Tumgik
#but knowing he's a demi-spirit
offrozenmemoirs · 1 month
Text
The unfortunate reality that Seraph's going to outlive both Sino and Soup hasn't quite hit him yet, but when it does...It's gonna be rough.
4 notes · View notes
demiesworld · 10 months
Text
jjk men and how they show their love for you
☆ characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, + choso
☆ genre: fluff, romantic, domestic
☆ contents: mentions of abuse & death in toji's part, but nothing graphic
☆ notes: reader is a female and uses she/her pronouns. ages are not mentioned in this, but the reader is of legal age. curse spirits, sorcerers, etc. do not exist. everything is purely fictional.
Tumblr media
— satoru gojo: cuddling
Tumblr media
he likes it when you two are alone together in the privacy of your home, cuddling together underneath a warm blanket while watching a really bad (in his opinion) movie that you picked out. and even though he really wants to critique the writer's script of the characters, and the actors acting performance, satoru doesn't say not a word to you about it. he just holds you around your waist tighter and nuzzles his nose into your neck. he likes the smell of you after a shower because you smell fresh and it's comforting to him.
— suguru geto: quality time
Tumblr media
to suguru, there's no better way to keep your attention on him than taking you out somewhere or just spending time together. when he takes you out on a date, he encourages you to silence your phone (or better yet turn it off) to avoid any distractions. same goes for when you two are being intimate. he's a man that wants eyes on him and for you to listen to him. he does the same thing for you. you want to tell suguru about the nosy bitch at work? he's listening and giving you advice. you want to go to the netherlands? he's buying a plane ticket in business class for you two. whatever it is, suguru loves to spend time with you as long as you are on the same page as him.
— toji fushiguro: acts of service
Tumblr media
growing up in the zenin family and being abused by them sculpted toji into the cold, callous man he is today. followed by the sudden and tragic death of his previous wife he didn't think he could find love ever again. not until he met you. you warmed this man's heart at the first time he saw you. he likes to show you that he loves you by doing things that makes your life easier. he'll pay and put gas in your car. he will help you with cleaning the dishes after a meal that you've cooked for. if you're running short on money for you rent, he'll even cover it for you and doesn't expect for you to pay him back. just the thought of you being comfortable is a good enough reward.
— kento nanami: words of affirmation
Tumblr media
with kento, you would wake up in the mornings to a good morning text followed by him reminding you of your beauty, your excellence, and telling you not to let menial things get you in a bad mood. in your lunches you would find a hand-written note from kento complimenting you. in spite of being a full-time salaryman, kento would call you during his lunch break to talk to you and listen as you complain about your coworkers. he loves hearing your voice. at night, just before your head hits the pillow he would kiss your forehead and wish you a good night's rest. kento can be quite the charming man when it comes to you.
— choso: gift giving
Tumblr media
choso... precious choso. he likes to shower you with gifts as a way to show his undying love and appreciation for you. if you mention that you like something, but you couldn't get it, best believe it will be either on your doorstep or in your hand within the next day. when he sees you eyeing something in the store for even a second, choso will buy it for you. he won't take any "no's", "stops", or returning the item back. choso bought it FOR you. if you return any of his gifts it will hurt his feelings and he'll think you don't love him. so be careful when you are trying to let choso know not to get you gifts.
Tumblr media
letter from demi: i have adopted a new style of how i do... idk what you call these blurbs? headcanons? idk. anyways im changing some things up with how my posts are... styled. i hope the work and the way it is made looks good! lmk what you think babes!
1K notes · View notes
spacedace · 1 year
Note
Damian doesn't know who Santa Claus is and Danny tries to gaslight him into believing in Santa
Okay but, like, wouldn't even be gaslighting! Santa canonically does exist in the DC universe, I think I remember reading something about him fighting through an army in hell to give Darkseid a single piece of coal once?
So like, Danny doesn't have to gaslight Damian into believing Santa's real, he just has to pull out the proof (Danny has a binder of everything he knows about the Spirit of Christmas for the purpose of when he eventually goes to war with him, Danny hates Christmas so fucking much haha) and show him evidence that Santa is real.
Probably ranting the entire time about how much he hates the guy & Christmas and it's obvious that this is Danny's arch nemesis. His one true villain above all others. Pariah Dark? A nuisance. Dark Dan? Just a tuesday. Santa? That motherfucker is the bane of Danny's existence and he will pay for what he's done (spread Christmas cheer).
And Danny's the newest member to the family. Damian's been encouraged to get to know his new brother and try and bond with him a bit, make him feel like part of the family. So, obviously, the best way to do that is to help Danny in his quest for vengeance.
And of course Tim & Jason end of getting roped in on this. Damian's grown since he's first came to live with his father. He still is a little brat to his older brothers - he's the baby of the family it's his right - but he doesn't actively hate them anymore and can admit when their particular skills would be useful. Tim is the best at strategizing, and Jason is a combat master with access to all sorts of weapons. With all of them working together Santa has no chance, they will destroy him.
Which all just makes me think of something like this happening lol:
“What…uh, what are they doing?” Duke glanced between the chaos unfolding in the family room to where Dick was calmly seated in his favorite chair, sipping idly at a cup of coffee.
“Sibling bonding.” Dick said. There was that specific aura of calm around him that said that he’d already gone through several crisis and all the stages of grief at least twice. Considering the calamity and chaos the eldest batkid had seen over the years - and especially the last few months since Bruce officially adopted Danny and brought him into the fold - it was a bad sign that he’d reached this particular state of Done (TM) before noon. The earliest Dick even woke up was two in the afternoon.
Duke contemplated turning around right then and there - the particular combination of people all excitedly feeding off each other’s feral energy on the other side of the room was a catastrophe in the making he didn’t want to be anywhere near when it finally breached containment and spilled out into the wider world - but unfortunately he was cursed with the curiosity that afflicted all members of the bat clan.
“It looks like they’re plotting to try and kill Santa Claus.”
Dick turned to look at Duke fully for the first time since he’d entered the room. He had the eyes of one that was deeply haunted by the horrors they had witnessed. On the other side of the room Tim was ranting about anti-magic tech while Danny, Damian and Jason argued over what weapons would be most effective against a demi god. There were schematics of what looked worryingly like a rocket launcher looking device that - if the scribbles on the whiteboard someone had drug into the room where to be believed - was going to be rigged to shoot ecto-grenades.
“Danny hates Christmas.” Dick said, and Duke noticed for the first time that his hands around the coffee cup were faintly trembling. “He’s declared Santa is his arch nemesis.”
Duke blinked, glancing over to the others long enough to see Danny start frantically scribbling the words Christmas Nuke on the whiteboard. No one else was trying to erase it. Tim looked worriedly contemplative. Damian and Jason where both nodding in agreement.
He was going to regret this. “But Santa isn’t real?”
Dick’s eyes gained a faintly manic glean, and Duke could faintly hear the sound of porcelain creaking warningly beneath the desperate hold he had on his coffee cup. “That’s what I thought!” Dick said, with enough cheer to make Duke flinch back instinctively. “But apparently he is.” A distinct crack appeared in the cup, coffee dripping down into Dick’s lap. “And apparently they’re going to war with him!”
Well, Duke considered, at least that explained why he caught the four of them burning down the giant Christmas tree in the city center last night.
2K notes · View notes
devildomwriter · 2 months
Note
Do you have any info posts about witches in game?
I do now
1. Witches are mentioned the most in season one of the OG game because Mammon is still under the thumb of three of them. He got into trouble with a particularly nasty group of witches, Mammon says it was three, other believe it was up to ten. They tried forcing him to make a pact but Lucifer told them to cut Mammon into pieces instead and somehow in the end he just ended up as a chauffeur/errand boy for them.
2. It’s mentioned Asmodeus once brought a witch home and she turned into a spider to hide from Lucifer but he still found her.
3. In a Devilgram, the Great Witch Maddi is introduced. She is apparently still youthful in appearance despite being thousands of years old and this is due to her power. She stayed in the Devildom and attempted to make Diavolo marry her. She also made Mammon cry once and whenever she visits, Diavolo avoids her and has Satan and Lucifer handle her because she likes attractive men.
4. Another witch mentioned only in season one is Helene. She was a strong witch who was trapped in a painting and villainized after having a relationship with Asmodeus which started a war.
5. Another witch mentioned in season one with some dialogue is Grisella. She created a book that switches bodies and predicted it would help Satan and Lucifer’s relationship and she is described as being their fan. She was later murdered by her helper when she refused to mentor him because she knew her time was coming soon. Her spirit helps solve her own murder before she moves on.
6. In a game event, Lucifer claims there are witches powerful enough to cover the Devildom in snow.
7. Mammon implies that witches are supposed to be able to see the future.
8. Witches are often mentioned as living in the Devildom which is something humans don’t do as Solomon and MC are mentioned as being the first, so witches are considered a separate species/Demi-human. Although in season one they are also mentioned to live in the human world as Mammon got into trouble with those witches too.
9. A witch mentioned only once is Artemisia. Diavolo says he hasn’t visited her in a while and Lucifer declined visiting as he owes her favors after what happened with Mammon.
10. Mammon believes novice witches are easy targets for scams and that he can pay Levi pack this way.
11. In season two Diavolo mentions a witch’s sabbath. He instructs how others should handle a witch who requests a summoning without an application in advance. This implies that demons and witches have contractual agreements and that witches have to request to summon a demon before doing so.
12. Solomon says he associates with witches on occasion.
13. Witches are the ones who let Solomon know when the strange phenomenon in the human world inadvertently caused by MC finally ended.
14. In season three Mammon mentions that once when Asmodeus fell sick a bunch of demons and witches showed up and turned it into a party.
15. In season three Mammon mentions he has to be used to the human world because of always serving the witches. It’s also implied Lucifer doesn’t know the extent of it and if he did he’d probably interfere.
16. In season three, Diavolo mentions doing business in the human world due to demand for magical products by the witches and sorcerers who live there.
17. Cats are a common familiar of witches. We know this because in season three Satan kidnapped a bunch of cats for a cat cafe and Barbatos returned them all to the witches who owned them.
18. Mammon is mentioned as often receiving shady items from witches. I’m season four it’s mentioned one gift was given to him by a witch as congratulations for repaying her.
250 notes · View notes
ystrike1 · 6 months
Text
I'm the One Who Died, but the Hero Went Crazy - By Chiwa (8/10)
Tumblr media
Dragons and magic with a splash of sincerity. This time the crazed Duke is a loving man, who was mistreated horribly after his true love died. She sacrificed herself. He took revenge for her sake. Then, he faced endless pressure to marry and forget her noble final act. When she returns he is too broken to recognize her new form.
