#trying to get back into the flow of creating after my break <3

[so-many-ocs]

practical writing advice part 2

part 1

get used to carrying a notebook around with you. or get used to writing on your phone. you will not always have access to your computer, but it’s much easier to take something compact with you to quickly jot down ideas. also i have chronic illness and sometimes my bones feel like lead and going upstairs to get my laptop is a herculean task, BUT i can write on my phone lying down instead of just scrolling through my camera roll and being miserable. which brings me to my next point:

if you have to choose between writing unconventionally or even unproductively and not writing at all, choose the writing. i’ve said before not to create a habit of writing in bed, but if it comes down to writing in bed or not writing whatsoever, i’ll write in bed. i just try to stretch before and after (which you should also do!!!).

you’re not wasting time or being silly by making playlists or moodboards or memes of your characters and environments. having fun with your stories outside of writing them is a good way to stay motivated.

i like to stop my writing sessions in a place where i know exactly what i want to write next, so when i pick back up i won’t be left hemming and hawing over where to begin. HOWEVER, if you’re absolutely locked in, don’t interrupt that flow state. it’ll be harder to find it again later—instead, wait until you find a natural place to stop where you haven’t run out of ideas.

“why do i have a headache 3 hours into my writing session?” because the last time you had a sip of water was 4 hours ago, you dingus! keep your drinks near your workspace while you write. and i do mean, like, a full bottle of water at least. if you’re like me, things stop existing when they leave your line of sight, so keep these beverages where you can see them and refill during bathroom breaks.

uhhh try not to think negatively about your writing while you’re doing it because when i do that i just get bummed out. “this scene is terrible” -> “oh yeah fuck it up oh yeah fuck it up” (positive reframing)

ok thanks bye

[losergames]

Chop Shop is strictly 18+ for language, themes, and potential explicit content. 

🔗 - Game Intro | Bug Report | Ko-Fi

Episode Three is now available! (+ 86,000) - PLAY HERE

Get your first taste of the underground car scene.

Meet some other players in the game.

Be made an offer.

5 achievements up for grabs!

And more!

AN: thank you so much for the patience - i've been dying to put this update out. lots of new characters and lots of variation!! there are 3 major paths to choose between in this ep, i recommend trying them all out! and thank you to my betas for keeping me sane lmao

This update comes with a patch and UI refresh (Version 1.1.2) Notes are under the cut. If preferred, you can access them in game in the start menu.

STORY

EPISODE 01:

MC should now be able to smoke! Buying cigarettes at the shop was not triggering correctly. If playing with an old save, you DO NOT have to restart as code at the beginning of EP 03 has resolved the error. Player will need to restart if they wish to read smoking related scenes in previous episodes.

Updated MC Name selection. Player can now choose from a list of names instead of having to input one to proceed.

Player can now give Taha their chocolate bar if it's in their inventory.

When asking Maz about their scars, the second choice 'You want to ask about it but you're going to keep your mouth shut.' should now take you to the correct response.

Extended and updated 'End Game' scenes.

EPISODE 02:

If MC is faint after exiting the car, but also drunk, they should now get the fainting scene, followed by Dilani helping the MC in the bathroom.

UI + TECHNICAL

SETTINGS:

Autoname Save is now defaulted to ON. This is to add ease and flow to gameplay, especially for mobile, tablet, and app users, instead of calling for an inputted saved name. If player wants to input save names, toggle Autoname Saves to OFF.

Autoname Save previously only used the forename of the MC but now includes the surname as well.

Removed the Fullscreen toggle as it is only intended for desktop use. Player can still toggle fullscreen function via the UI bar on the desktop interface.

Added a choice indicator toggle. (This probably won't come into effect until EP 04 or 05)

Changed serif font from Vollkron to EB Garamond.

OTHER:

Changing the MC's pronouns via the Dashboard has been updated. Additionally, after confirmation will take player back to the Dashboard and not close the dialog boxes entirely.

Hovering over 'Personality', 'Motives', and 'Skills' titles in the Dashboard will now display an information box with a definition. Mobile and tablet users will need to tap on the title.

'Resume Game' now only appears on the main menu when there is an autosave in the saves log.

Choices styling changes.

General UI and button style changes.

Fixed errors with the text message styling.

Added styling for reading text off of a page in game.

Darkened blue in light theme 'Skyline' to reduce eye strain.

CREATE A SAVE

Introducing Create a Save! This feature allows players to quickly manufacture a save file and start at a later point in the game.

Set your identity, appearance, history, and statistics; including personality, motives, and skills. Continue to set key decisions made in previous episodes.

Randomise options available for creating a PC and key decisions.

OTHER

Fixed gaps and spacing issues.

Minor phrasing and sentence structure changes.

Grammar and typo fixes.

whew -- that's a lot of patch notes! apologies for so much that needed to be fixed.

this update shouldn't break/ mess with saves but as a disclaimer i will say, if you spot anything funky, broken, or you don't think things are triggering correctly, try starting a new save. the new create a save feature is incredibly code heavy, and it's been tested relentlessly, but i wouldn't be surprised if something crops up.

if starting a new save doesn't resolve your issue - please submit to bug report or just send me an ask/message.

some things have been meaning to get fixed for Some Time - thank you to everyone that is using the bug report form!

apologies if there are typos and/or bugs - this was a long one to edit and my lovely betas did an OUTSTANDING job reading so much for ep 3 - thank you so much again!!! this time i am going to give it a bit more time before i put together a patch so i can grab more error responses haha.

create a save has also added a wee chunk to the word count, somewhere around 6k, but i'm not including it in the episode 03 word count as it's purely code. so, if you think the total wc is off, that's why!

if you've read this far, happy reading and thank you so much for the continued support!! :) - becky <3

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[juletheghoul]

Ache

Gif by @userkeery

Authors note: It's 3:30am and I am posting Joel smut because just like all of you, that show ruined me. It's literally pwp because.. well you all saw it. lol. Hope you enjoy! (Thanks to my wife for literally talking me through this @foli-vora)

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 800

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, feelings? let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

-

He walked through the door with an air of determination, his mouth seeking out yours with pure purpose. He licked into it, barely giving you time to close the door behind him.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” Your words come out breathy, his passion flowing through him and now into you as you’re herded towards your couch.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, couldn’t wait to get here.” He punctuates his words by grabbing a meaty handful of your ass, low enough to pull the lips of your sex apart and it makes you gasp into his mouth. 

“Jesus Joel-“ he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue fills your mouth again and all you can do is try to keep up, your hands find the gap between his shirt and his jeans and you sweep your hands up the broad expanse of his back—lifting it up and off relishing the golden skin on display for you now. 

He grins and then your shirt is off and tossed onto the floor, your bra joins it soon after and within a few minutes you’re both naked and on your couch, mouths fused together, sharing the same panted breaths. 

“I missed you too.” You thread your fingers into his dark hair, guiding him towards your breast and he gifts you with a groan from deep in his throat, his tongue eager on the stiff bud of your nipple. 

He hums his acknowledgement onto your breast before moving to the other and his desperation is currently hard and weeping against your hip, sliding against your skin with every movement but he doesn’t get to it. Instead he keeps a steady suck at your nipple, moving from one to the other until you open your thighs underneath him, hoping he’ll slip in to soothe the aching emptiness he’s created.

“Come on baby, you gonna make me beg?” You tug at the dark waves of his hair, gasping when he lets your nipple go with a pop.

“I have half a mind to let you, love it when you beg.” He kissed your sternum quickly before grasping his cock in hand, giving himself a few strokes against the slick pooled at your entrance. “You think she’s ready for me?” He bites his lip, drunk on the way your hips tilt up to help him. 

“Yes Joel, put it in already.” He laughs at your tone, his dark eyes lively and lust blown.

“Yes ma’am.” He slides in with a moan. The smile morphs into something almost unfocused as he pumps himself slowly in and out, coating himself in your liquid heat before he speeds up. 

The stretch of him is exquisite.

You’d thought about him all day, waited with baited breath from the moment he’d called during his break, knowing he’d have you wet and mewling for him just like he always does and yet this is so much better than your daydream. It’s always better.

He shifts, kneeling on the couch and pulling your hips up with him. His big, calloused hands hold onto your hips with a grip hard enough to bruise but it doesn’t matter because his cock is pressing up against something sacred, something that makes your eyes roll back, something that lights a fire in the base of your spine. And then it strikes like lightning, a scream and a wet clench and you're falling off the cliff.

“You’re not even gonna make me work for it huh?” He’s triumphant, proud of the way he’s made you see stars but it’s not enough for him, he speeds up, fucks you through your climax and just when you think you might pass out he’s pulling you up to wrap your arms around his neck, grinding his come deep. 

-

Your hands slide across the smooth skin of his back, enjoying the press of his lips in the crook of your neck. Your legs are tangled up together, a rare cool breeze envelops you both as you catch your breath and savor the afterglow. 

“Where’s Sarah today?” You press the tips of your fingers into the knots of his shoulders, wanting to take some of the pain he complains about away.

“She’s at—oh, fuck that’s nice—the Adlers, Jesus Christ, right there-“ he winces but leans into it, letting you work the ache away. “I should get goin’ soon.” 

“Am I ever gonna meet her?” It’s not an uncomfortable question, with the way things were going between the two of you it was only a matter of time.

“Actually, yes. My birthday’s comin’ up. Thought it would be nice if you came over then. You can meet my shithead brother Tommy too.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, moving to find your mouth again before he inevitably had to go.

“I’d love to.” 

-

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x some people who I think might like this; @the-ginger-hedge-witch @write-and-buried

[nicksbestie]

I have an angsty (self-indulgent) req…

I struggle heavily with superstition and pattern-based compulsions, and I was curious if I could get a Jake or Johnnie fic where one of them sees the reader getting stuck in a harmful pattern (trying to match pain from scratches on both arms, knocking on their head for good luck, trying to avoid cracks/lines on the sidewalk, etc.)

-🫠

Summary : You struggle a lot with your compulsions and mental health, but your boyfriend is always there to make sure that you can relax.

Pairing : Jake Webber/Reader (romantic)

Warnings : Harmful pattern based actions, superstitious behaviors

Word Count : 718

A/N : i've never written anything like this req, so i really hope i did it justice! if i didn't please give me constructive criticism! my inbox and dms are open if you ever need to chat <3

Superstitious and compulsion based behaviors were a lot to deal with, and you knew that better than anyone in your personal life. You had struggled with them really badly for a long time, and it had damaged a lot of your life. You considered yourself very lucky sometimes, though, because you had a lot more support now than you did in the past, and the support system that you did have was absolutely amazing. You had two amazing best friends, one of whom was your boyfriend, and having dealt with struggles in his life, he was always so incredibly kind with you.

He was always patient, gentle, much softer than he was on camera, and you appreciated his tenderness so much. You couldn’t have imagined a better life partner than the man that you were with right now, and you truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. Having been with him for upwards of a year now, he was able to recognize when you were beginning to struggle, and always able to gently calm you down, keeping you comfortable and feeling safe. He was perfect, and was always there when you needed him, like today. 

Today you were having such a difficult day, many different things bothering you and being just uncomfortable enough to cause you to become frustrated. You managed to hold it together until the evening, when you were laying down with Jake, and you automatically felt a little bit better because of the fact that you were with your boyfriend, who was your safe space and comfort person, but you were still not quite calmed down. Jake was rubbing your arms with his, you wrapped up against him, and he had no idea that he was going to unintentionally cause a near breakdown within the next couple of minutes. 

It wasn’t for another few moments before one of his nails caught the perfect angle to end up scratching your arm, causing you to gasp in pain and surprise, and him to immediately panic and apologize. He kissed right over the spot that he had accidentally created, attempting to soothe it. However, with how worked up you had been from your long day, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Jake’s heart broke when he realized there were tears forming in your eyes. He immediately wiped them away, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, hoping on everything that you would be okay. 

He hugged you tighter, whispering soft comforts while his hand was gently running up and down your arm, trying to massage the feeling of pain away, but all he was doing was making you aware of how uneven your arms felt, and he had no idea that he was making it worse until you had teardrops rolling down your face, trying to resist the urge to scratch your other arm, making it match the same pain so you could relax again. He wiped those tears away immediately as well, pressing a kiss on nearly every spot on your face, hoping to get a smile to break onto your face. 

Unfortunately, after a couple more minutes of those, you couldn’t take it anymore, and ripped out of his grasp, using your own nails to run down your other arm, tears steadily flowing. He immediately grabbed your hands, pulling you close into his chest and firmly but not harshly keeping your hands away from your arm, holding you as you gave up in his hold, sobbing. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay. It’s okay, honey, it’s okay…” 

He knew you probably weren’t processing a lot of what he was saying, so he simply repeated the same words of comfort, keeping you close to him and making sure you were wrapped up tightly in his arms, pressing kisses to the top of your head. The pressure was helping you relax and was also keeping you from hurting yourself, and he stayed like that until you stopped crying, wiping your tears away with his thumbs, holding you until you eventually exhausted yourself. He was the boyfriend who could easily pick you up, helping you to bed, and holding you until you fell asleep in his arms. You knew you struggled, but you also knew that he would always be here for you.

~ taglist : @jake-and-johnnies-slut @gvf23 @maddytheweird @707xn @elliem505 @ilydeaky @maryx2xx @oobleoob @aemrsy @jasperthefriendlyghostt

~ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here!

~ my inbox is open, come chat!

[crash-and-cure]

If I Were You Part 3 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: In the months since his return to the stage, you have been doing your best to keep the relationship between you and Elvis underwraps while also trying to continue treatment. You’ve been able to somewhat manage this this precarious balancing act, but an upcoming event threatens the stability you’ve created while also having you reflect on your past and worrying about your future.

Note: I know I said in my last update that I would have had this done earllier, but good news, i ended up breaking what was planned for this part in two so that should be done... soon. All together this part was orginally 24k words, so... yeah the break was necessary, and works slighty better for the flow. Reader is cis female, as well as some background in readers home life, and aside from that no other descriptors are used. I do have a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but I am not a therapist, so nothing here should be treated as genuine mental health advice. Please read the warnings before deciding to read.

Also getting together a taglist so let me know if you want to be tagged for the next chapter or alternately, if you are tagged and would like to be removed let me know.

Words count: 12k

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. Dubious consent in some areas. Depictions of Therapy sessions, in which topics of relationships with parents, emotional abandonement, self-destructive behavior, performance anxiety, and exploitation, are discussed. Inappropriate relationship with Therapist (Which should go without saying). Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), Daddy Kink, Praise kink, cum eating, vaginal fingering, cockwarming (kinda), overstimulation and allusions to oral sex (f. recieving). Depictions parental abuse that  including depictions of parentification, favoritism, as well as emotional neglect and abandonment. Also mentions of Elvis' mommy issues, and more exploration readers daddy issues. Period typical misogyny depicted. Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, emotional manipulation, uses of coercion, grabbing that leads to bruising and verbal mistreament. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1  Part 2   Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

When you had received your Doctorate, it was perhaps the proudest moment of your life. One of only a few women in your graduating class, you remember seeking out your parents in the audience and hoping to see their beaming faces after all that you had accomplished. Instead you found them apathetic with virtually no change in expression when your name was announced, about as excited to see you up there as they would be watching water boil. You remember only feeling the slightest twinge of hurt at that, before plastering on your biggest, fakest smile to receive your degree. 

After the ceremony they would both greet you with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes, limp hugs, and mild platitudes about how hard you worked. You can at least appreciate that they would go through the motions of putting on the facade of proud parents. Your father would take you to the nicest restaurant in the city and let you order whatever you wanted. He would also call you “fellow Dr.Y/L/N,” as though he hadn’t spent the past four years rolling his eyes at your chosen field as a whole. Your mother would present you with a blue Tiffany box containing a pearl necklace to wear now that you were a working professional and follow up the night interrogating you as to whether or not you had a boyfriend. Even your brother made an appearance at dinner, claiming to have been too busy at the hospital to have gone to the ceremony, and you all politely ignored the grass stains on his pants, telling you he was anywhere but seeing patients that day. Afterwards you would go back to your own apartment that night, throw the blue box into a drawer and cry yourself to sleep. This is one of your more pleasant interactions with your family in recent memory. 

