"'m experienced in making things better, don't you worry your pretty head about it" he hummed, placing his hand on your cheek. It looked funny; how big his hand was, but it brought so much comfort to you, that you closed your eyes. "'m gonna take care of my girl, yeah? I told you already."

Nothing came out from you, but just a simple nod. He was so good with words when he wanted to, and you were like a lost puppy, listening to them all, with hope that he meant every one of his promises. And he did – always, if it came down to you, you knew it.

"Good. Now, you have this popcorn ready? Fast&Furious starts literally any minute." he nudged you with his hip, casually taking a sit on the couch.

"Don't you want to put your clothes on first?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Mm. Do I?" he mimicked you, standing up. "Yeah, yeah. Gonna do it, hen, I don't want to deprave you more" Soap whispered to your ear, his body hot, almost skin to skin level. You inhaled some air, sighing just when he disappeared into your room to take his clothes.

It was supposed to ease you, his presence in clothes, but you still had that image of him in that towel only, when your head was leaning against his shoulder during the movie.

xxx

"Him? Helping in kitchen? Cleaning? I had to convince him for months to do that when he lived at my house!"

Since Johnny's mom was finally back from her trip in Spain, he called her in the morning – a simple talk, he said, when you handed him a cup of coffee, still in your pyjamas. You pretty much didn't want to interrupt them, but the moment she asked about you, you had no other choice than participate in discussion as well.

She knew you; impossible not to, considering that you and Johnny were friends for more than a year, serving together, in the same team. You loved talking to her, and she loved talking to you; somehow, you always had topic to talk about (besides her son's behavior, she asked every time – and every time you exaggerated, just to rile him up). Apparently, baking and making ceramic things were something that made your bond go stronger. From time to time, she sent photos of her pottery, and every time, with a warm feeling on your heart, you responded., asking her about technique and stuff like this.

If that would be possible someday, you wanted to meet her so bad, as well as his two sisters. Soap loved his family more than anything in this world, being a big, protective brother, even if his sisters were teenagers, you loved seeing it. Seeing him calling every time he could, seeing him with that little smile when his mom talked about sending him some stuff because he lost weight and he needs to come back to Scotland as soon as possible so she will change that.

More than adorable, honestly.

"Mm, I think the key is to tell him not to do things. Then, he does all that" you laughed, playfully nudging Johnny who rolled his eyes at your implication. "What? Just saying!"

"'st sayin', mhm." he nodded. "I can help when I have to, thank you very much."

"You almost burned my kitchen" you started, chuckling again when he gave you the look "but we appreciate it, yeah."

"Yer just mean. 's all" he pointed at you, wrapping arm around you swiftly, which brought you two closer. His touch almost burned some weird feelings in you, but you brushed them off, smiling to Soap's mother, when her head tilted to the side with a curious expression.

"She's just speaking her mind, John" she laughed, squinting her eyes suddenly.

"You good, ma?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just looking, your hair seems longer?"

He shrugged. "'s normal, I haven't had time to trim it in deployment. Will think about it later"

Conversation ended after another twenty minutes; apparently it was time for her favorite TV show, so Soap ended the call. You sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes, in your phones, scrolling through pages.

"I used to cut my hair in high school" you started, your eyes on his hair "I can cut yours, if you want."

Soap laughed, shaking his hair. "No, thanks."

"Why? It's not like you can't trust my skills!"

"Oh, a ken that. You have a bit wobbly hand, though" he grinned at your eyeroll "and, I think I might keep it this way for a while."

You raised your eyebrow. "You love your mohawk. Thought you're gonna keep it for years, even if you're gonna be a captain or something."

"Aye, probably. 'st testing my options, hen." he stood up, straightening his posture. "Gonna do coffee for us. Pick a movie." he smiled, kissing the top of your head; your cheeks burned red.

You tried to focus on picking a movie, not how the whole gesture made you feel all tingly, but it was almost impossible.

[gabbytalksalot]

My predictions for the Loki finale

(Im delusional)

1. Loki and mobius will kiss

2. Flash forward to the future and they live happily in a cute home with mobius's kids and Loki

3. All the Kang stuff just stops so Loki Dosent have to die or spend the rest of his time trying to fix it

4. Sylvie can just have a happy life where she isn't constantly running and doing shit

5. O.B becomes a best selling author 🙏🏽

6. miss minutes dies again but very painfully

7. Lowkey (loki🤭) want Thor to meet tva Loki cuz I feel like their relationship would change alot

8. Omg imagine Mobius sons having like a playdate with Love (Thors adopted daughter)

9. Loki being the cool uncle

10. Loki will express and take form more as a woman!!!!