Aryn is your average hardworking and special sorceress. She won contracts with the four greatest elemental spirits. She did it all so she could accompany and protect her only friend. The chosen hero, Elkinas. Elkinas was her best friend. A good friend. A kind boy and man. Someone she could not abandon. When the nation forced destiny upon him she followed him to war, and he was eternally grateful. He made sure she knew how much he valued her....friendship...
She dies before Elkinas can propose to her.
Tumblr media
The worst part is she dies happy. In her short life she accomplished so much. She was a girl from nowhere. Elkinas became her friend by sheer coincidence, before he was miraculously found by his noble parents. He was an orphan. Her regular friend. She loved watching him grow, and she loved growing too.
Sacrificing herself for him, when the time to kill the great dragon came, wasn't even a question. She didn't think before she did it, and she doesn't regret it.
She begs for Elkinas. She wants to see him one last time before she dies.
Tumblr media
She does not see him. He doesn't go to her. He's busy. You see, he knows she's gone. There's no way to save her, and there's no time to waste. He will bring her back. No matter what. In the chaos he quickly steals the cursed dragons egg. He plans to cultivate the monster inside, so he can use it to turn back time.
To get Aryn back.
He did it all for her.
He became a perfect Duke for her. He endured his hellish family to become an ideal husband, and she never knew. She was too focused on helping him to notice his feelings. He was ok with that. He wanted her to figure it out when he was irresistible, wealthy and charming. His orphan self had to be gone from her mind.
He was so close.
His cherished dream shatters, and he becomes a villain to get it back.
Tumblr media
He tries for 60 years. He is immortal. The gods granted him that, because he killed the cursed dragon. He used that heavy blessing to conduct experiments. His other friends tried to reason with him. They failed.
When Aryn awakens 80 years later she can't believe it. Her sweet childhood friend??? A villain???
She also doesn't know he loves her, which is annoying but ok. He was hiding it from her so she gets a pass.
Tumblr media
Aryn is more beautiful now. Her new body was born inside the World Tree. Technically, her father is Zephyr. A Dragon Lord. He stole her soul to resurrect her with the help of the World Tree. Elkinas and Aryn are both very special people, who have been granted immortality. Elkinas doesn't know this because he is currently too dangerous to interact with Aryn.
When she arrives at the castle she finds the child he created alone. He is feared by the servants and seen as a cursed child.
At first it's disappointing. You think the Duke is a stereotypical cold man, but he doesn't know "Adelle" is actually Aryn. He hires her to protect and care for his son.
He's a little crazy, because people having stopped harassing him since Aryn died. Women who enchanted themselves to look like Aryn have appeared on his doorstep...claiming to be her. His madness is kind of understandable, but at the same time he is a beautiful demi-god. Of course plenty of evil women are willing to do anything to marry him.
Aryn begins to see his good side when she becomes his employee. They become friends and allies quickly, because "Adelle" sincerely wants to help him and his child.
No...she doesn't know the kid is made of her ashes.
Tumblr media
The Duke becomes happier. Elkinas calms down when Aryn/Adelle helps him protect his son. Turns out the boy is cursed, but he wasn't born cursed. One of the Duke's enemies did it. Elkinas couldn't figure it out, because he's not all powerful. He needed help from an Elemental Sorcerer, and those are really rare. "Adelle" is a real blessing that helps him in many ways. He becomes friendly, but not romantic. He can't really date at the moment.
He's too busy grieving.
His son is all that is left of Aryn.
He gave up on resurrecting her 20 years ago. He cremated her and made the boy in a surge of grief. He never wanted to destroy the world. The dragons egg never hatched for him. It was never going to. He was delusional. In denial all along. His friends were absolutely right. Beating them up and chasing them out didn't change that.
He tries to focus on the happiness he has, with the child he created.
Maybe this is where the story should have ended.
"Adelle" was planning on raising the boy...and leaving afterwards. We could have had a bittersweet story, where the Duke does eventually get over Aryn. One where he focuses on raising his son made of ash and blood.....but there's an evil princess.
Tumblr media
"Adelle" ALMOST gets away with it. Elkinas ALMOST lets her go. He ALMOST doesn't notice that Aryn is right in front of him, living and breathing.
The prophetic princess changes that. This prophet told him Aryn would return......to get his attention. He kept her around for a while. Unable to let go at the time. She used his trauma to get into his good graces, and she's been trying to seduce him ever since.
After "Adelle" purifies the curse on his son he warns her. He no longer needs her comforting lies. He will not marry her, and her life is forfeit if she continues to preen in front of him.
She doesn't stop.
She meets "Adelle" and she immediately assumes the nanny is his lover.
Tumblr media
"Adelle" realizes that Elkinas is the same man. He doesn't attack unless provoked. His days of madness are winding down. She's about to accomplish her goal. Her best friend will be happy. She promises to raise his son (her son) well, and they start to eat family meals together. The servants stop fearing the boy. His existence is officially announced...and the princess moves.
Her jealousy explodes. She tried to seduce the Duke for years.
She won't give up.
When the Duke introduces his son to the people a battle breaks out.
Tumblr media
Elkinas is actually great. He prioritizes his son's safety above all else. He treats "Adelle" like a trustworthy bodyguard. "Adelle" pretends to be hypnotized by the princess, in order to get information from her. The situation keeps getting more dangerous though. Duke Elkinas isn't just a Duke. He's the legendary hero. His children will be immortal. He is the most powerful fighter ever and human diseases can't touch him. The royal princess will not stop until she has the power of God in her hands. In her family line. For her people. For love. She's madly in love with him, and her entire family supports her.
The princess is why "Adelle" fails, and Aryn is eventually exposed.
Tumblr media
The series seems to be going for a more comedic tone.....but I'm not sure what will happen. Aryn lied to Elkinas, over and over. He's been broken because of her death for 80 years, and she's actively hiding from him. I think the truth will hurt him, at least a little.
Zephyr, "Adelle's" father, desperately tries to cover her true identity...but Elkinas keeps digging. The conflict with the princess exposes "Adelle". "Adelle" is loved by all four spirits...like Aryn. They also talk the same and act the same.
I sense an explosion.
294 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
It took me a while but I finally realised why Mystic Flour and Dark Cacao are positioned as opposites, or ying and yang. Dark Cacao as we know is a character all about hope. He keeps going no matter what. He is a warrior king of a warrior nation and will go down fighting, keeping the hope and sacrificing his life for the sake of others to his very last breath. “There is hope because we live.” Is what he says.
On the other hand we have Mystic. She is a saint, a Demi god of sorts who’s been around for a very long time and her danger lies in her extreme nihilism. Her philosophy, her battle tactics, everything she wishes to do is for this one goal — to make everyone "return to flour", which is just a pompous way of saying "perish". Not only does she believe life to be completely meaningless and therefore gives up on it, she wants everyone else to jump down that pit with her because she sees the very act of life as suffering. Perishing is a "release", and it sounds like something out of a cult because it is. It’s a cult-like mindset and that is what makes Mystic the foil to Cacao. She is the essence of giving up hope and passion, the essence of apathy while Cacao is all spirit and passion. The war between them is more than just a cookie conflict; it’s a war of beliefs, of almost religious nihilism against a passionate existentialism.
It’s a cookie game btw.
129 notes · View notes
lynn-w3st · 4 months
Text
MK: Preference #5
Tumblr media
Prompt: Raiden, Johnny, Kung Lao, Bi Han, Smoke, Rain, Szyoth, Shang Tsung and MK11 Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion) react to the reader that is like Wonder Woman. Hope you enjoy.
Quick Summary: The reader is a full blooded Edenian and the Goddess of Outworld. Liu Kang made you a protector of Earthrealm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Earthrealm Trio: Raiden, Johnny & Kung Lao
Raiden
Tumblr media
This adorable pookie fell in love with you the moment you came to visit Liu Kang to tell him about the new information on Shang Tsung.
Raiden heard tales about you but he never in his life would he have the chance to meet you but was in pure awe at the sight of your beauty, abilities and unique combat skills.
He admires your skills and fighting spirit, the way you hold yourself with confidence is amazing and he can’t help but fall in love.
During your daily visit to Wu Shi academy, he would madly blush whenever you would happily cheer him on when he’s training against one of the monks or with Kung Lao.
He can’t never get enough of your beauty and compassion, he sometimes wonders why a goddess such as yourself would fall deeply in love with a simple farmer like him.
Raiden would watch in awe when you would fight in battle. The way you gracefully and calmly take down your enemy. He thinks your lasso of truth is badass and awesome.
Being the wholesome and gentle pookie, he gets very flustered and shy when you give him compliments and tease him. He loves you with all of his heart and he knows that it is forbidden to love an Edenian goddess.
This precious pookie would do anything for you and his deep unconditional love for you is what makes him train harder and vows to protect you even if you can handle yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Johnny Cage
Tumblr media
Knowing his cocky and flirtatious personality, this man instantly fell for you for the first time he met you in Outworld during the tournament. (He doesn’t mind you stepping all over on him.)
Johnny at first would try to convince you to act on one of his new movies that’s he is making. He calls you, Wonder Woman since you remind him of a certain Amazon demi god from his favorite childhood cartoon.
He finds you sexy and hot especially when you fight in battle especially when you use your lasso of truth on your enemies to gain information about Quan Chi’s whereabouts
Johnny will literally worship the ground you walk on. This man is such a big simp to you that he is willing to do ANYTHING for his beautiful future wife (you). Will constantly flirt with you at any given moment he has.
Star boy would faint and feel his heart beat at the amount of compliments and teasing he gets from you. Your mommy rizz makes him very blushy and hot under his collar.
Please this is man so desperate for his mommy that he treats you like his Queen and would shower you with love and gifts.
Johnny loves your confident nature but often gets worried as he notice that you dislike showing any vulnerability since being Earthrealm protector & a goddess can be very difficult and overwhelming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kung Lao
Tumblr media
Funny thing you guys both meet one day at Madam Bo’s tea house after Liu Kang sends you to oversee his and Raiden’s kombat skills.
At first you both would have some friendly rivalry competition to see which one of you would win and pay for a dinner at Madam Bo’s. (Of course you come out victorious because you are the Goddess of Outworld.)
But as the days passed, Kung Lao had soon developed romantic feelings for you but was soon shock to discover that you were the literal goddess of Edenia/Outworld.