That night you made a promise to yourself that regardless of how they all felt about it, you promised to always take pride in what you accomplished. You would take pride in it because who else would?

Now though, as you gaze at the degree over Elvis’ shoulder as he thrusts erratically into you and whispers filthy things into your ear, it is nothing more than another source of shame. Somehow you can feel it mocking you with its presence, stating how you aren’t worthy of it, as though it’s privy to every single way you’ve violated your moral duty as a therapist just tonight. 

You would close your eyes to it, choosing to revel in the feeling of him within you as you both neared the edge. All of the problems you're facing seem so far away now that you’re with him, even though logically you know that he’s the source of many of them. 

“You’re so good for me mama,” he would whisper against your skin, sending reverberations throughout your whole body, and involuntarily making you let out a soft mewl in response. After months of encounters like these, you’re still paranoid that anybody could overhear you, so he takes particular pleasure in his ability to make you lose yourself in your office like this. He makes a pleased hum, rewarding you by rubbing your clit in tight circles that has you seeing stars. You fall back on your desk, your degrees forgotten, as you wrap your legs around him to keep him in as much as you can.

Elvis halts as your walls tighten around him, his brow furrowing and his breathing getting more ragged as he tries to prevent himself from cumming. The look in his eyes has you kissing him hungrily in an attempt to muffle yourself as the aftershocks run through your body. You’re hyper aware of every sensation he’s giving you from the way his fingers lightly trail from your hip to the back of your knee to the way his chest hair feels against your nipples. You’re far too sensitive, every nerve is a live wire ready to burn, but he’s far from done with you. 

He’s still hard inside you, a fact he’s not about to let you forget as he continues his unforgiving rhythm once more. That last orgasm took everything out of you and you barely have the energy to lift a finger let alone meet his thrusts no matter how much you want to. Elvis takes advantage of your pliancy to grab a hold of your knee and hook it over his shoulder, giving him a new angle to better spear himself into you. 

“You love taking care of me dontcha darlin’? You live to take care of your daddy?” Every word drips like honey on your soul. 

“Yes daddy” you breathe as tears threaten to stream down your face. You hate how easily it falls off your tongue.

“You got another one in ya’ baby?” he growls, feeling his lips brush against the skin above your knee.

“N-no, it’s too much ahh-” you’re interrupted when he takes an especially harsh bite at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You can already feel the bruise starting to form as he lathes his tongue along the bite and asks you again. 

“You know what I wanna hear mama,” he grunts, a particularly feral grin as you feel a few tears escape. 

“Pl-please make me cum again daddy” you beg, desperate in a way only he has ever been able to make you. You let out a needy whine as he stops to plant a knee on your desk, before he takes a hold of your hips and pulls out of you until only the tip remains, before proceeding to ram you back into place.

He’s not moving, instead he’s moving you up and down his cock, and you’re left a keening mess beneath him. The obscene and humiliating feeling of being used by him as more a thing to fuck into in the end is what does it for you. You blindly reach out onto the desk behind you, frantically needing some sort of leverage as you peak once again, this one even more devastating than the last. You clench around him, desperate for everything he can give. And never let it be said that Elvis Presley is not a giver.

Elvis lets out a guttural groan as your walls close in around him again, and you feel hot streams of cum paint your insides. After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls out and you see him take a bit of a step back as though to fully admire his work. A chill goes up your spine at his intense gaze on you as well as the feeling of his cum beginning to leak out of you, and you feel rather than hear his purr of approval at the sight. You give a strangled yelp when you feel him dip his fingers back in before he hoists you up into a sitting position. 

“How’s it taste mama?” he says, removing his fingers from your mouth.

“Good” you’re barely able to breathe out.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, bringing you closer to him and giving you a long languid kiss.

He had been in a particularly jovial mood as of late due to his suit against Tom Parker finally being settled in his favor. After all the evidence of mismanagement and shady business practices was brought to light, along with Diskin’s absolute bombshell testimony of all other unethical behavior behind the scenes, the Judge had no choice but to rule in Elvis’ favor. It had been a long battle, and Elvis discovered the people he could and couldn’t trust, but seeing him healthy and looking forward to the road ahead without all that was holding him back shows you that it was worth it in the end. 

The last few sessions had simply been mostly him discussing all that he’s excited for with this new chapter in his life. How planning for the world tour is now officially underway and all the places he’ll be able to visit and perform, and you’re able to share in his excitement, but for a much different reason. Today, he even proudly announced to you how soon he’s going to begin training to get his pilot’s license. Despite how off the rails his treatment has become, you’re proud to see this development and view this as a small victory as he told you months before how he’s always wanted to fly, but was always hesitant due to his mothers fears. 

It was at the very least a good indicator of the progress he’s made in therapy in the fact that his risk taking behavior has become far more controlled. If you remember correctly he had first brought up the idea months ago. Right around the same time he returned to the stage. 

The weeks following the concert were a silent struggle between the two of you, with you trying to retain whatever agency you could and attempts at reducing his tighter and tighter grip on your life and him trying to enmesh himself further into your life. It was a careful balancing act of compromise, mostly on your part, and picking and choosing your battles. 

Officially he’s no longer your patient, however that doesn’t stop him from meeting with you at his regular times, nor do you even attempt to fill that vacant spot in your schedule. You attend any and all social events he wants you to, but you tell no one your full name, let alone your official title. He wants you all but sitting in his lap during session and you have to settle for being within arms reach of him at all times. He refuses condoms, but begrudgingly accepts that you’re on the pill, and so on and so forth.

Now with this… unconventional development in your relationship there is now the expectation of reciprocity from him. Any probe you make for treatment, if you can even call it that anymore, now always has to be preceded by a look into your own life. You learned this a few sessions in when the two of you had gotten on to the topic of his early days of touring, and how it affected his relationships back home.

“It was real tough on my Mama, bein’ away for so long.” he said, before looking at you. “But ain’t that how all of ‘em feel when the kids leave. Like you.”

“Elvis this isn’t about me.”

“I know,” he says with that smirk that makes your face feel warm. “It’s about me, and me? I wanna know how your folks felt when you started goin’ to school?”

You give him a deadpan look, and he responds by leaning forward, elbows on his knees, seemingly eager to hear what you have to say. The look on his face tells you that he wasn’t going to talk until you did.

“Ok, if you’re so insistent,” you sigh, ignoring how his slight smirk turns into a full blown grin as he gets his way yet again. “I lived at home while I was getting my Bachelor’s, and if anything, my mother wanted me out and about as often as possible. She treated my education more as an expensive hobby that I would use to get a husband. She still believes that Benny was a boy I was seeing in my last two years, and not the diner I was working at.”

“How ‘bout your daddy?”

“He…” you hesitate a little, as this isn’t something you’ve ever been comfortable discussing. “...didn’t really like the idea of me going to school, thought I was too… delicate I guess. He especially didn’t like the idea of me with any man, but I do think it was more because he wanted to pick one for me.” 

“You two close?”

That gets your attention as you realize you're treading into dangerous territory, as it's starting to sound suspiciously similar to when the two of you talk about his mother. Especially given the fact that he is very much aware of your…odd tendencies in bed. But you fear avoiding the topic altogether will only showcase that there is something to be prodded in the first place so you decide to leave him with something.

“I mean we were when I was a kid, but then, as it goes, we sort of drifted when I became a teen,” you tap your fingers along your notebook, knowing how to transition from this subject, yet hesitant to broach it. “Speaking of fathers, is there a reason you’re so interested in the topic today?”

He looks dismayed for a moment, before giving a small dry chuckle. “So I see you’ve been keepin’ up with them magazines.” His eyes however aren’t accusing, simply defeated.

“In regards to you Elvis, I try to avoid tabloids so as to be as unbiased as possible when it comes to our sessions.” This is a lie, as any time you’d been away from him you made it a point to scour these rags, to make sure they hadn’t caught on to your relationship. As you discovered they are aware of your existence, but no information beyond that other than a few pictures of you at some of his events. Because you are unknown to the public, and the fact that Elvis is remaining tight-lipped in regards to you, this only raises interest in discovering who you are. “I pay no mind to rumors, but when an event such as this occurs, I feel it warrants discussion. But I do want to hear from you what happened, if you are comfortable talking about that.”

He huffs at this, clearly angered by the situation, and maybe with you for bringing it up, but eventually he does concede. “What’s there to say, that piece of shit, got my own daddy to side with him as a character witness or whatever. Now I can’t even trust my own goddamn family to look out for me, ‘cause Parker may have them in his pocket too. Maybe I’m just easy to throw away if my own daddy can’t stand by my side.”

You let out a sigh as you plot your next words carefully. “Elvis, the decisions of our parents affect us no matter how young or old we are. It’s difficult to not internalize rejection as some sort of short-coming on our part, especially when it comes from family. I can’t speak for your father’s motivations to side with Parker, but I can say with absolute certainty that he chose wrong.”

He takes a second to look at you before giving you a somber smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised though. Ever since I found out ‘bout Parker, he’s been going to bat for him. “Trying to get me to forgive him or drop the case, and when I brought in someone else to manage the business, we just stopped talking altogether. Well… he stopped talking to me.” 

“I know exactly how that feels,” you say without even thinking about it. When you realize what you had just said, you quickly try to recover. “I mean I… I’ve had patients who have experienced something similar,” you clear your throat. “Elvis, part of maintaining healthy relationships, is also recognizing when you're the only one putting in effort to preserve it. Did these feelings of abandonment exist prior to you firing or even meeting Parker?”

“I mean… I was always closer to Mama, and when I think about it, Daddy was just… there,” he says, looking at you for reassurance that you understood. 

This certainly sounds like a familiar story you’ve heard before, but with the new information, you realize to some extent that Elvis had no choice but to latch on to his mother, with a father like this. “It… sounds to me that what you're describing is emotional abandonment,” you say to him. “Many patients have described how there is a relationship in their lives where they feel they put in all the effort of maintaining it. And how the person in question has ‘checked out’ essentially in that physically they’re present, but otherwise they don’t engage.”

“But he’s family.”

“I recognize that Elvis, but a hard truth about codependency is that it’s not limited to romantic relationships or friendships, and it can in fact occur or even be shaped by familial ones, considering that those tend to be the earliest ones in development.” 

You wouldn’t say you’re exactly jumping for joy that he has an unhealthy dynamic with his father as well, but you do believe that being able to deconstruct his relationship with Vernon will at least act as a bridge that will allow him to reflect better on his relationship with his mother. 

And luckily it seems to strike a chord with him, as he goes from defensive to angry to sadness to acceptance all within a few moments. “So what should I do ‘bout it doc?”

“I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do in regards to your father Elvis. But what I can say is you’re the only one who can decide what you want a relationship, if any, with your father going forward to look like.” 

“What ‘bout you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What does your relationship with your daddy look like”

“Oh… it’s fine,” you wave dismissively, desperately hoping for a change in subject.

“I know you better than that, Y/N,” he said, his eyes hardening. “You got something to say about your daddy and I think you really wanna tell me.”

“Elvis I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“Yes you did,” he says, so sure in his words. “You’re always so careful with what you say, ain’t no way you did that by accident. And if I’m going to figure out what relationship I want with my daddy, I think I need an example of what one could look like.”

You clench your jaw in frustration but you sigh in defeat, and give in, Because you always do, you think spitefully. What can you do though, he was able to discern that there was something with your relationship with your father from what little you’ve revealed, and now he’s latched on to getting it out of you. Not to mention he’s made a pretty convincing argument as to why it would benefit his treatment.

“My father and I have a very… troubled relationship. Prior to me going to college he didn’t interact with me outside of trying to guide where my life should go. And I listened every time in a vain attempt to return to that previously close relationship. But when I chose to go into this field he stopped interacting with me whatsoever. I still see him on occasion, because I want to maintain a good relationship with my other family members. And that’s the relationship I choose to have with my father.” you finish, feeling rawer than you have ever felt. Elvis, in the few months you’ve been doing this, had been able to get more out of you than most other partners you’ve had.

You look up to see him and find that he’s surprised and maybe a little confused at your answer. “I can’t believe he ain’t proud to see his own daughter become a doctor,” he says.

“He’s also a doctor, though in the medical field. As far as he cares, I have a useless degree in a useless field.” you say, biting your lip to stop it from quivering. “But I don’t let it get to me. I’m proud of the work I do and the people I help, even if he’s not.”

He goes quiet with your confession and silently he takes your hand, “Well for what it’s worth Doc… I’m glad you didn’t listen to him.” 

You give a small smile at that, “Thank you.”

“I mean it Y/N, I’m so goddamn proud of all that you done. I feel like you don’t hear that enough.” Those words, though you hate to admit it, have an effect on you, and you lean forward, resting your forehead against his, your eyes welling up with tears. 

Lately he had the courtesy to not start anything sexual until at least the 45 minute mark of session. Though you don’t hold your breath at the thought that this is progress in any way. The more pragmatic part of you believes that he is simply getting over the high of having you at his beck and call, and now he’s exploring other aspects of a relationship. Part of the reason you’ve let this continue is that you hope to some extent that you can help him model what a healthy relationship looks like with emotional vulnerability, compromise, and honesty. You suspect with the world tour on the horizon that the end of this arrangement is on the horizon, and you can only hope that he takes what he’s learned from this simulation and he goes on to have a better romantic relationship in the future. 

Surprisingly enough you are able to help him to some extent with this turn in your relationship. Particularly he felt more comfortable in discussing previously more touchy aspects of his life. About a month after his return concert, the two of you discussed the anxiety that his status as a sex symbol has caused him over the years. 

“I always hated bein’ called that,” he stared morosely looking at the floor. “It felt like I was always workin’ and always had to be what everyone thought I was.”

“In what regard?”

“I was always worried that if I didn't give these women the best night of their lives, it would get back to the world that I wasn't what they called me.”

“I can imagine that this was a major source of stress, due to public perception being essential in your line of work.”

“I guess,” he said. “Sometimes it felt more like a… like a chore. If I didn’t live up to what they were hopin’ for, then I wasn't doin’ my job. But ain’t that normal though doctor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ain’t there always somethin’ you're scared of happenin’ with your work. Like you, doc. What’s the scariest part of the job for you?”

You mean aside from this whole situation, you think sarcastically. You want more than anything to tell him that, but still you feel the ardent need to keep this going due to your sense of a breakthrough on the horizon. Though you can’t totally trust your own instincts anymore when it comes to him, as you can’t rule out that this isn’t you insulating him from the truth of the matter. 

Greatest fears is not an uncommon question to be asked, but you can usually respond with the standard, snakes or spiders, but his specific wording of it having to do with your job also has you nervous. Does he want you to admit  the truth so he has a reason to be mad and avoid delving deeper or does he want you to lie and validate that this relationship isn’t the worst thing to happen to you? Ultimately you decide to err on the side of caution and give him a half truth. 

“Given the nature of my specialty, my greatest fear for all of my patients is seeing them return to their old habits. Specifically when I see them return to those who abused them,” you answer. “It’s like saving someone from a fire, only to turn around and see them run back in.” This is certainly not untrue as, while not so frequent, you have had this happen more than once, and experiencing it is a particular type of hell in your opinion, as it reinforces the fact that at the end of the day there is only so much you can do to help people. Before Elvis, you thought it was the worst thing you could possibly experience as a therapist.

You're wrenched from your thoughts by a comforting hand on your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that with me baby,” he whispers to you. “I ain’t ever goin’ back to him after all the shit he pulled.” 