He brags to Kenshi and Johnny whenever you compliment his combat skills or often times he would brag about you to the other combatants & the way you gracefully fight.
This pookie of a man secretly has a bit of rope kink as he often blushes when you choke an enemy with your lasso of truth.
Kung Lao sometimes would feel insecure about himself since many overshadowed him with Raiden. He’s feels like he always going to be the second best but you show him that he’ll always be your first best.
He gets jealous whenever someone else flirts or compliments you, he feels like he isn’t good enough for you as you are this very beautiful goddess. That doesn’t stop him from loving you and caring for you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bi Han (Sub Zero)
Tumblr media
He meets you through Liu Kang, as you were given the honor to meet the new Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. Of course he was wary of you from the beginning considering that you are the goddess of Outworld, protecting Earthrealm.
Like Johnny Cage, this man secretly has a mommy kink. The Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei is a simp for a very strong and loyal woman such as yourself to have as a wife.
But after witnessing some of your combat skills, he was impressed to say the least the way you would defend yourself and others, but of course his ego and pride admit it.
Bi Han thinks that Liu Kang is wasting your true potential and unlike the Fire God, he would support you and make you stronger.
He admires your confident personality and fighting skills. Worships you by treating you like an empress and gifting you expensive gifts for you like jewelry, clothes and etc.
It takes him sometime for him to admit his feelings for you since his ego won’t allow him but when the courting process starts, he doesn’t allow anyone disrespect you. He often times compares you to Tomas (which isn’t fair since you are an Edenian Goddess)
Bi Han has a bit of rope kink considering that you often use your lasso of truth on any enemies like General Shao or Rain to know more about Shang Tsung’s schemes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tomas Vbrada (Smoke)
Tumblr media
Like Bi Han, he met you through Liu Kang as you were tasked to brief them over a mission. To say the least it was love at first sight for him.
He was in awe and astonished when he first met you. He was very honor to finally meet a beautiful Edenian goddess of Outworld.
Tomas gets extremely shy and flustered when you would compliment him or when you tease when he refers himself as the “ King of Smoke” in which you find cute.
Smoke admires your combat fighting skills and has heart shaped eyes when you would take down your enemies with your lasso of truth in which very unique and interesting.
Often times, he would deeply worry for you considering that you have the fate of both realms on your shoulder, he wants to help you and is willing to share your burden.
Smokey bear would often make excuses to come visit you daily and would enjoy your presences. He would happily talk about his day while you listened with a soft smile.
Tomas wants to spend the rest of his life with you but he knows it will be impossible as you are a Goddes. His loyalty and love for you is unbreakable, he is willing to go to the end of the realms for you. He loves you very deeply and worries for you safety everyday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zeffeero (Rain)
Tumblr media
Zeffeero would be your most dedicated follower and head priest. He is very proud to be your head priest as he views you as a gift from the divine and a l blessing in his life as his goddess.
He would actually start courting you, he is very old school so he will probably send gifts and offerings to you in your temple. Rain is Outworld’s best mage so he would gift you the most beautiful and exotic gifts.
Rain will actually flirt with you and devote himself to you. You are his saving grace and as he will soon be your soon to be husband.
Zeffeero admires your fighting and magical abilities and finds the lasso of truth very interesting as he would have rope kink. He would imagine himself being held down by you and would even be bad as he loves you.
Since you are a powerful witch yourself, Rain would often ask if you don't mind training him so he can admire your skills.
He notice how much you hate to show any emotional vulnerability by putting up a fake smile but will remind you that it is ok to be vulnerable and seek support as being the literal Goddess of Outworld & the new protector of Earthrealm can be very hard.
Rain loves you so much as he is willing to support you and will do anything for you. Zeffeero is your most dedicated worshipper as he happily serves and protects his love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Syzoth (Reptile)
Tumblr media
Like Raiden, Syzoth is deeply in love with you but often times he wonders why would you fall in love and marry with a freak monster like him.
This cutie of a man gets very flustered when you speak with him or engage in a conversation with him. He can’t help but fall in love with you as you were his savior.
Szyoth would get extremely flustered and cover his blush face when you would give him a compliment considering that you are a goddess of Outworld and his lovely savior.
Please he would do anything for you as his gratitude that you saved his life and forgave him and guided him to a new life. He has a bit of a worship kink considering that you are a Goddess and his new purpose in life.
Johnny teases the hell out of him when you would give a complete him. He very deeply admires your confidence and headstrong attitude. Your combat skills were unique and as he would blush when you would use the lasso of truth in your enemies in battle.
Syzoth deeply worries for you as he sees how much you dislike being emotionally vulnerable and often reminds you that he is there for you and will do anything for you.
To say the least Szyoth can't image a life without you as you are his world and new purpose. He loves you and will protect you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shang Tsung
Tumblr media
This sassy man has beef with both you and Liu Kang but he secretly hates loves you as he often enjoys bothering and annoying you with his sassy attitude. Please you are his mommy.
Shang Tsung would be annoyed with you considering that he could never lie a single soul to you because of your lasso of truth. He finds your combat skills very attractive.
As much as he tries to show off that he is powerful, he does not hesitate one bit to kneel before you because you are his mommy and worship the ground you walk.
He has a very strong femdom kink and often flirts with you and visits you to just get a reaction out of Liu Kang and maybe to court you and try to make you join him.
Shang Tsung would purposely lie when he is tied up by your lasso of truth, he enjoys feeling the tight sensation of your rope. He has a very big rope kink as he doesn’t mind you stepping all over him and making him submit to you, you are his sexy Goddess.
This man will literally worship the ground you walk on. He is such a big simp to you that he is willing to do ANYTHING for you.
Liu Kang would often times have to send you away on missions since Shang Tsung always flirts with you and send you gifts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MK11: Scorpion
Hanzo Hasashi
Tumblr media
The new Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu would be both in awe and honor to meet the Goddess of Outworld but would take time to trust you. Considering what Quan Chi did to his family.
He first judges on Raiden’s choices and decisions on letting a Goddess aide them but after some time, he came to view you as a fellow warrior and ally as time passes
Hanzo admires your confidence and loyalty and often finds your abilities attractive and very useful especially your lasso of truth. (This sexy man has a rope kink as he does not mind using it on you in privacy. 😉)
He knows how you hate being emotionally vulnerable so he remind you that it is ok to be vulnerable and he's always there for you. Being a Goddess can be very challenging.
His own students often tease him when he would get flustered when you compliment with him, this man has a bit of a mommy kink for you and worships you in secret.
He gets very hard when you take down your foes and use your lasso of truth on them to gain information. In that very moment he had deeply feel fell for you and started to court you as he secretly worships you.
Hanzo loves you with his whole being and is such a gentleman towards you and will do anything for you like cooking dinner, giving you a massage or simply cuddling with you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please let me know if you guys have any questions or concerns. I’m very sorry for being inactive as much in making MK1 content it’s been a rough month for me.
I’m currently dealing with some very serious family issues and it’s been taking a mental toll on me lately. Plus I’ve been feeling gloomy.
Sorry for the inconvenience and I hope you guys enjoy this fanfic and have a lovely day.
184 notes · View notes
turbulentscrawl · 5 months
Text
Hot as Sin pt. 3
;) As always, spice below the cut, and minors dni with this post. There is an extra note at the beginning of Demi's entry, as she is the first female character I've written full smut with.
Demi
Tumblr media
Note: Part of the reason I've put off writing smut for the fem characters is that it's much harder to keep the reader gender neutral. That is, everyone has at least one hole...but not everyone has something to fill a hole with. But I've decided to go ahead anyway and simply use "cock/dick" for the reader, and just ask you to suspend your disbelief. If you don't have those parts, please just take those words to be a swap of "strap" which imo isn't a very sexy word anyway.... Thanks!
Warnings: alcohol consumption
You know she’s a little buzzed, but it hardly shows. Demi’s such a laid back and good-spirited lady that her current posture doesn’t seem all that odd; leaned back on top of you, rocking her hips up and down with a blissed-out look on her face. Maybe she was drunk off your cock moreso than the liquor. She opens one eye to look back at you, and a teasing little smirk crosses her painted lips.
“Paint a picture of me, sweetie, it’ll last longer,” she coos.
“I think I’ll just paint on you,” you tease back, grunting when she presses down and grinds against you as ‘punishment.’
“Come on,” she says. Her words come between cute little huffs of effort. “You might as well help me out while you enjoy the show. Touch me some more.” She massages one of her full breasts to make a point, rolling a nipple between her fingers and biting her plump lip. You’d almost rather make her beg, but you can tell she’s already close by how her legs quiver and her rhythm falters. And who could deny this beauty?
Your hands slide up her body, pressing into the plush of her stomach before finding her other breast and her clit respectively. She gives you a wonderful giggle-moan when your fingers circle both of the nubs, and promptly comes crashing down with a clenching, shivering bliss.
“Good girl,” you sigh at her when she relaxes again. She doesn’t stop your moving hands, so you keep rubbing her, massaging her while she leans over to the bedside table and scoops up her glass of wine. She downs the last mouthful, swallows half, and then captures your face in her dainty hands and gives you a wine-wet tongue kiss that just about boils your mind to numbness.
“I am a good girl,” she says when she pulls away, panting. “Now why don’t you be good too and do the work this time?” Her hands encircle your neck, and suddenly she throws herself backwards onto the mattress, dragging you with her. Though you would have thought it impossible, Demi looks even better like this: tipsy, sweaty, and well-fucked beneath you. Just not quite well-fucked enough, evidently, if her pulling her own legs up into a mating press was anything to go by.
“Sure,” you say, lacing your fingers over where hers rest against her thighs and pushing her further into the mattress. “I think I can do that.”
Antonio
Tumblr media
Warnings: size difference, sappy shit, devil possession at the end
Ever the songbird, Antonio sighs sweetly into the rhythm of your hips.
“You feel so good, darling,” he whispers, grinning softer than normal down at you. “Sweet, supple thing you are.” Loving praise falls from his lips in that entrancing hum of his. His large hands caress your curves, running the length of your back, thighs, the swell of your ass. He’s considerably larger than you, like most of the hunters, but so unbearably gentle. He sinks a little further into his chair, melting from the heat of your body because you’ve managed to fit a little more of his cock inside you.
You’re weak, sweaty, and the work has only barely begun. The stretch his cock gives you is as exhausting as it is exhilarating and you can’t guess how much longer you’ll last. You brace one hand on his forearm and the other on his chest, fingers idly tracing the stitched seams there to distract you from the burning stimulation.