If you can take comfort in anything about this whole situation, you can take comfort in that fact. You rest your hand on top of his for a moment, even curling your fingers slightly, before looking into his eyes. Truly he has some of the most mesmerizing eyes you’ve seen in your life, his dark lashes outlining the deep oceans that never fail to leave you a drift. You even begin to reconsider your opinion on hypnosis, considering his ability to make you act like a completely different person with seemingly a single look. 

You pull yourself away from those thoughts, remembering that you have a job to do. So you gently squeeze his hand once more before clearing your throat to continue the session, though you don’t make any motion to remove his hand from its spot on your leg. “I would like to circle back to your frequent flings in Vegas if you wouldn’t mind.” you probe softly. You have a theory, but you want him to reach that first.

“Go ahead.”

“When most people describe their reasoning for affairs, it typically boils down to some want or need not being met in their relationship. Previously when we talked about this topic before, it was to my understanding that the distance from Priscilla was the driving factor in this behavior,” he shrugged his shoulders at this. “But now you’ve described how you took little satisfaction from these encounters, even likening it to a chore. Please help me better understand what you gained from these experiences or what was different with these women.”

He sits on this question for about a minute, bringing a fist to his mouth as he typically does whe deep in thought. “I ain’t gonna lie and say I didn’t wanna fuck at all, but I guess more than anythin’ I didn’t wanna be alone those nights.” He smiled sardonically at that statement before continuing, “Funny thing though, it was never as good with women I didn’t know that well, and it just made that lonely feelin’ worse. What do ya’ make of that Doc?”

You ponder his response, though it is pretty much what you suspected. “It sounds to me, that what you were seeking wasn’t necessarily sex, but intimacy,” you state.

“Ain’t they the same thing?” 

“They certainly can be,” you say. “But what separates the two is an emotional connection. I suspect that the reason that these encounters weren’t satisfying for you was because that connection was missing.”

“Yeah,” he says with a long tired sigh “Yup that sounds ‘bout right.” He covers his face with his hand as though ashamed, before saying, “Fuck, I feel so stupid. How I ain’t never noticed before?”

“Elvis, please don’t speak about yourself that way,” you say in your softest tone. “It’s hard to truly reflect on our behavior and how it affects us, unless directly confronted with it. To some extent we view ourselves with blinders on, making self-reflection and by extension, change, nearly impossible without the intervention of consequences.” Taking his hand away from his eyes and holding it before continuing. “Especially when you’re living a life where outside forces are encouraging the behaviors that you were exhibiting. I commend you for having enough courage to change.”

His expression is still solemn as he says, “you sound like you knew already. Is this real common with the others?” 

“I can reassure you that to some extent, everybody on some level wishes to be understood. I’ve heard stories from patients who have admitted to hiring escorts for the sole purpose of listening to them speak about their day and pretend to be their girlfriend. You don’t have to feel alone in your need for companionship, as it feels like part of the human condition is to seek out understanding from another person.” 

A small smile finally breaks his grim face. “Lucky for me that I think I found her,” he says, kissing your hand. As you put your hand over his once more, all you’re thinking about is that the only difference between you and a prostitute right now is that you’re partially covered by his insurance.

When your time was officially up that day, you were already prepared for him to initiate something with you, but to your surprise instead he would simply bring you to sit on his lap and hold you for a while before letting you know that he wanted to head home now. You quickly gathered all your things and followed him to his car all the while he held your hand. You recognize what this is about almost immediately: He’s testing the waters with non-sexual intimacy.

You contemplate sabotaging his attempt by initiating tonight, but scrap that plan, as A, you don’t want to give him the wrong idea, and B. you’re not going to ignore someone who's clearly communicating their emotional needs.

“Whatcha readin’ darlin’?” he asks later on as he gets into bed. 

“Oh uh just some Agatha Christie,” you say, showing him the cover. 

“I didn’t know you like mysteries,” he muses, motioning for you to come closer to him and you abide, wanting to settle for the night. He positions you so that your back is to his chest with his arms encircling your waist, with his legs on either side of you. 

“I guess I just like problem-solving,” you say.

“Read it to me.” he says, planting a kiss on your temple.

“You sure? I’m well into it, so it’ll probably be boring,” you warn.

“Then I’ll fall asleep faster.”

You huff in amusement at him, but comply nonetheless. You won’t lie this feels… nice. It was moments like these where you were able to forget how truly disturbing this entire situation was. You were not his therapist who was strong-armed into this relationship by a deeply disturbed man to fill some sort of mother role. No. You were a woman who was reading in bed while being held by her boyfriend. It feels… simple. 

True to his word he was asleep within twenty minutes of when you started reading. In all honesty you enjoyed it, especially after you were able to gauge from him that this wasn’t something his mother did when he was a child.  

You’re not too far behind him as you have found it easier and easier to fall asleep here the more time you spend in Graceland. Though you can recognize that it’s very much by design at this point. Elvis’ bouts of insomnia seem to correlate perfectly with the nights you spend in your apartment, and he had taken to late night calls on those nights. His calls are nothing short of psychological warfare, as they are both constant yet unpredictable. He had no qualms calling you while you were asleep or even multiple times a night, no regard given to whether you were asleep or not. It’s gotten to the point where you barely sleep in your own apartment anymore and just wait in an agitated state waiting for his calls. One night he even refrained from calling at all, but rather than relief, you were left an anxious, sleep deprived mess until you saw him later that day. 

It was only as the words asking why he didn’t call you last night left your mouth, did you realize the trap you walked into. You hung your head in shame at your misstep, no doubt missing his smug expression as he promised to not let that happen again, and that he’d call you every night the two of you weren’t together from now on. 

Even away from him, you couldn’t fully be away from him. You had a total of two days out of the week where you didn’t expect to see him, and yet somehow these were the days you felt most anxious. He’s almost akin to an ambush predator, able to strike when your guard is down and coerce you into relinquishing some sort of freedom to him. It’s how he was able to get you to reduce your work week from five to four days. 

He had walked into your office earlier than his scheduled time that day, take-out in hand, insisting on an early dinner with you. At first you were only counting your stars that your last session had wrapped earlier than usual today, as even mere minutes ago he would have barged in on you with a patient. You had thought you had already subverted whatever powerplay he was making by sheer luck and you were thinking of ways to tactfully ask him not to do this again.  As you were coming up with an excuse, you see him put down the food and you see his once amiable expression drop into that of disdain. It’s only then do you realize you left your notes from your previous session fully on display a top your desk. 

You as casually as you can move your notes out of sight, and shift the conversation back to the food at hand. He quickly changes back to his previous mood when you accept his offering, though that does little to quell your nerves. So as the both of you eat, he talks casually about his day so far, and you try to rationalize that with the quick glance he got at the papers, it is unlikely he got anything more than maybe a name.

“I didn’t know you were seein’ other men,” he said oh-so casually putting down his plate.

And that’s all he needed apparently, you thought ruefully. 

Samuel Baker. Mild-mannered accountant who had sought out your services after separating from an emotionally abusive ex-wife. He had come to you after a distant relative of his had recommended your practice and was one of the few male patients you helped on a weekly basis. Just today, you had talked to him today about strategies to employ when having to meet with her when doing custody exchanges. He had also just unknowingly become the object of Elvis Presley’s ire for merely existing in your presence.

“Elvis, please don’t say it like that,” you said, putting your fork down. “Yes, I have many patients, and yes some of them are men. But I can reassure with total certainty that you don’t have to worry about any of them as it is all strictly professional.” 

“Ain’t that what you used to say about us?” he argued back. And what can you say to that really, you know he’s right. 

His bouts of jealousy are nothing new to you, as you have both heard from him and experienced what it’s like when he gets this way. 

“Elvis, this is my job,” you emphasize. “I help people through their emotional turmoil, and I take pride in the work that I do. I’m not going to stop helping them because you don’t trust me.”

“It ain’t that I don’t trust you,” he said, caressing your face. “It’s them. They don’t know you’re my girl. And I can’t protect you.” 

“Elvis, why would you need to protect me?” you said, truly baffled at that statement.

“Darlin’, as smart as you are, you don’t understand men like I do,” he said. “They see you and think you can fix ‘em. I don’t want to see ‘em take advantage of your big heart.”

Is… Is he being serious right now? 

“What would you have me do Elvis?” You are genuinely curious as to what he wants from you.

“Baby I don’t like seein’ you havin’ to work so hard for these other men that don’t deserve you,” he says. “Maybe you should drop ‘em.” 

And there it is, you think snarkily. 

“Elvis,” you say, standing up to your full height to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to do that,” your voice firm and your fists clenched.

He looks taken aback by your hard stance, and his dismay from being refuted passes as a near sadistic glean in his eyes takes its place. “Y/N, I just want to ease your workload. I guess I can start by transferrin’ over to that other therapist you were reccomendin’.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, closing your eyes in defeat. “If you’re really worried about me working so much, then I-I can rework my schedule so that I work fewer days in the week.” bringing your mouth into a tight line in an attempt to keep it from quivering.

“Three days.” He says.

“Four and I give myself a three-day weekend.” You say.

He thinks on that for a moment doing some internal calculating, before smirking and agreeing on the condition that you start on that schedule immediately. 

He ultimately rewards your compliance by laving your pussy for almost the entire scheduled session. It’s become something of a pattern, where you push back against a demand of his and when you inevitably end up compromising he does this. Your worries about this being some sort of conditioning you chalk up to paranoia. Even still a month after the shift in your schedule did you notice that many of the patients that you ended up transferring or graduating out, just so happened to be men. 

One Wednesday evening, as you were settling in for the night in your apartment, you feel your blood run cold as you hear a loud knock, because it’s not a stranger you fear at the door. You however breathe a sigh of relief though when you find Mark at your entrance. In spite of the fact that it had felt like months since you had talked to him, he seemed happy to see you greeting you with a big hug. You welcome him in and he remarks at how long it’s been since you’ve seen each other. 

You laugh nervously at that, knowing it’s due to the fact you're rarely at your place anymore. You’re barely able to maintain contact with your own family anymore, having to swap your previously regular phone calls to weekly, because anything less would have your father filing a missing persons report on you. Even so, you try to dismiss his concerns with a weak statement of work having kept you busy lately, quickly changing the subject by asking about his students and how his research is going. 

As you’re chatting you look at the clock and realize that it’s around this time that Elvis would call. He has maintained his promise of calling you regularly now, and you’ve never missed a call from him, fearing what he may do in retribution. However you can’t exactly talk to him now while Mark is in your place nor can you let Elvis know that he’s here. So with that in mind you “accidentally” knock over your drink onto the coffee table. 

You curse at your supposed clumsiness as he acts quick to save your mail on the table. You grab the glass and run to the kitchen to grab a towel after quietly disconnecting your phone. You’ve decided to roll the dice and hope he doesn’t decide to call until Mark is long gone. Either way you need to get him out of here, as you’ve already experienced his jealousy with hypothetical men he’s never met before and you don’t want to think of what could happen were he to find out another man was here alone with you. 

“Oh that reminds me” he says holding up the red envelope he managed to save. “I got the invitation.”

You feel your heart stop. “What invitation?” you manage to squeak out, worried that this is Elvis related.

“To… your parent’s 40th Anniversary?” he said, confused as to why he was the one to remind you. 

“Oh… right, that um…” you say, trying to gather your thoughts. “That… really snuck up on me this year.” 

“Right? So… do you still need a date for it?” he asked. Since grad school he had been your go to in regards to a plus one to family gatherings such as this. He was somewhat familiar to your admittedly complicated relationship with your parents, and with his success in the field as a professor and overall innocuous presence, he was the perfect candidate to help stave off the comments of you attending alone.

A part of you wishes to walk into the party, arm-in-arm with Elvis, just for the satisfaction of seeing something beyond indifference on all of their faces. You quickly banish that thought and say yes to Mark as a result. You can’t help but notice even in conversations not about him, your thoughts somehow find a way to make it about him anyway.

You chat with him a little while longer, though you are still uneasy, as you can’t quite put it past Elvis to show up at your doorstep because you didn’t pick up your phone. Before long you’re excusing yourself, saying you have a session early in the morning and he thankfully takes the hint. You walk him to your door and when he leans in to give you a kiss, you turn your head so he kisses your cheek. He clearly caught that, but thankfully says nothing, before taking his leave and promising to see you Saturday.

You fall to your couch and bury your head in your hands feeling awful, though when you hear the pounding on your front door, you know you’re going to feel alot worse. You open the door, only for Elvis to push past you to stand in the middle of the room, “Who was he?” he asks, cold as the grave, as you close the door.

You’re not even going to pretend to play dumb. Though you are perturbed as to how he knew, the how isn’t as important as the what now? You approach him from behind to put a hand on his shoulder, and you feel him tense up under your touch. “Elvis please sit down so we can talk about this,” you say, simple but firm.

He whips around and before you know it he has a bruising grip on your arm and gives a firm yank towards him. “Answer me!” he roars.

Though you’re shocked and more than a little afraid, you refrain from letting him see how scared you are right now. You swallow and look him right in the eye, and say, “You will not treat me like this.” If your years working as both a therapist and waitress has taught you anything, it’s how to be yelled at and not let it affect you. “Elvis, you’re hurting me. Please let go,” you say though you don’t let your voice betray your pain. 

You know it would be easier to placate him with tears and begging and whatever else he wanted to quell his nerves at the situation, but you know in the long term that it will do you nor him any good if he’s not called on this behavior now. 

Your words seem to snap him out of it as he lets go, but you can still see him huffing, and know he’s still raging inside. “Now let’s sit down and discuss this,” you say, leaving no room for argument. You guide him to the sofa, and sit with him and breathe a sigh of relief that you were able to bring him down somewhat. “Now as for who that was, he was my friend and colleague, Mark,” you see that fire in his eyes return full force, “and he stopped by today, unannounced, because we haven’t seen each other in months and because he hasn’t been able to get a hold of me he wanted to make sure I was okay. We talked for a while and then he went home, that’s it.” you say as concisely as you can, without going into further detail. 

“Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?” he asks, calmer but still very angry. 

“Like I said, he’s a colleague and I didn’t want to take any chances of you calling me and having him overhear and find out about our relationship. So I unplugged my phone, and I haven’t plugged it back in yet, and I’m sorry that I missed your call.” You know you have nothing to be guilty about, and you act like it. You’re not going to beg him for forgiveness beyond disconnecting the phone, and you won’t give in to any intimidation tactics he has. However you still feel your hands go clammy as though you did betray him in some way.

For all his initial bravado you see him deflate and ease back into the couch, and you can finally swallow that lump in your throat. This is where you truly mess up, and betray all your years of experience, by leaning into him and letting his arms wrap around you. 

You wish for it to end here, but you know very well how this is going to end, so when he turns your face towards him you simply close your eyes and accept it. He plants a filthy kiss on you bringing you closer so you can straddle him fully. 

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says between kisses, the delusional look in his eyes telling you that that is very much the case. You fumble with the buttons on your blouse, as all the while he still hungrily kisses you as his hands move underneath your top to unclasp your bra. Once bare from the waist up you remove yourself from him, only to take his hand to lead him back to your bed. 

Seeing him in your bedroom is always an odd experience, it’s why you rarely allow this to happen. Being with him here doesn’t have the otherworldly mystique of Graceland or even the salacious allure of your office. No. Here next to your various tchotchkes and cups that you need to wash, it feels… real. There is no hiding behind the thin veneer of treatment that what you two have isn’t a full-on relationship.  

But it’s also a sobering reminder of the fact that for as personal as it felt, you still have a life outside of him that he simply can’t be a part of. You’re his therapist and you know that this can't go on forever. You two will eventually go your separate ways and this will all feel more like a dream in the end, but you don’t think you’ll be able to forget how beautiful he looked against your floral sheets or how the rug burn on your knees felt. 