“You’re shaking, petal. Do you need some help?” Antonio asks reverently. You shake your head, desperate to do this yourself, to let him relax, but you only manage three quicker hops on his lap before you’re gasping for air. Antonio chuckles and slowly hugs you to his cold chest. “No need for such pride, my love, I can take over for a bit.”
When you finally relax into his shoulder, his hands grab your hips, soft but firm. He effortlessly moves you up, down, around in a tantalizing circle on his cock, then all over again to a steady rhythm. It’s a slow process; Antonio is in no rush at all, enjoying the harmonization of your hums and moans, the warmth and give of your overheated body against his hard, cold one. His lips dance all around your head, kissing you, whispering sweet nothings to you. You don’t know how long it takes for you to find the edge into pleasure’s abyss, but you’re hanging over it when Antonio suddenly lurches to a stop.
“My dear,” he warns, and lifts you entirely off of him. “I know this is a bad time, but I’m feeling myself slip.” Even in your fog, you know he’s not warning you about an impending orgasm.
“Do you want me to leave?” You ask. It doesn’t matter though, you think, because tendrils of his hair are already coiling around your waist, replacing his drooping hands. “I’m not afraid.”
“I’m glad to hear that…but I think you’re going to be a lot more haggard tomorrow than you bargained for,” he says, grin growing wide and stiff. You’d almost call it malicious, if you didn’t already know that lust was perfectly fine for the devil to feed on, instead of violence. Proving your point, Antonio’s living hair forces you down onto the full length of his cock and leaves you next to no time to adjust.
With your last spare moments before he wrecks you, you kiss his chin and whisper, “I guess we both like a good gamble.”
Orpheus
Tumblr media
Warnings: “knife play” adjacence, forced positivity??? idk
The golden tip of Orpheus’s quill was sharp on the spank-tender flesh of your ass. Not quite sharp enough to break skin, mind you, but certainly enough to leave angry red lines under the ink he was putting down. His hips rutted slowly against you, keeping his thrusts shallow and unsatisfying.
“Voluptuous,” Orpheus drawls behind you. He writes the word out in slow, intentioned cursive. Then he returns the quill to its nearby inkwell for a moment, running his free hand tauntingly slow up your spine. “Now your turn. How else would you describe yourself? Try for something eloquent.”
Your face is pressed into one of his luxurious pillows, fingers clutching his sheets in a death grip. All your focus is put into not fucking yourself back on Orpheus’s cock—you can’t think of any words besides his name, let alone something ‘eloquent’. He huffs out a not-laugh in response to the drawn-out groan you give him.
“Come now—” god, you wished you could— “you can do better than that. Just two more rounds and I’ll wreck you like you want.” You know he’s good for his word, at least. There is a very real finish line at the end of this particular game.
“Huuuhhh,” you moan in thought. “C-cute.” Orpheus suddenly delivers a harsh slap to your ass, and you’re sure it’s smeared some of the sprawling ink. He sighs disapprovingly.
“You can do better than that, dear. It’s like you’re not even trying. Do you want me to fuck the daylights out of you or not?” He grinds himself further into you, but still refuses any other stimulation. “Try again. Be generous, describe yourself highly.”
You wrack your brain for what you’ve read of Orpheus’s work, straining for moments where he narrated a love interest or a lovers’ tryst, how he spoke of the people in those intimate moments. But everything is blurred by lust now and thinking of those scenes only makes you more desperate for him, for the powerful, alluring writer—
“Alluring!” you gasp into the pillow.
“That’s perfect,” Orpheus praises. That gentle hand on your spine slides up, up, and grabs the back of your neck in a vice. He pushes you down with sudden ferocity and fucks you hard 1-2-3-4-5 delicious times, and then relaxes again. You choke and whine from the rough preview as he picks up the quill and writes that word in the very middle of your back. “You’re almost there, I need one more.”
“Irresistable.” That one comes easy, now that you’re just describing him. Orpheus tosses the quill over his shoulder, and grabs your hips with a growl that sends electric shocks of arousal to all your most sensitive places.
“Yes. You. Are.”
Ganji
Tumblr media
Warnings: just a bit of dirty talk
He didn’t entirely know what he was doing, and it showed. But damn was his flushed face cute.
Ganji had wanted to wait a bit to be intimate. Inexperience, insecurities, shyness and all that. But something about the last match had really gotten him wound up and he’d looked just about ready to get on his hands and knees when he asked you to come back to his room for some ‘alone time.’ You didn’t make him beg, but this was pretty good compensation anyway, getting to ride him to exhaustion while he moans like he’s in heat.
He clutches at you a bit, blunt nails biting into the meat of your thighs, but he makes no efforts to stop or slow you. He just takes it, takes it, takes it. He takes everything you give him and holds none of his enjoyment back. He’s desperate for you, and unsatisfiable.
“Take this off,” you say, flicking the fabric of his baggy shirt, not stopping. In the rush and excitement, neither of you took much clothing off before you made it to his bed. He does as you say, holding eye contact the entire time.
“I like that expression you have,” he says after pulling his shirt over his head with one arm. You could say the same to him, you think. His eyes are intense, mouth open slightly while he pants, lips wet. You move your hands from where they were braced on the headboard, to his now-exposed torso, and run your fingers all along his toned muscles. He hums approvingly and returns the favor by sliding his hands under your shirt to push it off. “Do you like it…? Do you like how I feel?”
He's playing coy, you know, digging for more praise. But fuck is it hot in his voice. You pause only long enough for him to take your top off. Once it’s gone, he leans hesitantly closer and licks your chest. Whatever you taste like, Ganji seems to like it. His mouth latches to your collarbone the next second, sucking and biting your skin while his hands grab your waist and help your tired legs keep bouncing on his cock.
“Be a little louder for me,” you sigh, “and I’ll tell you all about how much I like you.”
Ganji doesn’t hesitate to provide. He releases the hickey he was working on in favor of singing his praises, moaning and whining and whimpering without shame. Clearly, he doesn’t care about being heard by his neighbors or passersby. He shifts a bit beneath you, and you only realize he’s braced his legs when he starts thrusting up to meet you.
“You feel so good, baby,” you coo. His eyes lock to yours again, drinking up your expression and any sweet words that fall from your lips. “You’re so sexy…You feel so good inside me, I want you to fill me up. I wanna come on your cock, honey.” Ganji’s face twists with mounting pleasure as you talk to him. He moans for you to stop, to give him a moment, but you don’t and suddenly he’s sucking air through his bared teeth and seizing up beneath you. He scrambles to make you finish with him, fumbling, stroking with one hand and bracing you for his upward thrusts with the other. And his desperation is so hot that it works. “That’s it, that’s it!”
You’re still coming down from the high when Ganji flips you both over, placing himself on top of you on his bed. His lips find your cheek, sweet and soft.
“Can you take a little more?”
162 notes · View notes
Text
Recently I saw this post by @god-has-adhd (I'm not reblogging it because I saw the people they tagged and realised very quickly that it's quite likely that us reblogging the post will be unwelcome, to put it mildly. I'm tagging the OP here anyway since it's a direct response to the post and it seemed only fair to engage in the conversation. I hope they don't mind.) OP urged everyone to watch the video regardless of the political leaning so in the spirit of giving everything a fair shot, we watched it. 'We' here refers to both me and Mod G. There are things we agree on with the guy speaking in the video and there are things we disagree with/think he didn't properly research. However, there is one thing that's most relevant to this blog and to me, personally so I'll be talking primarily about it. This is your long post warning, I'm afraid.
------------
"The Real Story of Eklavya"
The context for people who haven't watched the video is that the guy brings up two stories, one of Satyakama Jabali from the Upanishads and that of Eklavya from the Mahabharata. He brings up both these stories in the context of caste, he helpfully titles it and everything.
What I found interesting is that he frames himself talking about the story with the words "The real story of Eklavya". If you know even the basics of storytelling or filmmaking, you know that this is quite important. This implies that you, the viewer, do not know the real story and the one you know is either incomplete or false.
He begins, in a memorable instance, by asking ChatGPT for a summary to grasp the popular interpretation of the story of Eklavya and Drona. I have THOUGHTS about using a machine learning tool that is trained on data that is infamously biased and lacking when it comes to anything that isn't American, but that would be digressing from the point. ChatGPT provides him a summary that mentions that Eklavya was denied Drona's tutelage because he was of a lower caste. After this, the guy proceeds to recite the lines where Eklavya is mentioned in the Adi parva of the Sanskrit Mahabharat that we refer to as Vyasa's Mahabharat. He expresses surprise at how Eklavya is introduced as being the son of the "king" of the nishads (I think leader is a better word that should've been used but the Sanskrit text has a notorious habit of having just really questionable ways of referring to people, if you've read it you know.) Which is found HILARIOUS. Bro, what do you mean you're surprised? This is COMMON knowledge, I fear.
He mentions how being the son of the nishaad's leader/king effectively puts him on the same level as Arjun and that they're both princes. He says that this means Eklavya isn't shudra or dalit (there is a word that's curiously absent here that I'll mention in a bit.) Now, this one of those parts where the choice information he presents the viewer with is bizarre. Since I promised I'll give it a fair shot, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a fault of him not researching enough and not willful omission. Maybe he just doesn't know. The information he's given here is correct, mostly. What he DOESN'T explain is who the nishads, as a group are. I'll fill in the blanks for him.
The nishad are said to be a group of tribal people who reside in the hills. The text he reads out even has the word "tribal" in it but the guy sort of glosses over it? The nishads are sort of like an aggregate grouping of different tribal populations and not the name of a specific tribe. Kind of. But the mention is still significant. See, the Mahabharata, especially the Sanskrit text, has this Thing™ that it does where it's incredibly rare to find a mention of tribal populations who are said to be human, many of the other mentioned tribal groups are demi-humans or non-humans or just straight up rakshahsas.
Eklavya is said to be the adopted son of Hiranyadhanus, the aforementioned king/leader of the nishads. The Harivamsa Purana part of the Sanskrit text (which is a giant-ass genealogy section where it traces the family line from the start of existence to the birth of Krishna) mentions that biologically he's the son of Devashrava, Vasudev's brother, which makes him Krishna's cousin by blood. Eklavya was abandoned by Devashrava in the forest and Hiranyadhanus found him and raised him as his own.