Nor do you think you want to forget.

He takes his time with you that night, making sure to stake his claim on your body, leaving no inch of you untouched and leaving the occasional bruise to fully mark you as his. 

And you want to indulge in him as much as you can because you don’t know how long you truly have left with him. 

Later on, as you're laying on his bare chest listening to the steady thrum of his heart and you feel him going soft within you, is when you remember the anniversary party to come. You don’t even know how you’re going to broach the subject to him, especially given the fact that he had just gotten into his feelings about you having a life outside of him. Mix in the fact that you’re going to be attending with a man who you just told him not to worry about, and this is going to be nothing short of a disaster. 

You realize how manipulative it looks to ask for something (Though you shouldn’t really have to ask) right after having sex with him, but you know this is not something you can simply put off for later, because you realize the effect he has on you. If you don’t do it now, you fear you may lose the courage to do so having to face him in the light of day. You can no longer justify putting off your personal life for his benefit anymore.

So truly is it not better to just rip the band aid off now?

“Elvis?”

“Yeah baby?” 

“This saturday…” and with your ear over his heart, you hear it speed up a little, and that makes you take the coward's way out. “I made plans to meet with my graduate class for a get together.” 

He’s quiet and his steady breathing has you fearing that he’s already fallen asleep, until he says, “Alright then, what time should I be ready?” he says. 

“No, Elvis,” you sigh. “I’m going alone.”

You never quite understood the phrase cut the tension with a knife, until the heavy silence fell over the both of you in that moment. You swallow thickly as you feel him remove one of his arms around your waist and turn the lights on temporarily blinding you. Part of you wishes it had become permanent as you see the heartbreak etched into his face as he whispers, “Why don’t ya’ want people knowin’ ‘bout us?”

You close your eyes in frustration, because this is certainly not the first time you’ve had this conversation with him, but this is the first time it’s been so emotionally charged. You get off of him and sit on your knees to fully look at him, far too comfortable in your nudity than you should be, especially for what is about to be discussed. “Elvis you kno-”

“I know, but I don’t understand mama,” his eyes glassy. “You do all this work for people who don’t appreciate you like I do, and for a job you don’t even like.”

“What are you on about?”

“You’re unhappy,” he accuses. 

“I am not,” you lie.

“Yes you are,” he raises his voice, so sure of his assumption. “I see it every goddamn session. How tired you look at the end of the day. How even when you're home you’re thinking about the others. Hell you don’t even see you’re own fuckin’ family because of the job, and now you say you can only go out with friends because they’re shrinks too.”

“The reason I don’t see my family is you,” you redirect. 

 “When the hell did I ever say you couldn’t see ‘em!”

This clamps you up because it’s true. That was your choice, not seeing them in the past few months, but that was only because the last thing you wanted was for him to want to join you.

“How long before you end up choosin’ this job over me?” he says with the most heartbroken tone you’ve heard.

Your continued silence speaks volumes. 

“So that’s it, ain’t it? This job is already more important than me?”

“Elvis this is what I've spent years of my life working for, I can’t simply throw it away for you,” you say, trying to justify yourself. “You can’t demand someone quit their job so they can be with you.”

Whether at your words or you directly, you feel the resentment in the look he gives you as he turns away from you and plants his feet on the carpeted floor. You hear him huff for a bit before he ultimately clicks his tongue and says venomously, “You got work in the morning dontcha? Well I best get outta here since it’s so important to ya’.”  

As he stands to get dressed, you want so badly to ask him to stay and against your better judgment you reach out to him. 

“It’s all the same to you, ain’t it?” he says, pulling up his pants interrupting your attempt. “We pay you to listen to our troubles and feelin’s and you tell us how we should act and shit.” Throwing on his shirt, he gives a small mirthless laugh before turning around, grabbing your face and saying “‘cept I’m the only one who gets to fuck you?” with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Yes.” you answer looking away in shame.

You wish you had been looking at him, because then that you would have at least been a little better prepared for the fingers that were suddenly in your cunt. Though mercifully you were still very wet, you still can’t help but the soft shriek of surprise at the sudden intrusion, which is all he needs to get to work once again. He knows you well enough now to know exactly how to touch you in a way that has you falling apart in minutes. 

You want to lean back, but his firm grip on your face makes it impossible to run away from the sensation. You're forced to look in his eyes and know who is making you feel this way. You make a token effort of trying to push him away or clench your thighs together to prevent him entrance, but you just can’t stop yourself from chasing the pleasure only he has been able to give you. 

“This just part of the job too, Y/N?” he whispers angrily.

You don’t get the chance to answer as he curls his fingers in just the right spot and nips your ear just the way you like, and you're falling apart yet again. You can’’t help your cry, and he responds in kind by shoving his fingers into your mouth forcing you to taste yourself, while your hips desperately seek purchase from your sudden emptiness. Once he wrenches his fingers from your mouth, you see that he still has that cruel look on him and you're not entirely sure if that shudder that run through your body is one of fear.

“Since it’s just a job to you, I best pay you better for all the extra services,” he growls, before pulling out his wallet and throwing whatever cash he had at your face. “That enough?”

You want to be mad at what he’s implying, but your feelings of anger are quickly stamped out as you see the genuine hurt in his eyes before he turns away to angrily shove his boots on and stomps out of your apartment. You cry to yourself until you hear your alarm go off and you're forced to get ready for the job you’ve chosen.

He doesn’t show up for his scheduled session.

That Friday, because of your altered schedule, you don’t even have the luxury of work to distract yourself, so you can only really stew at home. He’s mad at you no doubt about that, and why wouldn’t he be? He truly wants to treat what you two have as an actual relationship, and you made it clear you have a life outside of him that he’s not welcomed in, not to mention him finally figuring out where your priorities lie. No matter how reasonable it is to keep him separate, it no doubt hurts for him. Especially given the fact he’s opened up his whole world to you. 

It’s the uncertainty that is killing you though. If he were to call right now and tell you that he was going to report you, that would at the very least be better than the silent treatment you're currently receiving.

Of the two impending disasters in your life you choose to focus on your parents party for the time being. You were not looking forward to this whatsoever, given how your typical family get togethers go, and with you having been far less available in the last few months, you can only imagine how this will go. 

When you had first begun to circle in on Elvis’ issues surrounding his mother, he had pushed back as many do by asking the same of you. This wasn’t an uncommon avoidance tactic, so you already had vague answers prepared for all general questions you asked of your patients. Your go-to descriptor of your family dynamic was simply ‘fine.’ 

Fine as in you had an open invitation to all holidays and family get-togethers, which almost always consisted of you helping your mother in the kitchen before and after the meal where she would talk your ear off with gossip she heard and try to set you up with someone from her church. You would eat with the entire family, you would play with your niece and coo over your nephew, and grin and bear your sister-in-laws backhanded musings of why anyone would ever choose anything else over this. Your brother and father would separate from the lot of you to sit and drink on the porch in loaded silence. You would say hello and goodbye to your father, and that would be the totality of the interaction between the two of you. Neither of you would acknowledge this. You would go home as soon as was appropriate. You would repeat the next time. 

The story of your parents is, all things considered, picturesque. Your father the baseball star, your mother the prom queen, who married right out of high school. He would attend college and then medical school right afterwards, she would have a beautiful boy and become the ideal homemaker. Your father would later be drafted and served on the western front until the end of the war and upon his return is when you enter the picture. 

Your father was a prideful man, and why wouldn’t he be; Chief Physician of the biggest and newest hospital in the city, beautiful wife, smart and successful children. Image was always a great concern of his, taking great stock into who he associated himself with and what he owned. Though you and your brother, Danny, were undoubtedly your fathers most prized possessions though. 

Your brother, the very image of your father from his career down to the way he walks. Aside from a brief rebellious stage when he was a teen, Danny had followed the path your father had made for him down to the letter. You can never recall any instance in which your brother said he wanted to be a doctor, though you do remember your father always saying he was going to be one. You remember this specifically because in one instance you had asked him what you were going to be when you grew up and he replied with a kiss on the forehead saying how you would make a man so very happy one day, because you made him so happy. In retrospect, most of your childhood you felt more akin to a doll, meant to smile and be fussed over when he was interested, while also being quiet and sitting unobtrusive when he wasn’t. 

And you played along: good grades, good social standing, good attitude, all around good girl. In fact you can only really point to two instances of rebellion in your life, your chosen field of study and your relationship with Elvis. 

You’re not too sure how your parents would react to your relationship with Elvis even under normal circumstances. Your mother you’re almost positive would approve as her highest aspirations for you were that you would marry a rich man. And you don’t remember her having strong opinions about… anything really, let alone Elvis Presley. Though she doesn’t often disagree with father, so whatever hypothetical reaction she would have, you can at least guarantee that it would be a joint one with your father. As for your father you do remember his near violent rage towards your brother for playing Elvis’ music during his more controversial days, as he had adopted the opinions of his fellow bible thumpers. You can also recall him immediately showering you with love and affection in front of your brother, audibly complimenting how much he loved you because you weren’t a difficult child. That is still one of your fondest memories of him.

The dynamic between you and your father was always an odd one, either very hot or very cold at any given moment. From a very young age you remember him having, what your mother would refer to as episodes, where he would be home from work but not entirely present. He would sit for hours in front of the fireplace and be in a near catatonic state. Apparently when you were a baby one got so bad that he was there nearly the whole night and your mother at the end of her rope with him, thrust you into his arms, and it ended up having the desired effect of snapping him out of his state. 

From a young age he had described you as a godsend for him, how all the men he had lost in the war still haunt him, and how you were the only one capable of making them quiet, and how you were a reminder that he was still capable of life, whatever that meant. At one point you asked him once if there were ghosts in the house, and you remember him giving you a pained smile as he reassured you that ghosts only live inside your head. You fear that he was all too correct about that.

The burden of quieting these ghosts was always on you. Your brother who remembered your father prior to him being drafted was perturbed by his apparent shift in personality. And your mom saw nothing wrong with the arrangement as he wasn’t stuck in his head forever and you got to spend quality time with your father. If by quality time she meant talking, singing, etc., to your father while he silently held you in his arms. Mostly you read to him and once he snapped out of it he would praise how smart you were, though even from a young age you could recognize that he hadn’t heard a single word of what you had said.

Though for all that it helped him, it was not particularly healthy for you. You can recall how being anywhere without your father was stressful, as you feared he would have an episode and you wouldn’t be there to help him. The negative effect it had on your social life as you would rush home to be there when he got home from work and finally you would learn that this was not a common experience amongst the other girls. How you would barely sleep some nights due to the fact that he hadn’t had an episode in some time so you knew one was on the horizon.

This all came to a head when you were twelve or so, and asked if you could go to a friends, whose name you don’t even remember, sleepover, only for him to immediately shut you down and remind you how much he needed you home just in case. You don’t even remember what it was about that particular sleepover that made you want to go so bad, but this would be the first time you butted heads with him in your life.

Specifically you remember telling him how you weren’t going to be a little girl forever and you should be able to do things without him. You think you even remember saying how he needs to talk to someone about his episodes and how he shouldn’t always rely on you for them. Almost as soon as you said those words, did you regret them, as you watched the humiliation and pain in his eyes turn hard. He would let you go, but you could hardly enjoy yourself there, knowing how badly you hurt him. The next day you would come home to find your dad training a new dog, he refused to talk about it and you didn’t want to push the issue, so you let it be. 

You would regret that the next time you saw him having an episode, he would dismissively ask you to go back to your room all the while looking only at the new dog. And how could you complain, or more aptly, what did you have to complain about? Is this not what you wanted when you said that to him? For him to rely on someone else because you wished to be independent, and now he is doing just that. Even if that meant he didn’t really look your way anymore.

For the next few years you would have little interaction with your father outside of him giving you orders and you almost always followed them, desperate for that connection you had once more. 

You would be lying if you didn’t admit that this was part of the reason you got into your field in the first place, however you have since made a vow to refrain from attempting to diagnose any family member. Though of course now you can look back on it and conclude that turning you into essentially an emotional crutch since your infancy was an unhealthy coping mechanism on your fathers part and you wish that it did not happen, and you have worked to unpack all that on your own. However you don’t believe it has had any lasting damaging effects on you.

Come Saturday you had decided to fully push Elvis out of your mind and focus on the party. Your mother had called the night before to invite you as her plus one for a spa morning before getting ready for the party. Your father is a perfectionist and you always knew when he was like this before a party the best place to be was out of his way. 

As you approach the spa, you try to take comfort in the fact that your mother at the very least will be able to get all her intrusive more questions out before the party. You have no doubt that everything you say to her will be parroted back to your father before long. In spite of this you try your best to relax that morning and take your mind off of everything. 

Your mother brags that this trip was an anniversary gift from one of your fathers more high profile patients. It’s odd to you how your father can so easily accept gifts from patients in your eyes, when not only your job, but your own safety is reliant on an ability to maintain a professional distance from your patients. Your father is able to not only do this so flagrantly, but to thrive on it socially, as you know from past experiences that a good portion of guests that attend any of your parents' events are in fact his patients. 

You on the other hand reluctantly accepted one bottle of wine from a patient and your life has been on a downward spiral ever since.

You ponder what your life may have been if your father had been able to talk you out of switching majors. “I just want to see my princess succeed,” those words, seemingly gentle in delivery, when they in fact pierced your heart like a knife. Whether he was trying to intentionally break your spirit or not becomes irrelevant, as his message was clear: you would not find success here. 

And look at me now daddy, you thought bitterly. Fucking a patient who has the eyes of the world on him, with my entire future uncertain as to whether or not I’ll make it to the other side of this. I sure showed you what it means to succeed. Though you wouldn’t be surprised if this was in fact a success in your fathers eyes. 

You and your mother would return to your childhood home as the staff was finishing setting up. Every party your parents threw was nothing short of an event and this time was no different. Your parents took the concept of this being their Ruby anniversary seriously, even going so far as forcing you, Danny, and his family to wear the exact same shade of red for the full effect of family unity.

The dress chosen for you was more conservative than you would have liked, but as a result was a nice breather from the more risque dresses Elvis has been having you wear. You grin and play your part of the adoring daughter for the obligatory family photo, to which Danny reveals he’s going to have the portrait painted for the mantle for their wedding anniversary. You would gift them an expensive watch and necklace that you picked up last minute yesterday, and would secretly hope for your brother's plan to fall through because the last thing you want is to have to see this period of your life staring you in the face for years to come.

You would play with your niece as guests started to trickle in and quite honestly it’s the closest you’ve come to reprieve in a while. She wanted to show you her new doll and you in turn showed her how to braid their hair, and you idly wonder if she would get along with Lisa Marie. You yank the doll's head a little too hard when you think about the circumstances of the two of you meeting, let alone her meeting your niece, as you are hoping for the relationship between you and Elvis to peter out before that point. Eventually one of your cousins with kids arrive and you no longer have the excuse of keeping her company to avoid adult interaction. 

As a child you were always so mystified with these parties, sneaking to the staircase to watch all these fancy people milling about in your home below. Doctors, and lawyers, and businessmen and even politicians from around the city, all mingling together and having important discussions you were too young to understand fully. Your mother, beautiful as always, would play her part as hostess perfectly, occupying the women in a separate room to talk about whatever gossip had been brewing in their circle. But it was always your father who was the proverbial belle of the ball at these parties. He could walk into any room and all eyes would eventually gravitate towards him, he could hold a conversation with men of all backgrounds, and he could enrapture an entire party with one of his famous stories. You wanted more than anything to be down there and see up close what was essentially your father holding court.

Now as a grown woman, you are far more jaded to the experience, as going to these parties primarily entails intrusive questions of your love life, and attempts at playing matchmaker by most of the women. Not to mention the comments of how much you’ve grown with tones of varying levels of appropriateness from the men. It started when you began college, as before conversations with these people tended to be generic questions on if you were doing well in school and clubs you were in. Now, in spite of your status as an independent adult with a career and expanded interests, these people struggle to make conversation with you that doesn’t pertain to your love life. 

The evening was going as well as you could hope, considering you were able to connect with some old friends and family members you hadn’t seen in a while, though a glance at the clock tells you that Mark is running late and you have to take the judgemental looks from distant family members as to the whereabouts of both a ring and a boyfriend. There is still some time to go before the end of the evening and you plan to make a quiet exit once everyone makes the obligatory speeches and toasts. 

That is until you hear, as does everyone else, the heavy entrance doors open simultaneously and you feel the air shift. There seems to be a hush that falls across the attendees before you start to hear the incredulous whispers, each one filling you with dread.

Is that?!

I can’t believe it!

Why is he here?

You feel everything slow down, and without even needing to see him, you know exactly who just arrived. But the optimistic side holds out hope, so you have to confirm for yourself. You turn slowly as though that will prevent what’s about to happen and you feel your heart stop as you meet his gaze for the first time in days. 

Tags

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia​ @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2

[subtlelovers]

Hi, just read your reflection series with Satoru and I beg pls make part 3 I’m obsessed now. 😩

He saw his reflection in your eyes PT 1-3 (satoru Gojo X Fem!Reader)

About: Fluff, Angst?, Action.

Creator: This is a collection of part 1, 2 and 3, Thank you for all the attention and liking the stories have gotten! Every like, reblog and comment is appreciated! <3 (I havent said before, but the story is inspired by the song "Reflections" By the neighbourhood)

Chapter 1

Satoru Gojo. The strongest sorcerer of his time was burnt out, on top of missions and classes where he taught his students he was full booked never getting a second to himself. He was exhausted not getting enough sleep, though he found thta the time he was awake at night was the only time he had alone with his thoughts.

He was walking down the rainy streets, they were dimly lit by orange street lights. Cold rain had soaked his clothes all the way through, the sound of his feet splashing the water on the ground beneath him echoing through the empty streets. It was probably 4AM and Satoru was holding in his tears as he speed walked to try and get his mind off all of the stress.

Suddenly he sees someone walking slowly and a bit unsteadily in his direction, they were short and petite. He looked closer as he got closer to her, and he could see her wiping her flowing tears in her already rain soaked sweater. She was sniffling and desperately wiping them away as she walked, seemingly she was barely even able to hold her up as she almost tripped in her own feet.

When she walks past him, he grabs her wrists. "Stop." His soft yet cold voice says. You see who was holding your wrists to look up at Satoru, you were a sorcerer yourself born into a famous clan though you never went to school for it, so you knew who he was. "What are you doing grabbing be like that?!" You ask a bit shaken up as you pull away your hand to yourself.

Satoru’s grip loosens as he steps back, his usually calm demeanor slightly shaken by the desperation in your voice. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice gentler now. "I just... you seemed like you needed help." You blink away the rain and tears, studying his face. Even in the dim light, you recognize the exhaustion in his eyes, mirroring your own. "I don't need help," you reply, but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Satoru looks in your eyes for a second it's like a shiver in his spine... a spark in his eye, there was something so familiar about the way your eyes portrayed your expression. "Stop glaring at me" You say before you meet his eyes and feel the same, leaving you stunned and mute for a few seconds. A soft sigh escapes your lips, in the form of a "woah" kind of sound. Satoru speaks up "I'm sorry but, I see my reflection in your eyes..." He says leaning closer to your face a bit, your eyes widen. That is exactly the same thing you felt, he knew your pain he felt the same... Satoru steps back for a little bit, is it possible she knew his pain? Understood him properly? Satoru was born the "Honored one" due to him being borned with the 6 eyes and limitless technique. He was therefore spoiled rotten as a kid but quickly he was hunted after, a hefty sum above his head. People saw him as a war tool, as a danger due to his potential strength... Was it possible she had something similar..?

The rain outside continued to pour, creating a rhythmic backdrop to your thoughts. You finally break the silence. "I'm just so tired," you admit quietly. "My clan expected so much from me. I've never been allowed to be just... me." Satoru's eyes soften, a hint of sadness mixed with understanding. "It's a heavy burden, isn't it?" he says, almost to himself. "To be seen as something more than human, to carry the weight of everyone's expectations." He understood you...

You feel his long muscular arms pull you into his embrace but you don't hesitate at all, you wrap your own arms around his back and feel your rain soaked bodies press together. It was so comforting, the way the thin fabric of your clothes were so wet you could practically feel eachothers skin in the hug. Feeling the comforting closeness. Despite your earlier attempts you just let your tears fall, let them trinkle down your cheeks as you and the white haired man hugged. You could swear you heard him sniffle too, you were both strangers just a few minutes ago. Somehow you were now so close, like you had just met your mirror opposites or something, Satoru crouched down a bit to face you, he smiled and placed his hand behind your head gently pressing his lips against your own. His hand on your wet hair, rubbing his thumb on the back of your head as the two of you kissed. Blocking out the world outside as the rain just continued.

Chapter 2

Satoru let go of you as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looks at it and mumbles "Fuck." He still ha done arm around you holding you close as he answered the phone. "Hello, Gojo speaking." He says into the phone, you keep a watchfull eye over him during his phone call. You were lost in thought, what happens now? Are you two never gonna see eachother? No, that can't be-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud annoyed groan from Gojo, he looks down at you and pats your head smiling gently "I have a mission, but I can't leave you here. Can I...?" You shake your head "No! At least give me a way to contact you agai-" He interrupts you again. "No I mean I can't leave you outside here soaking in the early day." What was with this man and interrupting you???

He lifts you over his shoulder, "You don't mind a fresh breeze, do you?" He asks. A bit caught off guard you respond "No." And with that, he took off. This man ran at light speed, you had heard about him everywhere but he had definetely exceeding your expectations. Seconds after you arrived at the jujutsu school. You knew the area despite not having gone there before, apparently Satoru had his own dorm apartment thing there that he just lived at. He places you down on the floor inside of his dorm. "Welcome to my not so humble abode" He says.

There was a kitchen, a small couch and a tv in that room, as well as two other doors that you assumed were for the bathroom and bedroom.

It was not big but it wasn't tiny, it was comforting. The doors were typical japanese sliding doors and the place was neat and clean, seemingly. "It's nice!" You smile as you step out of your shoes but stop yourself from stepping off the carpet.

"I don't wanna get your floors wet though..." You say as he turns to look at you, smiling sheepishly, he was just as soaked as you dripping in water still.

"Don't worry about it, you can have a shower here. Borrow some clothes from me for the rest of the night. I'll be leaving soon for the mission so you can just have some rest in my bed if you want to. Just make yourself at home" He says as he rummages through a drawer pulling out a oversized black sweater and some red plaid pj pants, as well as some white socks. He throws them over to you and you catch them. "There are towels in the bottom bathroom drawers, take what you need. I am heading out, I'll be back in a few." You smile and nod at him "Thank you" You say gratefully before turning into the bathroom locking the door behind you.

You strip and run the shower, hot water flowed out the shower head and you stepped in. You used Satorus soaps, they all had the same smell and brand, a thick and deep vanilla scent. After that you hung up your wet clothes on the drying rack in the bathroom and threw on the fresh warm clothes Satoru had borrowed you. You brush your hair in the mirror, you had to wipe off some fog that had collected on it from the water. Walking out of the bathroom you saw that Satoru had left, he had hung a postit on the wall that said "Be back in 6 hours, get some sleep and eat" You smile to yourself as you saw that he had drawn a smileyface and a heart next to the text.

You walk into his bedroom, he had a giant bed. It was giant to you at least. You lay down and get under the warm comforters and fluffy blankets. you shut your eyes and drift off to sleep in his bed. His whole room smelled like him and his perfume, his pillows smelled like his hair wash.

As you lay in Gojo's bed, surrounded by his comforting scent, you drift into a deep, peaceful sleep. Your dreams are filled with fragments of the day's events, and you find yourself wondering about the nature of Satoru's mission and what kind of dangers he might be facing. But his reassuring presence and the sense of security his room provides help to ease your worries.

Hours pass, and you wake up to the sound of the front door clicking open. You blink groggily, trying to adjust to the dim light of the evening. Satoru steps into the room, looking slightly tired but still wearing that familiar confident smile. "Hey there," he says softly, not wanting to startle you. "Did you sleep well?"

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "Yeah, I did. Thanks for letting me stay here."

He smirks and lunges into the bed next to you burying his face in the crook of your neck. His exhaustion was evident on his face, you run your fingers through his hair and he sighs relaxed. "Are you hungry?" He asks lifting his head and looking at you, giving your lips a quick peck. "A little, I can make myself something, think you should get some rest?" You say it like a question but it was more a statement.

Satoru had been awake for probably almost two days by then so he nodded "Yeah... Wake me up in 3 hours, okay?" You nod and exit his room sliding the door shut behind you. You wash your face in the bathroom and brush your hair before cooking yourself some instant noodles in his kitchen.

The whole night had been so wierd... You just casually met Satoru Gojo and realized you were linked to eachother in some way. Now you two had kissed, you had slept in his bed, showered at his house... You ponder as you eat the noodles, you then sit down on his couch and watch tv.

As you sit on the couch, the flicker of the TV is a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. The reality of the past day starts to sink in. Your mind races with questions about what the future might hold with Satoru, the man who had suddenly become so important in your life.

The TV show you're watching barely registers in your mind as you replay the day's events. The way Satoru had protected you, the warmth of his presence, and the unexpected tenderness he showed despite his formidable reputation. There's something enigmatic about him, and it draws you in even more.

After finishing your noodles, you tidy up the kitchen and decide to check on Satoru. Quietly, you slide the door open a crack and peer inside. He's sprawled out on the bed, snoring lightly, a hand resting where you had been laying earlier. You can't help but smile at how peaceful he looks, so different from the powerful sorcerer the world knows.

Deciding to let him sleep a bit longer, you retreat back to the living area. Picking up a book from the small shelf in the corner, you curl up on the couch and try to lose yourself in its pages. But your thoughts keep drifting back to Satoru. What kind of life does he lead outside the public eye? What dangers does he face on his missions? And most importantly, what does he see in you?

An hour passes before you hear a soft rustling from the bedroom. You put the book down and walk to the door. Satoru is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looks at you and smiles, his eyes softening with warmth.

"Did you sleep well?" you ask, stepping into the room.

He nods, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, I feel much better. Thanks for letting me rest."

You sit down on the edge of the bed next to Satoru. "This is crazy..." You say quietly. Satoru tilts his head to the side and has an unreadable expression as he says "I know... I just- I felt something... I know you did too..." You think silently for a bit, your eyes never leaving his.

"Yes... It sounds cheesy but I-" You start laughing mid sentence, trying to compose yourself as you wipe a tear of laughter from your eyes. "Sorry... What I meant... Do you think we could be soulmates? Like in all seriousness..."

Satoru shrugs "I never really belived in that stuff... Before I met you..." He cups the side of your face rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. "I think I love you- But I dont even know your name" He chuckles. "Y/n" You say. He smiles "I think I love you Y/n" You smile and lean forwards, feeling his breath on your face. "I think I love you too Satoru."

Chapter 3

A week had passed since that stormy night, and the connection between you and Satoru had grown stronger with each day. You found comfort in each other's presence, and the bond you shared seemed unbreakable. But the peace was short-lived. The jujutsu school had received reports of a powerful curse terrorizing a nearby village, and both of you were assigned to handle it.

As you prepared for the mission, Satoru's usual playful demeanor was tinged with seriousness. "This curse is no joke, Y/n," he warned. "We'll need to be on our toes."

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. "I'm ready, Satoru. Let's do this."

The journey to the village was uneventful, the tension building as you approached your destination. The air grew colder, and the once-vibrant forest surrounding the village seemed to wither, the trees gnarled and lifeless. You could feel the malevolent energy of the curse, a palpable darkness that sent shivers down your spine.

"We're close," Satoru said, his eyes scanning the area. "Stay close to me."

The village was eerily silent, the streets deserted. As you walked, you noticed signs of a struggle—broken windows, overturned carts, and scorch marks on the ground. The curse had already wreaked havoc. Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the empty streets, and a massive, shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. The curse was monstrous, its form shifting and writhing as if made of pure malevolence.

"Satoru, that's it!" you exclaimed, readying your cursed energy.

He nodded, his expression fierce. "Let's take it down."

The battle was intense. The curse was powerful, its attacks relentless. But with Satoru by your side, you fought with a newfound determination. You moved in sync, your attacks complementing each other perfectly. Satoru's limitless technique and your own skills made for a formidable combination.

Just as you thought you had the upper hand, the curse let out a deafening roar, its form expanding and darkening the sky. The ground shook beneath your feet, and you struggled to maintain your balance. "Y/n, watch out!" Satoru shouted, his eyes wide with alarm.

But it was too late. The curse unleashed a torrent of dark energy, knocking you off your feet and sending you crashing into a nearby building. Pain shot through your body as you struggled to stand, your vision blurred.

"Satoru!" you called out, panic rising in your chest.

He was fighting valiantly, but even he seemed to be struggling against the curse's newfound strength. The monster's attacks were relentless, and Satoru's movements were becoming slower, more labored.

Desperation fueled your determination. You summoned every ounce of your strength, pushing through the pain. "I'm not giving up," you muttered, clenching your fists. "Not now."

You charged at the curse, your cursed energy blazing. Satoru saw you coming and his eyes lit up with a mix of relief and admiration. Together, you launched a coordinated attack, striking the curse with everything you had.

For a moment, it seemed like you were winning. The curse howled in pain, its form flickering and weakening. But then, with a final, desperate burst of energy, it lashed out at Satoru, sending him flying.

"Satoru!" you screamed, rushing to his side. He was unconscious, his body battered and bruised. The curse was weakening, but it wasn't defeated. It turned its malevolent gaze toward you, its form coiling and ready to strike. You stood your ground, protecting Satoru with every bit of strength you had left.

As the curse lunged at you, time seemed to slow. You braced yourself, ready to face it head-on, when suddenly a blinding light enveloped you both. You felt a surge of energy, and then everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were lying on the ground, the curse nowhere in sight. Satoru was still unconscious beside you, but he was breathing. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. You sensed another presence, one even more powerful than the curse you had just fought. Footsteps approached, and a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a sorcerer, one you didn't recognize, but the malevolent aura around them was unmistakable.

"Well, well," the sorcerer said with a sinister smile. "It seems I've found the famous Satoru Gojo and his new companion. This should be interesting." You tried to stand, but your body was too weak. The sorcerer stepped closer, their intent clear. And then, everything went black.

End.

Creator: I'm going to take a teeny tiny break from this series, but there will at least be two more parts this week! Unsure exactly when though. :)

[astromaxi]

hey!! just came across ur post about writer's block and ik how that feels I literally just got out of mine :)) if you're still looking for some requests, how about gojo with a crush on reader who works at a sweets shop he frequents?? wish you luck and happy writing!!

Thank you!!!

I'm very very slowly getting back into the hang of it

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

warnings: Nothing really? Probably a liike ooc Gojo, but he is just a love-sick mess for the reader, fluff, fem reader, I didn't mention the reader's smell for once!

AND- you know the drill, lmk if I miss anything and Grammarly can only do so much for my bad writing <3

Word Count?!: Roughly 500 words

It’s unfair truly, the amount of money Gojo has dropped in this one sweet shop to just try and taste the sweetest of them all. 

But it is so, so worth it

Every day Gojo comes into the same “Sugar Sweet” shop every Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday at 12:30, just 2 hours after his crush shift started. To make conversation, to try the desserts and pastries she recommends, to see her smile, to admire her eyes, to stare at her lips wondering just how sweet they will be-fuck. He needs to get a hold of himself, but how can he? Can you blame him when the prettiest girl he has ever seen just so happens to work at the sweet shop a block down from his apartment? Can you really blame him for wanting to wrap his long arms around his crush and cover her in sugar-sweet kisses in order to hear the beautiful melody that is her giggles? To always hear the honey dripping from her voice as she greets him with the same kind smile.