This makes Eklavya a tribal boy, I would use the word adivasi but people might disagree so I'll just say he has a tribal heritage, not by blood but by his upbringing. The man in the video says that Eklavya isn't a shudra, or dalit or untouchable, which is technically true. There's a missing word here that's doing a lot of heavy lifting for him, though. He says that Eklavya is a Kshatriya, which is DEBATEABLE because in the epic we've seen time and time again that blood doesn't matter and it's the society that does. With this, hopefully not to y'all, new information we might understand how the guy's assertion that Arjuna and Eklavya are on equal footing is shaky at best.
He continues to explain that in the text the reasoning why Drona refuses Eklavya is because he'd already promised he'd make Arjun The Best Archer. Since, he's bound by obligation to the Kurus, he can't afford to let Eklavya outshine his kuru students. The man proceeds to assert that in the text there is no caste-based discrimination happening here. Ergo, he concludes, the story of Eklavya doesn't have a caste aspect to it. If you believe otherwise, you're uneducated and need to learn the Truth and not fall into Propoganda. (I'm trying to be charitable to the guy but his tone when he says the word "propoganda" is dripping with disdain and it's making it very hard for me to remain charitable.) He ends this section this way.
This guy says he's given you all the facts. He's cited his source and he's said the complete truth. He hasn't. In this man's viewpoint, the complete and true Mahabharat is the Sanskrit text. Which, as you know, ISN'T what the entirety of the Mahabharat is and claiming that it is is a narrow perspective to see it. (Which is FUNNY considering this guy has a whole section towards the end of the video about Nuance and it's ironic that he's unwilling to provide the same nuance about the epic to his trusting audience.) Maybe he just isn't insane enough like me to know that it isn't the entire Mahabharat. It's possible.
There is a viewpoint that declares that the Sanskrit Text is the primary source and everything else isn't "canon". There's a SPECIFIC word for it but I will not say it because it's like a boogeyman word on hindublr, at least, so I'll omit the word in this post. This man, from what I've seen, shares this viewpoint.
I disagree.
The Mahabharat, is first and foremost a collection of oral traditions of storytelling that were written down much later. This means that the entire corpus of work that is this mammoth of an epic consists of the thousands of written texts, poetry, plays, songs, folk tales, recently it also includes cinematic adaptations, bedtime stories that your elders might have told you, and lastly, popular culture for better or for worse. This is my viewpoint and I feel it provides for a much better lens to engage with the story. Otherwise, you're denying the story of the rich tradition and heritage it was forged in.
The guy in the video wonders why the story of Eklavya is more popular than Satyakama Jabali and there are a lot of reasons for it. First is that the epic is simply more popular and, in many ways, more fun than the upanishad stories. Second is that the story of Eklavya captured people's minds because it's a story that has strife and the ending is unsatisfactory. Tragedies inspire emotions and connection in a way that comedies do not. There are many more reasons but I'll stop listing them.
It's not a coincidence or happenstance that there are caste dynamics added in the popular interpretation of the story. There are even seeds of this in the Sanskrit text, if this guy is truly only looking at that alone, Eklavya being a tribal kid, the way his physical appearance is described in the text, the way he's stopped from sharing a space with the kuru princes etc. If a variety of people who have historically faced similar things especially when it comes to education and find themselves mirrored in Eklavya? That's not Propaganda, as the guy puts it. It's just how stories naturally evolve and grow. It's people reading between the lines. There's no conspiracy at play. Just people finding something to relate to when they cannot relate to any other character.
I can write essays on how caste and varna show up in the Mahabharat (and I might, if even ONE person asks me for it) but to sum it down, it's a task of examining exactly who and what KIND of people are absent from the story. The Invisible People, if you will. You can count on your fingers how many shudra, dalit and adivasi figures are in the Mahabharat.
Drona is a teacher who fails at being a teacher in this instance. (The Mahabharat in many ways is a story of people failing to do their Duty. There's a certain peacock feather wearing guy who does a whole song and dance about it. It can cover a whole book. It's quite popular. Maybe you've heard of it?) Even if you ignore the caste dynamics reading of it, you cannot deny that the man just sucked at being a teacher in that moment when he denied education to a student, whatever his reasoning may be. He brutally asks for the kid to maim himself and again, even the Sanskrit text describes this action of Drona as cruel. He creates a barrier for Eklavya to stop him from continuing to practice his archery.
It's not surprising that Drona is read as a stand in for an education system that sucks at being an education system that does its job. Again, it's not a conspiracy or propaganda. It's people trying to connect to a story through the prism of their life experiences.
It is not my place to tell people what to believe and what not to believe. It's not the guy in the video's either, despite what he says. People's interpretations are personal to them. What is my place is to remind people that it's wrong to deny people their interpretations. There are versions and interpretations of the story that I hate or dislike but I'm not standing here and telling you they're not the Truth. This is the nuance that Mahabharat requires that the guy lacks. This is also why I believe his sources and research is lacking in this department.
------------
Beyond Eklavya
There's a lot of other thoughts and things I want to share about the rest of the video. I'll try to summarise the highlights.
There's a part where he doesn't understand what systemic patriarchy means, exactly, even though he himself gave an EXCELLENT example of it towards the start of the video with Satyakama Jabali's mother's heritage not being considered when it comes to his gotra. It was frustrating because he SAID it. He said the perfect example himself. I almost thought he set it up as a complete circle moment but he hadn't.
I appreciate him bringing a Shaivite perspective because I'm honestly tired of so much Vaishnavism at all times. I love to see different schools of Hinduism actually being practiced and not just one dominating and subsuming the others.
Towards the start of the video, Mod G predicted that the man would go on a "Periyar sucks" rant and I was so delighted that G was so right.
The guy in the video neglects to look at any contemporary research and scholarship about the linguistics and the Aryan migration theory(which he calls the invasion theory, obviously) including the genetic studies.
There's a funny bit where whenever the guy mentions Ambedkar he has to assert that he thinks Ambedkar is anti-hindu. Even when he's praising him. It happened multiple times.
-------------
TL;DR The man in the video fails to provide his viewers with the full picture about the story of Eklavya even when he claims he is.
- Mod S
ALSO
The structure of his arguments are poor especially in the section where he talks about why the North-South divide came about. Does he not know about the field of linguistics and how root languages are established? Telugu as a language has a 'Dravidian' (he seems to hate that word, even though Dravida is not just the anglo word for the southern parts of India) root because of certain features it has. Notice how North Indian languages use Gender. And then, notice how Southern/central or even Adivasi languages use gender. One main reason why Dravidian languages have been speculated to have another root language different to Sankskrit is the counting systems. Its not wrong to say Telugu has sanskrit INFLUENCE, but again, look at WHICH people within the language group use that type of Telugu (spoiler alert, its the 'proper' upper castes). He dismisses that entirely and makes it a whole issue about how the North South divide happened.
Its very clear to me that he has no intention of representing any of the counter arguments to his premise in an honest manner and is instead single mindedly trying to create more propaganda.
-Mod G
78 notes · View notes
deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year
Note
Female Giyuu Reader with Yandere Platonic Poseidon (She’s his daughter, making her a Demigoddess) and he either A. Didn’t know about her existence or B. Didn’t care about her as she was weak and soft, until he saw how strong she is now, meeting his ideals of ‘perfection’ (This is going to be angst)
However she harshly tells Poseidon he isn’t her ‘Father’, as her REAL family is her deceased half-sister and friend Sabito, her teacher and master Urokodaki, and her new parental figures Sasaki and Adam (They accept her and tell her she isn’t a burden, nor is she ‘worthless’)
She doesn’t care about him, especially since she wants to SAVE Humanity. and told him that she’ll take his head if he tries to harm those she swore to save/protect (As a Demon Slayer, it’s her job to put her life on the line to save humanity, no matter what)
She likes to be around Sasaki, as he’s a very warm and nice to her (Since he’s a swordsman, they have some common ground) and even made her favorite meal (Resulting him witness her smile for the first time, which he felt blessed to witness such a lovely smile, and encourages her to smile more, making Reader happy)
-It had been so long- so many years, since you saw your father, Poseidon. He deemed you weak and threw you out, not willing to put up with any weakness in his bloodline.
-His words haunted you every day of your life, alongside the death of the woman who took you in, adopting you as your big sister, and your best friend, Sabito, both who died protecting you and others against demons.
-You struggled with your grief, survivor’s guilt is what your mentor and friend, Kojiro, called it, that you felt guilty that they died instead of you, because you felt like if you had been stronger, you would have been able to protect them.
-You focused and trained hard, with the Demon Slayer Corps and with Kojiro, who wasn’t a member of the Corps, but was welcomed as an ally and friend of your leader, Lord Ubuyashiki.
-Your hard work paid off after years, becoming the Water Hashira, but your guilt, your pain of those who had lost, never left, and the sting of your father’s words always seem to shake you.
-You had many friends, the other Hashira and new students, as well as Kojiro whom you would always consider as a friend and more of a father than Poseidon ever would be.
-Adam was another whom you found yourself to be adopted by the father of all humans, not caring that you were a demi-goddess, he treated you like all of his children, with gentle affections and praises, patting your head gently whenever you managed to do something, no matter how small.
-You hid your emotions- your pain, well, appearing to others as a stoic, emotionless woman, but those who were close to you, your friends and family, knew that you were actually a gentle and kind person, one who held your pain and sorrow inside.
-That was the only thing that was similar to your actual father, your stoic personality, but while his was natural, only breaking to show disgust or anger, yours is one you built up yourself, trying to protect yourself and others.
-You tried not getting attached to others, especially Tanjiro and Nezuko, whom you saved so long ago, and you became like their big sister, doting on them and teaching Tanjiro, and you grew even closer, learning that the spirit of Sabito trained him when he first started to learn how to use a sword.
-Sabito and Tsutako never showed themself to you, but there were calm days when you felt their presences, they were familiar and warm, and those were the rare days you would break and let yourself cry and mourn them once again.
-The day you met Poseidon again was a day you had hoped to never had, but it was your job to deal with demons. When you got the call that there was a demon in the seaside district, your old home, you had to respond, being the closest Hashira.
-Tanjiro and Nezuko did a fine job managing to hold the demon off, letting the gods and humans in the seaside district escape to safety, but when another demon showed up, Tanjiro couldn’t handle both.
-You immediately rushed in, using your breathing style and razor-sharp waves of water surrounded you, Tanjiro and Nezuko, protecting them but tearing the two demons to pieces before you decapitated them.