 And today? Oh god, today? She has the most glow to her face that looks like God himself is blessing her, “Hello, Mr.Gojo! Same as usual?” The soft giggles following her sweetened voice make the egotistical man choke up. He smiles back at her, and a soft chuckle flows out of his mouth as he nods his hand. “Of course pretty, but I also would like to try something new today.” Gojo watches with careful eyes to judge her reactions. He felt himself grow flustered at the sight of her big curious eyes land on his, the look was so pure so trusting. It makes him feel unworthy of being looked upon by her.

“Oh yeah? What can I get for you?” The innocent in her voice, oh god. Gojo doesn't know how much he can take before he attacks her with a smothering hug and obsessive yearning. She casts her eyes down to the tablet in front of her, typing in Gojo’s usual order. The lanky man lends down to the counter making himself more closer to her height. Creates less of a tension, he thinks. “Oh pretty, I would love a small, tiny, little phone number from you.” Gojo smoothly asks as he tilts his head to the side, making him appear more attractive. Internally though the snow-man is screaming at himself.

He secretly sweats, waiting for her reaction. The girl before him looks up at Gojo, with widened eyes and a flustered expression. Her eyes dart around the empty store, as she looks back at him. Another emotion is there, uncertainty.

“Oh! Um.. are you?” She takes a deep breath as Gojo feels his heart want to break out of his chest. “Are you sure you want my number” The insecurity in her voice breaks the rapid heart in Gojo’s chest. He reaches his hand across the table. Cupping her soft skin, he caresses her cheek with his thumb. Love and adoration fill his eyes. “Of course, I want your number pretty, how else am I going pick you up for our date?” Gojo’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. The pretty girl in front of him doesn’t verbally tell Gojo, but the nodding of her head and the awe-struck look in her eyes tells the man all he needs to hear. 

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Every week I will post various reviews I've written so far in 2024. You can check out my Goodreads for more up-to-date reviews HERE. You can friend me on Goodreads here.

Have you read any of these? What were your thoughts?

___

281. Next to You by Hannah Bonam-Young--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I wanted to love this, BUT I'm sure I'll really enjoy book 1 and 3! I did like the love interest, he was a darn sweetheart.

I think what I didn't really care for in this book (and why my rating wasn't as high as I would have liked) was that I couldn't really connect with the MC and her decisions. But a three star isn't a bad rating, it is a "I enjoyed this but it could have gone better for me".

I really liked the mental health rep and how detrimental it can be when it has you in its grip. I think that was one of the things I loved most about this book. I liked that Bonam-Young didn't shy away from this aspect of the MC's life.

But the story itself, while having some very fun and cute moments, felt like it lacked something that would have fully grabbed me. I don't know if the pacing was off, or if the relationship felt a little too surface level--something about it held me back from fully loving it. I don't know if it was that the bus was fixed a little too much behind the scenes or too quickly, or that there was a third act break up.

The love interest was really sweet and I really liked him. I kind of wish we'd had a dual POV story, just to both make things feel more rounded and to get more bus-fixing scenes.

I am definitely going to pick up the other two books because I'm excited by their descriptions. I will say that I'm happy that I read this one first because it's only up from here!

___

282. The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I'm not a novel-in-verse girly, but I loved the hell out of this audiobook. This book was beautiful. Such a wonderful exploration of a young person learning who he is and who he wants to be.

I highly recommend listening to this as an audiobook because it flowed so well and was just a great experience!

Dean Atta has created a great character with a strong personality and relatability for readers of all ages, especially teens trying to figure out who they are. I connected with the MC over his mixed-raced upbringing and how society might view that part of him. We get to see him experiencing these moments of racism and identity-confusion.

I loved that Atta touched on the confusing feelings teenagers might experience when they are discovering who they are and how even though you're certain of one thing, your mind will always ask you to consider other ideas (like him knowing he is gay, but still contemplating potential romantic feelings for his female best friend.)

Another surprising aspect of this book that I was really enjoying was how the book spans over several years of the MC's life. We get to see him be completely confused about who he is until the last page where he is fully sure and finding that confidence he had always wanted when he was younger.

Overall, I highly recommend this. And if you're not a novel in verse person like me, listen to the audiobook! It's worth it!

___

283. The Girl in Question by Tess Sharpe--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I didn't even know this existed until last month. LOVED. Such a great sequel/finale!

When I saw that THE GIRL IN QUESTION was a sequel to a book I loved last year (or the year before?), I KNEW I wanted to read it. And from the very beginning, I was hooked--even if it took me a second to remember who each character was.

One of the things I immediately liked about this one was the setting. I don't know how many times I've mentioned it in past reviews, but I LOVE survival stories and Sharpe's newest novel is set in the woods! Immediately got me. And then from there, it was twist after twist. The characters were badasses in their attempts to survive and it was constant action. There were no slow moments.

I also liked that the story jumped from perspective to perspective because it made the novel feel more cinematic and rounded. It felt like I could see the whole thing taking form in my head. It especially helped when we started to get more background information about the one MC's past.

The ending was great and was a nice way of ending the story. I will be surprised if there is another one in this series, but I won't be angry with it.

If you love a good YA queer suspense novel, then I really think you should add the first book, THE GIRLS I'VE BEEN, to your TBR!

___

284. Swift & Saddled by Lyla Sage--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Lyla Sage's series is just such a sweet and pure fun time. I like that the series feels like a low-drama, low-stakes type of romance series and I'm 100% here for it.

SWIFT AND SADDLED was no exception to the cute romance factor that I'm really enjoying from this author. We get some fun chemistry between the two MCs and the build up of sexual tension. Loved the idea that she was the perfect fit for him, even though she just stopped by the town for her new job.

The MMC was a sweetheart who is used to putting everyone first, so it was nice seeing him get some character growth throughout the story.

One of the things I really enjoyed about this one too was that the characters had to work for their relationship. It might have been an insta-attraction story, but it took a bit before they both official fell for each other. We got to know them and the way they are together before anything truly sexual happened. Yes, the tension was there but I liked the boundaries set.

If you're looking for a romance that is just an easy and quick read, you might love this one. It's the kind of romance that will make you feel giddy and will keep you hoping that these two characters give in to their mutual attraction.

___

285. The Titan's Bride Vol. 4 by ITKZ--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Oh, loving the reveal of the major storyline that has been hinted since volume 1! I feel like the next volume is going to be more action filled!

There was some mystery in this and of course, some spicy times. But I like that we're getting more insight into the MC and his love interests' relationship and connection. I'm excited to see what comes next as the mystery unfolds because this volume left me on a cliffhanger.

___

286. Earthlings by Sayaka Murata--⭐️⭐️⭐️

What the hell did I just read?

I feel like this book was an interesting and deeply disturbing take on trauma and how it can cause some serious damage. While EARTHLINGS took things to an explosive conclusion, I think it's important to keep note on the traumatic experiences that acted as the base for the destruction of the MC's mental health.

This book is very much not for everyone. Hell, I kind of wish I hadn't read it. Massive trigger warning for readers who can't do books with SA, especially when the survivor is a child and the assault is descriptive. I remember having to pause the audiobook because it was so disturbing and horrific--more than the final acts of the book.

But it wasn't just the traumatic SA of the MC as a child, but it was the verbal and physical abuse from the family, the gaslighting from the sister, the trauma bonding with the cousin that led to an inappropriate relationship, and then the control that was put over the MC even as she gets older.

There is a moment in this book where the MC loses the taste of food in her mouth due to her abuse and the way she gains that sense of taste back was, admittedly, chef's kiss. It was in moments like that where I saw the author's genius. But the rest of the book was a study in "How much can be written to showcase how horrible this MC's childhood was?"

I want to read more by Murata and I probably will, but man, what a hell of a book to start with. EARTHLINGS is a study in trauma and holy hell is it traumatic. Please be incredibly wary before you start reading! Don't go in blind like I did, especially if you have triggers you try to avoid.

___

287. Sloppy Firsts by Megan McCafferty--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This felt like PRINCESS DIARIES if there was an abundance of swearing and sex positivity.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this book, but it wasn't a sassy teen girl who spoke her mind in such a refreshingly honest way. I wish I had read this as a teenager because I think I would have related a lot to this MC.

McCafferty touched on a lot of the things that teen girls might experience--like friends who might not really be friends, feeling left out even though you're still in the crowd, crushes, feeling the pressure from expectations from those around you (especially parental), having people assume they know who you are, and finally starting to accept yourself and who you are.

I was so surprised by the swearing and laughed my butt off at various points. I was so entertained by this book and how it didn't sugarcoat any of the realities of teenhood. This was a lot of fun and while I don't know if I'll be reading the rest of the series, I recommend SLOPPY FIRSTS (especially if you're a fan of the teenhood-ness of PRINCESS DIARIES)!

___

288. Business Casual by B.K. Borison--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

A story without miscommunication and the dreaded third act break up? YES. I was so happy by the time I finished this one! Best one in the series, 100%!

One of my issues that I've had with this series in the past was how the couples ALWAYS had a third act break up, usually led by the miscommunication trope. Every time I picked up one of the earlier books in this series, I did so warily because I knew there would be that break up trope waiting for me. So, of course, I went into BUSINESS CASUAL with that wariness but I was so surprised and I'm so happy that I actually gave this book a shot.

BUSINESS CASUAL was the kind of romance I've been wanting from this series. The couple have great communication, great character growth, a romance that builds up over time, and hilarious moments that had me giggling.

I liked that beyond the romance, there were also complex relationships that the FMC and the MMC had to navigate throughout the book. They each had their own internal battles and I liked that they tackled them alongside their growing romance. The expectations of being a younger sibling and the stresses of being the son of a man who is constantly belittling who you are as a person.

This was just such a breath of fresh air and I enjoyed the heck out of it. I wish I could live in a small town like this one!

___

Happy reading!

[demontonic]

Ethan Landry - Perverted 3

lets ignore how the last chapter i posted was in july and pretend that im a consistent writer please:3 anyways i hope everyone enjoys this because it took me so long to figure out what i wanted to do for it. if you havent read part 2 i suggest you do that for this to make sense

Word count: 2269

TW: knives, blood, murder, suicide

“Oh my god,” Your heart dropped as you realized the killing had connections to ghostface, after last night you wanted to believe it wouldn’t get this bad. Ethan squeezed your hand softly, attempting to break your attention away from the news channel. His efforts were in vain as your own mind swelled with an endless amount of thoughts and emotions. Did Ethan purposefully intend to make you swoon in order to get closer to the group? Who was the other Ghostface? Why now did the killings start when things had finally seemed normal? The room had broken off into conversations between each other, trying to figure out how they wanted to handle it. You on the other hand remain in shambles, shaking in Ethan’s arms as he pulls you back into your room.

A silence fell upon you both, there were no words to be offered in a situation like this. Sure he could try and comfort you like you hadn’t already known he was a killer and you could try and pretend you didn’t catch him leaving the scene of a crime. No matter what you two did, reality was inevitable, Ethan was a cold blooded killer and you were a potential victim falling in love with him. Nothing now could change it, prevent it, or create a path to a life in which you two live happily ever after. The facts were plain and simple, a bright red sign flashing right in front of your eyes, still you chose to ignore it. Today was supposed to be nice, you’d finally given into Ethan but to everyone else you’d won over the quiet nerd. It wasn’t until you felt Ethan’s hands cup your face gently that you’d snapped back to reality.

“I swear it wa-“

“Of course it wasn’t you but… you know who did it don’t you?”

“…”

“I thought so-“

“I’m sorry-“

“No-“

“I am I didn’t know they were gonna do it tonight I swear I-“

“No, no, no- Ethan you’re not!”

It was quiet again after your slight outburst, it didn’t anger him but then again, did he even have the right? His hands stayed glued to his lap while he watched you go through the motions in silence. He wanted so badly to know what you were thinking, did you hate him? Have you ever hated him? Would you hate him now? You didn’t even have an answer, you wished you did but the feelings flowing through your body were indescribable. You wanted to hate him, you wanted to tell everyone he was one of the killers, maybe then it would end with no more death. What you wanted and what you’d decided before you even knew you had was set in stone. You wouldn’t say anything, ever, to anyone. If they found out you would say you didn’t know but, you didn’t want your friends to get hurt. Ethan knew this, he’d wanted to sympathize and stop everything once he’d truly begun to like you but, of course he couldn’t.

“Please- just listen to me before you hate me for the rest of eternity.” The bed shifted quietly when he tried to meet your clouded gaze but it was to no avail. Swiftly he’d kneeled on the floor, his body shoving your legs apart giving you no choice but to stare into his eyes. The same brown eyes that had instilled fear into your soul when you were hiding in the alley, that had made you blush and stutter. The same eyes that had seen you so vulnerable and raw and held the same adoration you’d once felt; before you’d discovered his little hobby.

“I wanted to stop it but they wouldn’t let me, I’m outnumbered. It's plain and simple. Even if we tried to run away from all of this and salvage whatever this is, chances are they’d come for us if they finish the job. I don’t want anything to happen to you I-“

“But you want to kill the only people who’ve ever really been my family in exchange for what? Fame? Plot? Fun?”

“Revenge.”

A knock came from the door abruptly ending the much needed conversation. Tara opened the door softly, explaining that Quinn had called her Dad for information on the Ghostface killing that was undoubtedly connected to the group. Ethan had sat on the floor in front of you while she relayed the order of events. Eventually she left, saying that they’d be going to the station to answer some questions which were pretty standard by now. You’d offered to accompany the sisters but they decided it was best to handle it alone. The entire group dispersed, breaking off into pairs and trying to grasp onto the slight normalcy that remained. Ethan had convinced you to follow him to an unknown location, claiming that he would explain everything once you’d gotten there. Of course you were concerned with the sudden idea of being alone with him but you still tried to have some sort of trust.

“I… I know that this is all going so fast and happening so sudden but, I need you to know all the facts before-“

“Before what, Ethan?” He slowed to a stop when you interjected, you sounded so drained and defeated and it hurt to know he was the reason. He could try and tell you it wasn’t his fault and that he had no part in it but he did, no matter how badly he wanted to make you happy.

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, trying to comprehend why Ethan would bring you into an abandoned theater. Sure it fit pretty well for his alter ego, it makes sense considering he wanted to explain everything. At this point you’d wanted nothing more than to leave rather than bare witness to what horrors could be lying within the old theater. Of course you were right, you’d wish you hadn’t seen it, the dedication to the series of Ghostface murders. Actual evidence encapsulated in glass boxes, clothing placed on mannequins, drawings of victims and killers next to each of their own murders. Ethan walked you down to the end, it was right next to the original Ghostface killer’s display. Your necklace, gifted to you by someone you’ve held dear to your heart, was laying in one of the display boxes. Alongside it were hand drawn pictures of you and the group, and a singular box seemingly a tribute to Dewy. Your necklace had been snatched off your neck the first time you had been attacked, Amber had always admired it. The natural formed ruby was an heirloom, before your childhood friend had committed suicide she’d gifted it to you on your 16th birthday.

“My brother was obsessed with the murders, obsessed with the concept of a horror movie being real. He’d always make short films, stories, chapters to a book that he could never finish. Richie was fucked up but he was the only person who took care of me, you have to understand that Sam took the only comfort-“

“No Ethan, he’s not your only comfort at least not anymore- Ethan you have an entire life to lead. Richie made his decision, based on a wild fixation to someone else’s tragedy.”