-You nearly leapt out of your skin as you heard a voice call to you, “Y/N?” you turned, your eyes wide, seeing your father, who arrived with guards, seeing that you had handled everything on your own, with help from Tanjiro.
-Poseidon smiled, seeing that you had grown so much, you were so powerful now, harnessing the water just like him, you were a strong warrior, “You’ve grown so much, my daughter. I’m proud of-” you lifted a hand, cutting him off, surprising everyone around you, “Save it- I don’t want to hear it, Lord Poseidon.”
-He was stunned by your snub as Kojiro and some of other Slayers arrived, hearing the same call you did and to help Tanjiro who needed medical attention, “Y/N- my daughter, why are so acting so cold-”
-You turned to him, your eyes like ice, so similar to his own, “You are not my father- you abandoned me, threw me out when I was only a child, one that you deemed weak. My father is Kojiro here, not you.”
-Kojiro was stunned, learning that you were a demi-goddess, as was Tanjiro, both of them shocked that you were speaking to Poseidon in such a way, one being a god, two being a king, and three being your biological father.
-Poseidon tried to defend himself, “I did that to help you- to help you grow! Look how strong you are now, Y/N! You don’t have to fight demons anymore for Hades, you can come home to the sea and take your rightful place at my side! You don’t need those humans!”
-You picked Nezuko up, as she was in her child form, holding her on your hip and her arms encircled your neck because Tanjiro was being carried out and Kojiro grabbed her box, “These humans are my family, Lord Poseidon. And unlike you, I’m going to defend them with my whole being, because that’s what those with power are supposed to do- protecting the weak!”
-Kojiro put his hand on the back of your head, startling you out of your rant as you sent one last glare to Poseidon, who you knew didn’t care about you, he only cared about your strength, your image.
-Poseidon was furious at your snub, rage filling every inch of him that you- his daughter, was being so stubborn and ungrateful!
-He knew he needed to go to Hades, who oversaw the Demon Slayers, he would help bring his niece back to her correct home.
-Only he didn’t, Hades knew the truth of your circumstances, he watched you struggle and grow, but unlike your father who abandoned you, your uncle helped guide you, pointing you to the Demon Slayers, but once there, he showed no favoritism, less than five people knew your relationship to Hades, as you wanted to keep it quiet, not wanting to be treated differently.
-So when Poseidon finally came to him, after so many years, after seeing you after all this time, demanding his help to get you back, he refused, “You chased your child away yourself, it’s up to you to right your wrongs. But heed this well, Poseidon, should you harm any of those under my supervision, and that includes Y/N’s mentor, I will not hold back.”
-Poseidon felt the chill run up his spine, knowing full well that Hades would hold true to his word, and he left, scowling darkly, his mind racing on how he was going to get you back.
-Kojiro, after he had to calm you down when you had a mild panic attack, as seeing Poseidon brought back so many memories that you nearly fainted, took you to eat at your favorite hot pot restaurant, ordering all of your favorites and telling you to eat your fill.
-Kojiro pretended not to notice, when you sat down, seeing your smile, which he didn’t see often, showing him that you were truly happy.
-He just reached over and ruffled your hair lightly, “I’m proud of you, Y/N- now eat!” you couldn’t help but smile once more which made him chuckle and the two of you enjoyed your meal, just you and your real father.
300 notes · View notes
ariesblaze666 · 2 months
Note
Hihi!! Seen your reqs open :D I didn’t see any specifics on what you write, soo I want to request a canon x canon using Mister Demi & Miss Sasha! About how Mister Demi just adores her from afar before having some help from the other teachers to confess to Miss Sasha.
Tumblr media
Melodies of Love Mister Demi x Miss Sasha
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳Start
In the bustling halls of Paper School, there existed a subtle symphony of emotions between two teachers: Mister Demi, the passionate music maestro, and Miss Sasha, the enchanting art aficionado.
Mister Demi found himself entranced by Miss Sasha's graceful demeanor and the effortless strokes of her paintbrush as she brought canvases to life. From afar, he admired her creativity, her poise, and the gentle melody of her laughter echoing through the corridors.
In his music room, amidst the crescendos and decrescendos of melodies, Mister Demi often found himself lost in thought, composing tunes inspired by the mere sight of Miss Sasha, his muse.
'There she is,' he would think, watching her delicately guide her students through the nuances of color and form. 'How I wish I could express the symphony of emotions she stirs within me.'
However, Mister Demi was too shy to approach Miss Sasha, fearing that his words would stumble like misplaced notes in a melody. Instead, he contented himself with stealing glances from across the schoolyard and weaving his unspoken adoration into every chord he played.
Meanwhile, Miss Sasha, immersed in her world of colors and textures, was oblivious to the silent serenade orchestrated by Mister Demi's heart.
Unbeknownst to him, the other teachers at Paper School had noticed Mister Demi's infatuation. Determined to unite the two kindred spirits, they hatched a plan to bring their love story to life.
One sunny afternoon, as Mister Demi plucked the strings of his guitar in the courtyard, he was startled by the unexpected presence of his fellow teachers.
"We have a proposition for you, Demi," Ms. Emily said while the other teacher gave him a knowing smiles.
Intrigued, Mister Demi listened as they outlined their plan to help him confess his feelings to Miss Sasha through a harmonious collaboration between art and music.
With newfound courage fueled by the support of his colleagues, Mister Demi composed a symphony of love, each note infused with the depths of his affection for Miss Sasha.
On the day of the grand reveal, as Miss Sasha led her students through an outdoor art exhibition, she was greeted by the enchanting strains of music drifting through the air.
Intrigued, she followed the sound until she reached the courtyard, where Mister Demi stood, his heart laid bare in the melodies he played.
With trembling hands and a voice filled with emotion, Mister Demi confessed his love to Miss Sasha, his words weaving seamlessly with the music that surrounded them.
Overwhelmed by the beauty of his gesture, Miss Sasha's heart soared, and she reached out to take his hand, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy.
From that moment on, Mister Demi and Miss Sasha's love blossomed like a masterpiece painted by the hands of fate, their union a testament to the power of music and art to transcend boundaries and bring souls together in perfect harmony.
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳End
Lol, this is shitty 🤣
But, thank you for the request
63 notes · View notes
crash-and-cure · 1 year
Text
Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Tumblr media
Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.
A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story. 
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit.  Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)
My Masterlist
Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not
Men are kind, Until they aren’t
Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart
                 Flowers, Hadestown
Demi has never feared a single man in her life. 
Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them. 
That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow. 
And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard. 
Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.
Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.
She was perfect.
Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.
Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.
As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before. 
But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs. 
Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home. 
Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy. 
When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became. 
All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”
Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.
It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes. 
Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself. 
But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct. 
‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.” 
It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable. 
Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper. 
It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.
She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home. 
He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch. 
He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding. 
“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face. 
“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently. 
Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says. 
“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”
He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands. 
“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking. 
“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”
“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.
“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.
That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat. 
“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify. 
“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”
Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again. 
The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.
“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her. 
“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”
Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster. 
She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.
Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.
Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of. 
Demi fears no man.
But she does fear Elvis Presley.
—------------------------------------
Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away. 
To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant. 
You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.
It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed. 
But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own. 
So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.
She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life. 
You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.
And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow. 
He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.
He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear. 
“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”
“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands. 
If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.
“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand. 
You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved. 
But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”
He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.” 
It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.
“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.” 
“Really?”
“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”
“...Flowers talk to each other?” 
“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them. 
You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.
He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you. 
You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both. 
“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”
“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.
“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,” you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.
“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.
“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy. 
“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”
“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name. 
Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.” 
Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”
Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip. 
Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.
But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.
“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.  
“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do. 
She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving. 
“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.” 
“Ok Mama.”
When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar. 
After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.
You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you. 
“An onion?” he asks skeptically.
“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement. 
That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.
You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar. 
“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red. 
“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind. 
“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.
“Oh…This.” 
“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”
“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”  
“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.
You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”
“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”
“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer. 
“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”
“Ok.”
“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.
That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.
Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again. 
So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.
Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose. 
Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her. 
Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert. 
Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.
“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner. 
“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.” 
You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.
“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”
“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”
She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality 
You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her. 
Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”
If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town. 
Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.
In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is. 
He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love. 
On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.
He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.
“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke. 
He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back. 
“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief. 
He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.” 
“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words. 
“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.
You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made. 
When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud. 
Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby? 
You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do. 
You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home. 
Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)
The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that. 
You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly. 
There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself. 
For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.
And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived. 
You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop. 
Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color. 
You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him. 
It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in. 
He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious. 
But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant. 
You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?
It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.
And then one day
I had my love as perfect as could be
She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried
And it was all for me
There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields. 
It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another. 
His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you.  It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat. 
He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.
You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.
Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.
Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did. 
Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.
She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.” 
You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“But Mama-”
“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands. 
“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.
Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.
Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.
You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now. 
“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”
Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her.  She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name. 
You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.
These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly. 
Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.
Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.
It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running. 
Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.
Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.
About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.
They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.
Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you. 
You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.
But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all. 
It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away. 
The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble. 
You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place. 
The house is in desperate need of that these days. 
But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.
Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last. 
Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you. 
“Elvis?”
A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”
You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity. 
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could. 
“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.
“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.  
You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.
With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach. 
“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.
He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.” 
You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”
“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”
You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.
He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.
The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes. 
“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.
“Who?”
That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did. 
“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.
“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”
“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought
“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”
“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”
“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?” 
“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary. 
“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you. 
“Oh.”
“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.
“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. 
“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”
“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare. 
“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?” 
You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much. 
“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”
“Graceland?”
“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.
There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”
“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”
“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?
Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days. 
“This-this is just for six months of work?” 
“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.” 
You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part. 
“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.
“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.
“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you. 
“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.
This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly? 
You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.
Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done. 
But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.
You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”
“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him. 
It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket. 
But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile. 
“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.
“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”
And just like that you’re off. 
You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.
Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much. 
“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.
Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway. 
But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.
That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie. 
As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake. 
Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome. 
You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment. 
“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning. 
“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.
“Oh do I know your Mama?”
“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”
Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”
“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there. 
There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there. 
That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.” 
Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama. 
It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.
You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.
But it never comes. 
That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply. 
Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted  and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.
“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.” 
This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses. 
“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with. 
Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need. 
“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’
It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.
You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system. 
He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.
You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.
“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had. 
“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.
“Really all of ‘em?” 
“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.  
He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”
“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip. 
“A flower farm?” 
“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.” 
“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters. 
“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.
It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now. 
You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.
It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.