“Wouldn’t you protect your loved ones? Would you not kill to protect that precious group you call family? That’s what I’m doing, that’s what Richie is to me, don’t you understand this is to avenge him-“

“He killed people for fun and when he was killed it ended the meaningless game he was playing. Don’t you understand the way he’s influenced you into thinking what he did was right?” Silence, anxiety, anticipation and the sound of heavy breathing separated you two. Ethan seemed to be contemplating his next moves whereas your eyes trained on the mended necklace lying on the table. It would’ve brought you to tears being reunited with the priceless gift if not for the conversation he’d initiated.

“My family was always so focused on Rich, trying to get him to be a normal kid and dealing with his problems at school. Quinn was exactly like she is now and the only girl so you can imagine what little that left me. Even through all of that he made sure I felt seen, if not by anyone else, by him.” Ethan spoke as if he already accepted the fact you’d never be able to agree with him, and he knew better than to argue. He reached into his pocket and slipped a glove over his hand before reaching over the glass box. Sliding the lip over just enough to pick up the ruby necklace before closing it back up.

“Dad got most of this stuff but Richie took this from Amber and gave it to Quinn as a last minute gift. Amber was the one who snatched it off you but I’m sure you figured that out. I fixed it without question but it feels wrong not giving it back to you.” It hung off his fingers, holding it in front of your face with what seemed like no more life in his eyes. With a small sigh you grabbed it by the roughly shaped ruby, he dropped the chain and stood silently as you admired the seamless fix. A mistake in hindsight because by then he’d placed his other glove on, slamming your head against the glass table. Thankful it was thick enough to prevent it from breaking upon impact, much less could be said about you.

Tears filled your eyes as you wailed from the pain in your temple, your legs barely holding the rest of your weight as he pushed down on you. Then it clicked, he was leaning his entire body onto you, his knife was pointed into stomach.

“I just wanted you to be able to understand the purpose of everything. You are so fucking stubborn, I don’t want to do this but I can’t let them live with his blood on their hands.”

“So you’re going to kill the one person who was willing to look past your little hobby instead of leaving your past behind? Ethan you are being fucking used-“

“No I’m not! I loved Richie, he wasn’t perfect but he treated me better than anyone-“

“Anyone? So fuck me and kill me that’s fucking bullshit, I should’ve known better than to be stupid enough to get involved with you!” Your sobs rattled your entire body, it was hard to even differentiate between his tears and yours. From where he was his tears fell onto your cheek, mixing with your own on the table. It pained him to even speak to you like this, to inflict so much fear and suffering onto you because you were right. You were trying to love him, trying to look past his faults, trying to have a normal life with him. Ethan seemed to only sabotage his own happiness especially now when he’s hurting the last person that’d be willing to love him the way he wanted.

“It’s-It’s not like that I love you-“

“Don’t say that while your knife is digging into my body you sick fuck.” Disappointment could only be heard in your cries, disappointment in both Ethan and yourself.

“Oh but it was different last night you stupid bitch!” His hand pushed your head harder into the glass, beginning to crack under the pressure. A complete 180 from the sniffling boy he was half a second ago, it terrified you despite it being one of the things that had lured you in.

“You’re such a petty asshole, I bet I was the only girl who even gave you the time of day.” Laughing in his face was his breaking point, grabbing you by the hair and tossing you onto the floor in front him. Pain riddled your spine and it was then you felt the thin wound on your abdomen. Bittersweet as the hand he’d slashed at the night before covered the leaking cut. Just as fast as he’d thrown you he was on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees.

“Why can’t you just accept their fate? We can be together happily, alone, in peace once it’s all over. Please I’m begging you my love, don’t make me do this I don’t want to!” His face was red and wet with the rush of tears spewing from his eyes, his knife pointed at your throat while he pleaded with you. It sounded so sweet and tempting as he always was, your little obsession being your own demise was all too perfect. You knew what your choice was so you turned your head, searching for the necklace he’d lured in with. With the ruby being in sight you felt calm, at ease with your end, it felt that if anything, at the very least you’d be with your friend once more.

“Fucking kill me already you piece of shit, lowsy excuse of a man!”

The next morning everyone was convinced it was you, after not returning to the dorm it was easy to pin it to you. Yet here the group was, following Gale into an abandoned theater, stumbling upon your lifeless corpse leaned against the stage. Blood pooled around you, sourced from your throat which had been slit open. However the silver chain shown clearly under the stage lights, with ruby barely noticeable amongst the crimson liquid. Ethan in shambles crawles next to you, cradling your cold body and rocking back and forth begging for you to wake up.

The End :D I hopes you liked this small series and please don’t be shy, leave requests for any of the characters in my masterlist or horror movie franchises as I’d love to do more with the horror genre. I simply wrote the first one based off a song so it was very difficult for me to turn it into the miniseries but i promise i did my best and i hope you liked the ending<3

@hana-1235

@i-do-be-vibinn

@meh-karma

@cumbermovels

@acornacreacure

@c0untryclub

[skyminsworld]

3 sides of a triangle

Hwang Hyunjin x Hwang Yeji x Y/N

The trio had always been close ever since they all met However, beneath the surface, Hyunjin and Yeji both harbored feelings for y/n, leading to a growing tension between the three of them

At first, the rivalry between Hyunjin and Yeji was subtle. Hyunjin would bring y/n hot chocolate or tea every morning, knowing her favorite blend, while Yeji would make sure y/n had someone to talk to, offering heartfelt advice. Their gestures, though well-intentioned, carried an undercurrent of competition that only grew more apparent over time.

One evening, after an intense study session, y/n invited Hyunjin and Yeji to her apartment for dinner. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was a palpable tension in the air. As they ate, Hyunjin and Yeji's subtle rivalry began to surface more openly.

"Y/n, remember that project we worked on together? I think it would be perfect for the new class," Hyunjin suggested, his eyes locked on hers.

Before y/n , could respond, Yeji interjected, "Actually, y/n, I was thinking about that song we created last week. It really showcases your unique creativity."

Sky felt the tension between them and tried to ease it with a smile. "Both ideas sound great. Maybe we can find a way to incorporate them together?"

Hyunjin and Yeji exchanged a glance, neither willing to back down. As the weeks passed, their rivalry grew more pronounced. Hyunjin would offer to help y/n with choreography, his hands lingering a bit longer than necessary, while Yeji would pull y/n aside to discuss vocal techniques, ensuring she had y/n's undivided attention.

The breaking point came during a late-night recording session. The trio was exhausted, tensions high from the pressure of their demanding schedules. Y/n was trying to perfect a particularly challenging section of the song when Hyunjin and Yeji's rivalry boiled over.

"Y/n, you need to rest. You've been working non-stop," Hyunjin said, his concern evident.

Yeji, equally worried but not willing to concede, added, "He's right, but let's finish this one part first. We're so close."

Y/n, caught in the middle, finally snapped. "Enough! Both of you, stop. I appreciate your concern, but this constant competition is tearing us apart."

The room fell silent, the weight of y/n's words sinking in. Hyunjin and Yeji exchanged looks, guilt washing over them. They realized their rivalry had gone too far, hurting the one person they both cared about deeply.

Hyunjin was the first to speak. "Y/n, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in this position. I just...I care about you a lot."

Yeji nodded, her eyes filled with remorse. "Me too, y/n. I let my feelings get in the way of our friendship and our work. I'm sorry."

Y/n took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. "I care about both of you, but this has to stop. We need to focus on our music and our friendship first. Let's not let anything ruin that."

Hyunjin and Yeji agreed, their rivalry giving way to a renewed sense of camaraderie. They vowed to put their feelings aside for the sake of their bond and the music they created together.

As they continued to work closely, an unexpected change took place. The trio began to spend more time together outside the studio, their friendship growing stronger with each shared experience. Hyunjin and Yeji found themselves drawn not only to y/n but also to each other's dedication and passion. They started to see the potential for something more than just rivalry.

One evening, after a particularly successful performance, they found themselves back at Sky's apartment, celebrating their hard work. The conversation flowed easily, and the tension that had once plagued them seemed like a distant memory.

Y/n looked at Hyunjin and Yeji, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and affection. "I've been thinking... We've come a long way, haven't we? And through everything, we've always found a way to support each other."

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes softening. "It's true. I never expected to feel this way, but I can't imagine not having you both in my life."

Yeji smiled, reaching out to take y/n's hand. "Maybe we've been trying too hard to define our relationship. What if we just let things be and see where it takes us?"

Sky felt a rush of emotions—relief, joy, and a bit of fear. "I think we owe it to ourselves to try. We've built something amazing together, and I believe we can navigate this too."

Hyunjin took Yeji's other hand, completing the circle. "Together. No more competition, just us."

From that night on, their relationship evolved into something unique and beautiful.

In the end, they realized that their love is as strong as it is ,let's say the night was unforgetable for all of them

"I love you both My Hwangs"

[comicaurora]

Heyo, it's the fool who wants to make a comic with zero experience in drawing or finishing stories again. A lot of people, including you, I think, mentioned that "Your first work will be bad". Any tips how…not to do that? I don't expect it to be a magnum opus or smth, but I at least want to make something people would genuinely unironically enjoy, and "first story is always not good" notion everywhere is very discouraging

It's not like I never tried anything creative ever, but this is my first attempt of putting it down on paper with intention of completing it, instead of having vague ideas of "I know what would be so cool when I make it a thing" in my head for months without acting upon any of these ideas

It's definitely a disheartening adage, even if it's supposed to take the pressure off young creators.

Unfortunately, no matter how good your starting point gets - and you can get it very good, don't get me wrong - you are still going to find it unbearably bad when you look back on it with experienced eyes. You might eventually circle back around to finding it impressive, considering it was your absolute first starting point and you had no experience, but you still won't be able to see its merit the way your audience will.

The thing is, your first project is going to teach you a lot of things you couldn't have known you needed to learn beforehand. This means everything you make after learning those things is going to be smoother in process and better in result. There's also just the fact that the more you do this sort of thing the more practiced you'll get at the mechanical side of it, making it faster and easier for you and leaving you with more energy to punch things up. Compare the Big Fight Scene from chapter 3 with the one from chapter 17 in terms of visual complexity:

Particle effects, ambient glow, soft lighting, atmospheric depth, metallic effects, light and shadow. The seeds of these ideas are present in the earlier shot, but executed in a much clumsier way. Fourteen chapters of gradually increasing complexity and just raw practice got me to the point where drawing that second panel was fun rather than exhausting. If I'd tried that in the first chapter I would've probably been so worn out just trying to finish the lineart that the quality of the rest of the image would've suffered from sheer exhaustion.

And even before that, those first chapters only flowed as well as they did because I'd been drawing hundreds and hundreds of video frames for years at this point, which had gotten my lineart muscle memory polished enough that I wasn't agonizing over every single stroke.

I was absolutely determined to start this comic off at the best level of quality I could, and that determination kept me kicking the can down the road for a decade. I think this was a good thing; if I'd started it any earlier I think I would've been a slow enough learner that the quality increase over those first few chapters wouldn't have been as steep as it was. And that first chapter was as good as I could've made it at the time; I didn't take any shortcuts or laze around, and I used every skill I'd learned over the previous decade of physical and digital art. Of course, if I knew then what I knew now there's loads of stuff I'd have changed about the way I handled the intro. In fact, I'm going to break my One Rule about "never going back or redoing things" and I'm going to walk you all through chapter 1 and what I would change/fix if I was drawing it now.

Remove the outline on the background mountains, add color variance to the further mountains so they appear farther in the background, un-muddy the color of the sky and make those clouds a little more impressive; this could've looked like a full glorious noonday sun. The forest was drawn with an experimental brush I'd created for foliage that I ended up deciding didn't produce the effect I wanted; I'd probably go through and use the technique I developed for Gleicann's forest to cel shade blocks of foliage.

Add at least the bare hint of buildings behind the sword pedestal - just gradient outlines would be fine, similar to the extended backgrounds in Zuurith. Also slap some blue cinder-y particle effects coming up off the sword. Clean up the shading layer so there aren't as many holes. Add metallic shine to the blade and marbling/stone texture to the pedestal.

Un-muddy the colors on this background; they match The Collector's color palette but that matters less than looking nice. The background needs something - speed lines, the implication of foliage - etc. The poses could also be more dynamic and drawn with more confidence. To show the power behind the blows, re-choreographs the fight to show more of the damage it does to the environment - the sword carving through rocks, ploughing furrows into the ground, starting to spark with starfire, etc.

Same problem with the foliage; the special brush adds too much detail, drawing the eye away from the important parts of the scene, and the colors are muddy to cover that up. Brighter greens and cel-shaded layers would produce the effect I actually wanted and be faster than hand-drawing every treetrunk and then shading them so they're indistinguishable anyway. Also, more intense shading on the foreground figure - a neutral tan shadow layer is functional, but it could look a lot more dramatic, and he's shaded much more lightly than the extremely muddied background is.

Of course, "if I knew then what I know now" is a meaningless turn of phrase. I needed to draw these pages this way in order to learn what I know now. If I had jumped straight into the shortcuts I've painstakingly developed without having had that intervening practice, the end result would've been just as bad - if not worse, because it would've been executed shakily, without the confidence that accompanies muscle memory. The techniques I used in this first chapter had served me well up til that point. The techniques I use now were built on these foundations. Lamenting that I could've done it better if I'd started now is like saying the pyramids would be so much taller if they'd laid the foundations at the top part instead.

There's a degree to which this work is sisyphusian. You do your best, you push yourself, and then your "best" gets better. At some point you have to accept that what was your best is still okay, even if you can't see it that way.

When I was working on this comic in the pre-actually-drawing-it years, I came to a realization that helped me get unstuck: "good enough" is a mask that "perfect" wears. Striving for perfection is a pointless task, and this is pretty well known, but it seems a lot more reasonable to just try to get "good enough" at art to guarantee that your work will be good enough. But if you unpack that concept, you likely find that your definition of "good enough" is basically "without flaws." Which is "perfect." Which is, as mentioned, unattainable. Those pages are as good as I could've possibly made them at the time, and they aren't perfect, and I never thought they were perfect, because I knew if I waited for them to be perfect in my eyes I'd never make them. I just had to grit my teeth, make them public and hope that people got something out of them that I couldn't.

There is a baseline level of artistic skill and preparation that I do recommend cultivating - figure and life drawing, anatomy studies, landscapes, reading Scott McCloud's "Understanding Comics" cover to cover - but there is no hardline starting point at which you are guaranteed to be good enough to make the story and art good. This is because "good" is subjective, and as long as you are improving as an artist, your own perspective on your old work will never be that it is "good." You have to trust that the audience that likes your story likes it for their own valid reasons.

The thing is, I know this is a bummer. This whole thing is a bummer perspective. Artists want to make good art and the nature of artistic creation is being unable to see your own art as good for long. If you believe that your art must be a certain baseline level of Good to be worthy of existing, this truth seems to be a condemnation to an eternal and pointless purgatorial struggle.

The most valuable skill an artist can develop at this stage is strangling that insecurity with their bare hands.

Trust your audience! Trust that they enjoy what they enjoy, and trust that they see something in your art, even if all you can see are the critiques you'd use to polish it! "Perfect" and "good enough" will tell you that your creation will always be hideously unlovable and must be hidden from scrutiny until it's "ready", but like all insecurities, underpinning this is the axiom that anyone who likes you or your work is lying. Strangle this falsehood, trust freely and openly that your audience is being honest with you, and while you work to improve on the creation side of things, trust that in the eyes of the people who like your work, it is Good Enough.

[zepskies]

Hey Lovely! For the ask game, I'm requesting #4, #7, and #24.

Thanks!! ❤️

Well hello there, friend! 🥰

Oh my, good questions...

Hahaa oh lord. I mean, how much time do you have? 🤣 I have entire files worth of ideas from different fandoms that I've even gone so far as to outline, but have never gotten around to writing.