The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.
A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.
“You’re early,” you casually remark to him. 
“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”
“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.
A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him. 
 “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.
“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.” 
His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.
“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.
A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.
“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter. 
The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much. 
It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.
Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.” 
You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.
That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss. 
But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?
But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse. 
Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.
Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words. 
It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.
You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast. 
Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating. 
But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.
Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it. 
Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand. 
“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no. 
“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from. 
“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch. 
“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.
In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes. 
“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh. 
As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.
That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst. 
“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.
Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly. 
“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”
“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.
“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions. 
“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob. 
You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream. 
You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself. 
You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet. 
“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.
A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good. 
“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.  
You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts. 
You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man. 
He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you. 
He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.
An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.
“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss. 
“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you. 
You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.    
His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.
As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep. 
The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.
Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis. 
Scratch that.
You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.
It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it. 
“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip. 
“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”
His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore. 
After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed. 
“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him. 
“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”
“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”
“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.
“What?”
“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”
“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”
“That doesn’t answer my question E.”
His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it. 
“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?
“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”
“What is it?”
“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.
“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.
You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving 
But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt. 
Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left? 
Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done.  All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?
You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder  to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the  home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep. 
But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go. 
“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”
You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.
Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.
You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you 
“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before. 
“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be. 
When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours. 
You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.
“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”
“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.
You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most. 
“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here. 
Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart. 
The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back. 
She doesn’t reply.
Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.
He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you. 
That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.
The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once. 
She doesn’t respond. 
You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.
The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind. 
These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.
You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…
Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.
Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings. 
You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers. 
You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him. 
As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.
With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front. 
And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope. 
And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters. 
You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be. 
She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these. 
You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him. 
Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.
Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home. 
You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.
It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders. 
You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door. 
You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.
It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot. 
You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly. 
“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.
You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.
But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”
Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse. 
“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back. 
You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time. 
After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.  
“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.  
It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.
He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.
This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!” 
“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation. 
He may still very well be, you think. 
Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder. 
“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.
Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?” 
“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…” 
You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice. 
“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.
“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue. 
No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.
That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.  
You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?”
You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”
“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand. 
“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face. 
You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him. 
She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life. 
Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already. 
“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars. 
He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her. 
If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity. 
“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do. 
“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.
You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 
“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest. 
“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.” 
“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that. 
“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.
“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated. 
“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”
There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you. 
He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t. 
Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you. 
You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so. 
With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home. 
You close your eyes and you don’t look back.
Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.
Taglist
@venus-haze​ @djsjs13949​ @ilovehobi101​ @butlerslut​ @richardslady121​ @giabelia​ @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051​ @myradiaz​  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale​ @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis​ @dkayfixates​  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen​   @marriedtoeddie​ @cuteejeno​ @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​ @thatbanditqueen​ @softsatnin​ @literally-just-elvis-fics​​ 
423 notes · View notes
sparrowrye · 3 months
Text
Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 20
Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.
Previous part
Part 20: fixing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reagan and I were alone on the shore. We had spent time alone recovering, physically and mentally, before agreeing to talk. She sat on one of the smooth boulders while I stood in the water, claws sinking in the sand in an effort to help ground myself. I was still buzzing from the skirmish.
"Why didn't you tell me about the blood thing?" she asked after several minutes of silence.
"I didn't want to scare you," I admitted. I was in my Demon form, per her request. She wanted to talk to 'the real me'.
"I'm not fourteen anymore."
"But you liked me. We were close because I wasn't like the 'other Demons'." I pulled my feet out of the sand to allow them to sink again. My tail moved through the water like a fish.
"I thought we told each other everything."
I looked over my shoulder at her. She was a friend and a daughter to me. I was amazed that we had even reached the point we had in less than four years. I was destroying it now. "I'm still trying to be comfortable with the nature of who I am."
We fell silent. She pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around them. The sun was warm and the Fall wind mixed with the ocean breeze. I had yet to actually be warm since...well, everything.
"What did he say to you?" I asked.
"A bunch of random crap."
"Like what?" I pressed, my back still to her.
"Like how Demons always see themselves as more powerful than Humans. That without Humans they would still just be spirits. And that they were the reason I don't know my real parents."
"You don't know them because you're a child of the ring fights," I answered a little too harshly. I quickly dropped it to something more lighter. "Something that Humans and Demons both do."
"I know that."
More silence hung overhead. I took a step further into the water so it reached my shins.
"Why did you call for me?"
"What do you mean?"
I turned around to face her finally. "Why did you call for me? I'm sure he was going to take you with him to wherever those other pure Humans are. So why call for me? Why did you want to come back?"
She didn't answer right away, casting her eyes down at the sand and face still hidden behind her knees. She looked like her fourteen-year-old self who I first met.
"Because I care about you," she admitted, "and because...you aren't...like other Demons." She put her legs down so she was sitting cross legged. "And because I know you care about the haven just as much as I do."
I stepped out of the water and walked over to her. She was at my head level while sitting on the rock. "I'm sorry. For not telling you the truth about myself." I gently placed my hand on top of hers and she flipped it over to hold it. "Thank you for trusting me."
She let out a sigh as I wrapped my arm around her back in an embrace. "No more secrets? Please?"
"No more secrets." I squeezed her once then let go to look at her. "I suppose this is a good time, then, to clear the air and tell the rest of my secrets. I'm uh...I'm not just a Demon. I'm half Angel, too."
She just kinda looked at me, eyes unblinking and body very still. Then she let out a loud, "What!?"
****
Alastor returned later that night in the pouring rain. I was in the living room reading, waiting for him to come back. His shadow sneaked up the stairs into his room where I heard his footsteps walking around. I let out a sigh and put the book I was reading on the side table.
I felt my nerves prickle down my back as I climbed the stairs and came to stand in front of his door. I could hear him pacing, the slight creak of the floor being the only hint. Red seeped out from under the door as I knocked gently on it. There was a moment of silence. Then he opened it. 
A wave of cedar and smoke reached my nose and warmth spilled out of his room into the cold hallway. His towering form blocked the light coming from behind and his red eyes locked with mine. I felt an odd spike of fear and excitement.
"You should be asleep," he said. His face looked like his usual smile but his eyes weren't as sharp. His smile actually looked fake. I noticed his monocle was missing, too.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
He let out a sigh through his smile and averted his eyes. "I'm afraid I failed to find him. Lucifer will send a message to the Overlords to make him their top priority." I nodded my head softly and looked down at my claws, tapping the edges together perfectly. "Was there something you wished to speak to me about?" he prompted.
"Well...yes." I glanced up to see his eyes were back on me. I put one foot claw on top of the other. I had spent the entire day thinking about how I wanted to word it yet failed almost immediately. "I um...thank you for today."
A breath of silence. "Perhaps you should withhold it."
"Why?" I tilted my head back to look at him fully.
"In order to find you, I had to violate our deals. Lucifer undid it so I could reach you through your mind."
My mouth hung open. That strange feeling of something being unwound when I was trapped had been our deals. I had no idea that Lucifer could undo a deal like that. Then again, he was the King of Hell.
I dropped my gaze back to my claws. "I'm glad you did. I don't know how I would've gotten out. I'm sorry."
"What for?"
I shifted uncomfortably. "It seems you always have to save me. I'm sure it's annoying."
"You saved me today."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"I have relied on my magic for centuries and when it was striped from me, I had next to nothing to defend myself. You, however, tapped into your own skills and saved us both from that situation. So I believe you also deserve a thank you."
My mouth moved but nothing came out of it. He has never said anything like that before, let alone even say thank you to anyone. I felt warmth creep into my chest and up to my cheeks. I felt the urge to run back to my room, to safety, but I didn't want to leave his presence. I didn't want his attention to be anywhere but on me.
His teeth had disappeared to allow a gentle smile on his face. "I will be awake for some time," he started, "perhaps you'd like to accompany me?" He stepped to the side and motioned into his room. His room. I finally had a full view of what it looked like.
On one side was a warm fireplace adjacent to a large window. A table and set of chairs sat in the corner in between them. On the other side of the room that he was partially blocking, I saw a massive bed with red curtains on the edges. A desk was immediately next to it, covered in a mess of papers and books.
Fear prickled in the back of my throat. He must've caught on because he turned on the radio sitting on the mantle to a soft melody and manifested my book on the table. I regretted wanting his attention but didn't dare pass up an opportunity of him being this kind, this open, with me. So I forced my feet to unstick from the floor and walk into the room.
It was warm, almost too warm, and the air felt strangely heavy. The smell of smoke was stronger here but I saw no evidence of a cigarette or anything like it. I watched him walk over to his desk to retrieve a handful of papers and a single book. I sat on one of the chairs and opened my own book, my fingers struggling to fiddle through the pages. I rubbed one of my sweaty palms on my pant leg under the table.
He sat in the other chair, legs crossed, and laid out the papers and book. He reached into his pocket to withdraw a pair of glasses. My mouth dropped open and he smiled at me with his teeth. "I seem to keep surprising you."
"I've never seen you with glasses."
"You've seen me with my monocle." He let the glasses fall lower on his nose so he could look down at the papers.
"That's different."
He let out a soft, deep chuckle. "I suppose." He was writing something on the papers. He looked like he was copying something from the book but I couldn't tell what it was or where it was from. He noticed my staring and I tried to avert my eyes back to my own book. He continued to stare up at me past the rim of his glasses, sending a funny feeling in my stomach.
I finally gave a terse, "What?"
"You're allowed to ask me questions."
"I was just observing. That's all."
His toothless smile reached further up his face. "I've had a love for history since I was a child. Once the Great Collapse started to happen, I began collecting important books or copying them. You'll find most of the books in my office are all history books from before the collapse."
"What exactly are you writing?"
"An abstract version of the book. It helps to solidify the information in my memory and allows me to return the book when I'm done reading it. I think it important for the few libraries we have to keep as many books as possible. Perhaps it'll help society to avoid another Great Collapse."
I wanted to ask when he was born but the question fell silent as he began to write again. I pretended to read but my eyes frequently went back up to watch him. I wasn't used to seeing him so...calm? Still? Normal? The longer I looked, the more relaxed I grew. I noticed Alcine and Alastor's shadow staring at each other on the wall, neither moving very much at all. It wasn't an aggressive stance, as if they too were simply observing each other.
After some time and a few songs later, Alastor began to hum along to the radio. The sound made my ears perk up instantly. I ignored the words on my page as I focused solely on him. He reached up and hooked a red claw on his bowtie. He placed it on the table and let the tail hang off the edge. His eye caught me looking and I pretended to be looking around at his room instead.