I think the first ones that come to my head are two series ideas in the Smallville fandom:

Hanging By a Moment - Clark Kent x OC

Summary: The path of Clark Kent’s life changed drastically after he turned sixteen. It was choice, it was happenstance, it was destiny—all in one. He didn’t know it yet, but it was always going to be her.

(Yes, title is based on the song by Lifehouse. 😂)

Keep Holding On - Jason Teague x OC

Summary: Try as Jason might, he just couldn’t compare to Clark Kent. Not in Lana’s eyes at least. Elena is the casualty of war, caught in between.

Both sound very melodramatic now that I read the summaries next to one another. 😂 The main reason why I haven't written these, I guess, is because I feel like the Smallville fandom has mostly died out. Tumblr especially doesn't really support OCs as much as reader inserts, and these stories both needed to be OCs to give me the freedom to create as much backstory and character as I wanted to.

Oh a DEEP CUT you say? 🤣 Oh God, I've been writing since I was about 10 or 11 years old (and let me tell you, it was heinous).

I think my very first fanfic was for an anime called Rurouni Kenshin. It was an AU set in present time. It was that cliché thing where the heroine is sitting at a bar and is getting hit on, but she doesn't give the guy the time of day until her boyfriend (the main male lead of the show) shows up.

That character was known for being a spitfire, so she was good at putting people in their place lol. Her boyfriend is the more mild-mannered of the two, but still very protective, so I guess that's where the idea came from in my kid brain. I've long ago deleted that story off FF.net because it was so damn bad.

My first SPN fanfic, however, can be found here on Ao3. It's also pretty rough because I wrote it back in high school when I was first watching the show, first on FF.net, then transferred it over later to Ao3.

Another interesting question... 🤔

It can take me a bit to get myself into that creative headspace, but when I'm working on a one-shot, I tend to power through the draft until I finish it in a day, maybe two if it's long (5,000+ words let's say).

If we're talking about a series, I try to knock out at least a chapter at a time in one writing session, which could take me a couple hours or several more, depending on length and how detailed my outline is, if I need to do additional research, etc.

If I really have a good flow going, sometimes I can knock out 2-3 chapters in a day. I'll have a solid 1-3 hour writing session towards the beginning of the day, take a break for a few hours, run some errands, go on a walk, have a meal, and come back to it later. I tend to do the bulk of my writing in the afternoon and throughout the night.

Thanks again for asking these questions, lovely!! 😘💜 Always happy to answer.

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 The Prophecy of Imortal Fire: 3

Warnings: a bit of blood and gore mention

.......

"So.. where exactly are we going?" Ella asked as she looked around, her shoes clicking on the floor. "To try to find my dad... usually he's yelling at servants and stuff..... it's wierd... I dont feel his presence," Loreley explained. "His presence?" Mia asked. Loreley nodded her head. "When a god or goddess have kids, the children get some fragments of their parents powers while still having their own. Thus creates a type of... pull..? I guess is what'd you'd call it. Basically it feels like being tugged by a rope. But I don't feel it down here," loreley replied as she lead the way. Ella stopped walking, looking around. "Do you hear that?" She asked. Everyone stopped, turning to look at her. Carol looked around before spotting tracks on the floor. "Dog prints," she stated. "Cerberus," Loreley replied. "He won't hurt us. He's basically a puppy.... a giant, 3-headed puppy," Loreley joked. As the group continued to walk, the light at the end of the tunnel shone through the darkness. The road ended, and just below, the river Styx flowed. "What the...." Loreley muttered as she knelt down, examining the river. "What is it?" Clarissa asked. "Theres no souls in here. Like... at all.... it's empty...." Loreley replied as she stood tall once again. "That can only happen if a spell is performed. But my father would never have let that happen.... unless it was a soul who was working right underneath his nose. And even then, there has only ever been a handful of souls with that power, and they were mostly good beings," Loreley explained. Carol raised an eyebrow. "I taught John how to practice magic when we were younger.... but he called it nonsense and hit me. Not nonsense anymore apparently," Carol muttered. "How abusive WAS he?" Ella asked. "To me? Pretty bad... but to Alistar?...... I try not to think about it," Carol replied. Ella looked away, her eyebrows furrowed. "So how exactly do we undo this? Put everyone back?" Alruna asked. Carol and Clarissa looked down in shame. "Back?" Mia asked. "Well... yeah I mean.... having the dead walk around as if they never left... that's gonna cause problems..... They're dead. They aren't supposed to be here anymore," Alruna replied. "But-" "Mia... darling... she's right. We don't belong up here. It's not natural," Clarissa spoke, placing a hand on Mia's shoulder. "But... we... we JUST got you back," Mia argued. "Yes. But you Also gained my son.. and my husband," Carol replied. "So. How do we fix it?" Eli asked. Loreley shrugged. "I've never had to worry about it..... my father told me that if we kill the spell caster, it could work. But he put loads of emphasis on the word 'could'" Loreley explained. "And we don't even know if it was Alistar's dad or not. We haven't confirmed anything," she finished. "Then what do we do?" Alruna asked. "..... we kill king John and hope and pray that he was the one who cast the spell," Loreley replied. The group stood in silence before Lireley transferred them back to the mortal realm. "Come on. We have another war to win," Ella stated. ..........

Alistar hissed in pain as the guards threw him into the cell, his hand cracking unnaturally as he landed on it. Ah yes. His cell. After the guards left, alistar scanned the wall for the opening that he had used to escape more than once. His hand burned. But he would worry about it later. He needed to warn people. Finally breaking through the wall, alistar made a run for it, taking a horse and riding away as fast as possible. He let out a shaky breath as Ella's kingdom became visible.... She would kick him out.. immediately. But he had to try. It was one thing when it was him she was going up against. But his father? His father scared him. A lot. And there she was. A crown on her head adorned with Amethysts, her purple dress blowing as her friends walked behind her. He took a breath. "Ella!" He yelled. She turned to him, her eyes widening with so many emotions he could barely even make out what she was thinking. Elias' eyes flashed pure anger and hatred as he stood in front of his wife. Alistar got off his horse. "L-listen I know I'm an asshole and an enemy to you right now but my father... hes-" "Alistar?" Carolyn's voice gasped. Alistar snapped his head away from ella and Eli, seeing his mom for the first time in the past 30 years. "M-mom?" He asked, tears in his eyes. Carol made her way quickly to alistar, not noticing the flinch he made with the sudden movement before she hugged him tightly. His face morphed into shame as he cried, not hugging her back. She pulled away from him, noticing the scratches and bruises on his face, as well as his broken arm. "Oh my god...... he did this to you?" Carol asked. "It's not the worst he's done......" Alistar muttered, holding his broken arm to his chest. "Okay this is a wonderful reunion between the guy who tried to kill us 10 years ago and his mom. But I wanna know why the fuck he's here," Alruna deadpanned. "R-right.. well i-" "He can tell us after his arm is fixed up," Ella spoke out, her eyes not wavering from him once, her expression unreadable. Alistar looked at her before looking at the ground in shame. ....... The group stood in Eve's shop. Ella's kids had been passed over to Clarissa in another room as eve worked on Alistar's arm. "So what's going on?" Mia asked. "..... my father is planning on taking over the island.. all of it. Including Morellia...." Alistar stated. "So basically what you did?" Elias asked, harshly. "I didn't want to take over morellia. I just-" "Then what DID you want?" Eli asked with a sneer on his face. Alistar stayed quiet. "I..... I know what I wanted.... but I didn't..... make the choices that made sense to get it..... and I did horrible things to people who didn't deserve it.... and I realize that, and after this you can do whatever the hell You want with me. But my father is worse. And he won't stop from a stab wound. Believe me," Alistar muttered. "Why should we?" Elias asked. "Because I have no reason to lie.... i.... I dont have the energy to lie...." Alistar replied. "Do you have the energy for me to punch you? Because I've been fantasizing about that all day," Elias hissed as he walked up to Alistar sharply. "Elias," Ella scolded from her place I the corner of the room. Elias backed off, stepping away as Ella walked slowly toward Alistar, lifting his head up gently to look at her in the eye. She examined his face. His eye was bruised, almost black. His lip was split and bleeding, and his nose looked broken. Ella sighed removing her hands from his face. "I believe him," she stated.

[sol-shines]

@ your tags PLEASE talk abt your parker designs!!!

this is for you and @dreaming-of-stories-and-stars THANK YOU for enabling me :3 sorry this took a little bit

if you don't know what this is about i drew my takes on the parkers here !

rambles under the cut:

SO what i sorta wanted to do was make. each parker flow into the next while subtly changing in between ,,, something something losing yourself to the game, becoming unrecognizable. so let's cover it parker by parker:

prime: i personally Love the hc that the coin is parker's mom. so prime is a lil ancient roman coded guy. he's SOOOO eldest sibling coded help. like he and his mom have a very strained relationship but also he thinks that if he just does whatever she wants she'll finally be proud of him :P whoops! and yeah v explosive anger (firewalker reference!), leading to ego, leading to. You Know. anyway. oh ALSO the parkers get younger as we progress so :))) they all STARTED at 19 but have varying degrees of age. so prime is in his mid-thirties.

parker ii: AH the most elusive of the parkers. SO: in my personal lore interp, parker ii was created when prime starting to push back against the coin more and more to the point where it was becoming a problem. and prime of course is very destructive and makes a mess when he's angry. so ii came about from me going "...what if parker just. said fuck it and left. didn't give a shit about ego just didn't wanna play the game anymore and found a way out." and that's exactly what my ii did. absolutely fucking vanished and quit the game for good. somehow. which uhhh MIGHT have been what caused prime to go apeshit ("why does ii get to leave and i'm stuck here?") and end prehistory. whoops. so i wanted to make them look very vagabond-y. somehow got even edgier than prime (impressive). also they're abt 30-ish. and have crazy gender stuff going on. possibly transfem. "but how is that possible if you hc the parkers as transmasc-" shhh. i don't know <3

park3r: GOD i loved doing this one. this parker is such a bitch and i love him. the first commissioner parker, created bc "OKAY so we gotta make him more young and impressionable and less unstable AND take him out of this game bc very clearly Bad Things will happen if he stays" so they made. a chronically online teenager and made them commissioner AMDNFM. god yeah i love this design he's sooo. just a 19-year-old trying to fill an impossible role and putting on a cool face about it. tragic, yes. but they're gonna complain the whole time and make everyone else miserable too. fully believe he was just scared and out of his depth the whole trial :( oops why are parkers iii and iiii so sad. i drew him closer to mid-20s here but honestly he could easily be younger

p4rker: LOVE this guy's lore so my hc is that after the trial that killed park3r it was like "uhhhh FUCK we need a new one of those. stat." so. they just. took park3r's incin'd body (ik it's not really Canon that park3r was incin'd he just Died but. let me have this) and like. stitched it back together. so p4rker is covered in burns and stitched together like frankenstein all over, and they just threw a mask on them like "see!!! new guy!!" the result of this being they didn't have. a whole ton of time to add shit like Personality, so p4rker is the outlier in that they're very naive and even polite? they don't understand what all the fuss is about them and just wants to be. nice? shame he didn't stick around long :/ the drippy bits are a little percolation nod! in this particular drawing he's like 20 :(

pvrker is. obviously the least human. park3r was more of a prototype of a commissioner, p4rker was a temporary placeholder at best, pvrker... was well and truly made For The Game. and his appearance reflects that. kinda a combination of iii's bluntness and 4's naivety. in-universe some people think he's the most sinister or whatever bc he's so directly Controlled By ILB Shit and that's not NOT true but like. give him a break guys he's like 6 days old he's new at this :(

ANYWAY that's so long holy shit. here are my rambles i hope u like them. im So Bad at blaseball lore so someone yell at me if something i put in there isn't accurate but. yeag :)

[myymi]

ohh if you can i would appreciate some tips!! honestly writers are so admirable we dont give yall enough credit🙏🙏🙏

well, for me to give you the absolute best tips i can to help out, i need to know what exactly you're struggling with when it comes to writing. there are about a million different tips i can give you for about a million different things and some of those tips will be completely useless to you

for now though, i'll give you the things that help me getting into a writing mood + general tips i give to new writers and if you still need further help you can explain what exactly you're struggling with and ill do my best to help out;

1) whatever you learned about formatting essays; forget it.

a common thing i see in new writers is they try to write it like an essay. which isn't a bad idea really, but it is restricting. your paragraphs don't have to be four or more sentences. they can only be one if you want. it's your story, format it however you want. you don't need to follow rules

2) listening to music

this is mostly for when you have that one specific scene in your head but have no idea what to do for the rest of the fic. listening to music and connecting the lyrics to the characters you're using is a great way to get your mind thinking. one song can give you several different ideas depending on how you interpret it

3) make sure you are in a good mood

personally, i cannot write to save my life if im upset or just generally having a bad day. i know some people can use creating as a way to cheer themselves up, but it just doesn't work out for me lol

4) if you don't need background noise, don't use it

it's pretty easy to get distracted when writing, especially when you have something new playing. if you do need background noise of some kind, i would advise playing instrumental music or that one movie/show that you've seen a thousand times and could quote in your sleep. keep your focus on your writing

5) brackets will be your best fucking friend when writing

one of the most important things about writing is keeping your flow going. if you find yourself writing sentence after sentence for a good while and then you suddenly hit a stop because you don't know how to word what happens next; throw it in brackets and write the scene after it. its the same reason why you're told to skip questions you get stuck on when taking a test. let your brain do what it knows it can and come back to the tricky stuff later.

6) you don't have to write anything in order

you don't have to write a story exactly start to finish. you can jump between any scene you'd like and find out how to connect it to a different scene another time. this kinda ties into the last tip in the sense that you gotta let your brain do what it knows. if you only know the beginning and the end then write those first and figure out the rest as you go. if you need to edit either one of the previous things then that's okay. there's no shame in changing things around, it's just how creating things go. sometimes change is needed

7) writing prompts

for new writers, i like to tell them to find a prompt online to write a story for before they start their own. using a prompt someone else made keeps your brain from getting overwhelmed, allowing you to focus more on finding a writing style that works best for you. using writing prompts also lets your brain find ways to contribute to a story without having it make everything while also figuring out how to put it on paper. it's easy to overwhelm the brain, so let it get used to writing before you start creating your own ideas. (this is also something i advise to people who experience burnout or just cant think of anything to write. your brain just needs a break from creating ideas right now, go and find a prompt for it)

8) word count

listen to me because this is so important; ignore the word count. you need to focus on learning, not how much you're writing. it doesn't matter if you only wrote 50 words when other people have fics well over 50k. ignore it. you are learning, you'll get there eventually. if you focus too much on how much you're writing you're going to stress yourself out and ultimately drive yourself away from ever writing again. treat word counts as milestones. start with 50, then 100, then 150, then 200, etc. let yourself work towards it slowly rather than push yourself too hard right out the gate. you can't expect to draw the mona lisa the first time you put a pencil to a paper, so don't expect to write thousands of words the first time you write a story. it'll take time, and that's perfectly okay.

9) analyze the shit out of your characters

this is easier when writing fanfiction, but take a few hours to learn your characters. find the content they're in and hyper-focus on what they're doing. pay attention to their speech patterns, their body language, their relationships with others, etc. if they're not in a scene, try to imagine they are and what'd they do and/or say if they were. it'll help out with keeping them in character when writing

10) if you get to a point where you can't write anymore even when using brackets; stop writing for the day

we have our limits. you will get to a point where you can't get another word down and that's okay. it doesn't matter if you've only written a handful of words, close your program and wait until you feel motivation hit you again. if you keep trying to force yourself to write when you just can't then you're going to burn yourself out. the most probable reason for this is writer's block, which means you need to focus on other things for a while. give your brain time to recollect itself. it's annoying, i know, but it's better for you if you just let your brain do what it needs to. it knows how to take care of itself, so let it.

i also have a tag i use whenever i give tips, so you can check those out as well to see if anything helps! it's just writing tips