I shifted in the chair and brought my foot up to slid it underneath my other leg. I leaned on the armchair and pretended to flip the page. Had our chairs always been this close? I could easily touch his sleeve if I wanted to, but my better judgement prevented that.
After the first two songs, I found myself quickly growing tired. My head began to nod forward as the words on the page began to blur. I was reading the same sentence over and over again. My back was hurting from sitting up for so long but I didn't want to leave. Not yet.
Eventually, I fell asleep completely. The book slide out of my hands and into my lap. My dream felt warm, soft, and safe. I could hear him humming still and it felt like a blanket was being draped over my body. A soft smile tugged at my lips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note:
We've got a few sweet chapters ahead so if y'all have any ideas or requests, now would be a good time to send them ;)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taglist:
@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine
62 notes · View notes
sapphicseasapphire · 3 months
Note
It is I! The person who called Malon a woman of steel! Honestly something about your answer is so sweet but also horribly dark. Everyone Time knows will eventually die.
(Well, I don’t know about Saria, or the other Kokiri… no idea what happened to them in the child timeline. Or how their lifespans work… my only hope is that his little forest friends stay alive super long so that he isn’t as lonely…)
the dude’s gonna outlive his own KIDS. And that begins my next big question. Time likely had kids after becoming a God. And if that truly is the case, his kids are Demi-Gods. Would his kids be like Twilight? How long is the lifespan of someone who is only part God?
(Anon •••)
Okay. I read this and then literally paced around my dorm room thinking about how to properly answer this question without going on a million tangents about forest spirits and how Faron Woods from Skyward Sword is just the Lost Woods but before the Lost Woods were a thing and Wars and Wild and Flora and a million other things.
So here is my (hopefully concise) very much rehearsed response:
Time’s children are mortals. The way I treat Gods for this au is either you are one or you aren’t, and there’s no in between. Mortals can possess the powers of a God, either through genetics or having earned from a True God, but their lifespans are that of the average Hylian. And, like I said in my miscellaneous lore post, anyone with God Powers needs to Awaken them.
Time’s children are no exception. They have the potential to be very powerful, being the first generation direct descendants from the literal God of Time. They have their Marks, which are completely unique to them- no real resemblance to Time’s- but they cannot use their powers until they’re properly Awakened. And because God Powers are rooted in desperation, there’s a very good chance that Time’s children will never Awaken their powers.
There’s really only one example that I can give you that’s a) a fully fleshed out idea and b) not a spoiler, and that’s Twilight. God Powers, in their purpose, are not genetic. The potential, the strength, are all dependent on the amount of God Blood (icky wording) that one possesses, but what those powers do is completely unique to each person. Twilight Awakened his powers when he was very young, in a life or death situation. He had no other choice than to shift, and so shifting was the power he was given. I cannot stress this enough: God Powers awaken when there is no other choice.
I can’t imagine that Time and Malon’s children would ever find themselves in such a situation. When your dad is a God, not much can hurt you.
But yeah! Time’s story is extremely tragic! But we can take solace in the knowledge that he will not face eternity alone. As I mentioned before, Warriors will stay with him. Wild, also a spirit, is pretty much immortal as well. And so is Flora. I’m… not saying that it will be pretty. Thinking about Time’s fate has brought me to tears many times.
…. Hehehehe
56 notes · View notes
starlightseraph · 4 months
Text
on two of the most controversial episodes of house md
the asexuality episode:
mixed feelings. it’s often brought up a lot as a total swing and miss but idk about it being completely wrong. i’m a-spec myself (demi) and the way he talks about it is weird, but this is something that genuinely happens. one of the symptoms of damage in that area of the brain is lack of sexual feelings, and some people will simply never develop a sense of sexuality, completely unaware that they actually have a brain tumour. nearly all asexual people are just ace without any particular cause, so there’s no reason to worry unless you have other concerns or health issues.
so anyways. i think that it was a plausible medical story, because it does happen. traumatic brain injuries, seizures, tumours, certain medications, hypoxia, pregnancy/birth complications, strokes, all of these can lead to absence of or reduced sexual urges.
my issue is the way he reacts to it, as if this guy has to have some illness and he can’t just be asexual. i know that house only acts that way because his immediate reaction to everything is to be as offensive as possible, and he wants to find something interesting to make a bet on with wilson, but it’s still uncomfortable.
i guess it turned out alright for the patient? it’s good that he finds out about the tumour and can get it treated, because even a benign tumour can be life threatening or become cancerous. still, though, not great.
the (first) intersex episode:
yeah ok no justification for this one. what was going through the minds of the writers?? like the basic story had potential but they went and made it creepy as fuck and wrote house’s reactions in a way that’s harsh, even for him. his insults are generally just defensive and clearly not meant in a discriminatory way. he treats everyone badly all the time, so his words are almost never based in actual bigotry. but his treatment of the patient in this episode is extreme, and he goes way beyond his normal limits. it doesn’t even fit well with his character, it’s just so purely mean spirited. so yeah fuck this one.
48 notes · View notes
sexhaver · 6 months
Note
Howdy friend! I feel like that meme with doctor eggman that just walked in on rouge and shadow having a spirited discussion on something I have no pretext about. But it sounds important and I do wanna educate myself if there's a lacking somewhere, genuinely. From what I understood from scrolling down to a screenshot poll and other screens, it's trying to figure out if people are automatically taking frat boys (the classic stereotype kind, btw, genuinely players) in good faith by queer-ifying them because they have been fortunately unfortunate enough to not have the life experience of being used by this type of person that will take their good faith and hurt them?
Because I do think that there *could* be a cishet aro man out there, if it's defined very explicitly as: a man (born with a penis and identifies as he/him) and likes women (including trans women) and is aromantic. Face value wise, that is.
Because the question wasn't if the hypothetical man was superstraight (and don't count trans people at all) or just pussy-seeking (i.e. looking to have sex with ciswomen and trans men who haven't had bottom surgery, is explicitly Not transphobic). Or if this hypothetical man wasn't also, say, a "friend" met at a party/tinder/hookup/through mutuals/etc that is really just an acquaintance with little of substance genuinely known...or if this man was actually what one would consider a genuine friend. Or if this hypothetical man was poly (and/or if you were poly honestly, this feels like this is being framed in a mono mindset, which is okay! But poly adds extra details to account for). Also if he was out as aro.
The point is, I am aware of cheating. I am aware of using terms to get around cheating. Or trying to justify it. But aromantizim by itself isn't cheating. Poly by itself isn't cheating. FwB by itself, or hooking up by itself, or sex work by itself, isn't cheating- if there is informed consent on both sides with all affected parties, which includes all other partners. Wanting to sleep around isn't a crime, regardless of who or where or what gender.
I know there's plenty of men that aren't allies, that are homophobic or transphobic or sexist, but that wasn't the question. You aren't making that distinction or posing a scenario, just a screenshot without any added distinction other that the consent (after it was asked for by voters). It's taking the assumption that practicing genuine safe sex ( not that bullshit abstinence thing schools and "god fearing Christians" teach), is limited to only cishetero men... And not something to practice with everyone.
It shouldn't matter my gender or background or beliefs or sexuality, since these are simply opinions and all opinions come with grains of salt, but I know if I don't add context of me being the one giving these opinions, I'll be discredited.
I'm a cis-women (so very petrifiyingly aware of that Fear/wariness of being approached at night by strangers, or followed. I don't like ANYONE strange coming up to me, regardless of gender, a woman can stab me as much as a man can rape me, but I feel like I know the mindset extreme examples being presented here so there were go).
I'm demi-omnisexualromantic. Everyone's free game once I get to know them on a genuine emotional level. We HAVE to be besties (or we have to never ever see each other again if I'm gonna sleep with you and you're not a friend, oh gOD WHAT IF I FART OR THEY'RE A SERIAL KILLER OH GOD).
I'm poly. The first thing is with my girlfriend and our paramour, since we are the "oringal polycule" is had a sit down discussion about what we agreed upon what being in a relationship is like (we happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to each other btw). It was Poly from the start and Open from the start. We are all okay and open to each other going out to bdsm clubs or kink parties or sleeping around, or if asking out cute people..... BUT we have to ask permission/inform the other partners in our polycule. There's nothing to hide and they consent. They can say no, and that's okay!! Because then!! We can have an open and honest discussion as to why (lonely, conflicting plans, insecurity, safety worries, etc). Also also, anyone new that's meant to become a fwb or a pet needs to know about and meet our polycule, and it's a one-no situation here. If *anyone* is uncomfortable, nothing goes forward.
Sex is nice, sex is great if you're a freak like me and into that sorta thing; and sexual safety awareness and stranger danger awareness and informed consent awareness is MAJORLY IMPORTANT AND CRITICAL AND EVERYONE SHOULD BE TAUGHT THIS IN SCHOOL OH GOD but in my humble opinion the execution has spiraled into something messy with rampant misunderstanding and accidental invalidation of aro-spec men, poly people, and our allies,,, as well as anyone trying to be open-minded even if they dont understand.
Telling people that they're naive and ignorant isn't going to teach them a lesson you appear to feel strongly that they need to learn, it only shames and makes them not likely to actually follow the good advice (?) that's being presented in a not-clear format.
And it also earns you a buncha people getting angry because they don't understand the question actually being asked because the context wasn't clarified or what the actual answer is in a no patronizing manner/delivery,, and I'm sure you're feeling very much harassed and exhausted for answers that have little to nothing to do with your actual question, and I'm really sorry for that because I've been there and I hate this for you because it's exhausting and dispiriting to find people who never got taught how to keep themselves safe... But I'm also happy that they haven't had to learn it the hard way *yet* and that I can still help, or even that the people I was so stressed over not having the lesson... Actually DO know the answer but just misunderstood the question or that I just asked it confusingly!!
Anyway, sorry for the extremely long ask, double sorry if I misunderstood anything you were trying to say or explained anything that you already know. But if you could clarify in your own words and time, I would be very grateful! If not, that's still okay and I hope you take care of yourself out there, friend! Also, I'm on anon less because I'm ashamed of my opinion, and more because I don't want anyone else randomly messaging me back because they don't like me for my views online and I happen to really like this account dghjfedhjfdsjk
oh my god i thought there was a character limit on anons. what am i even being asked here? i literally just woke up and opened my inbox and made this face
Tumblr media
70 notes · View notes