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stellisketches · 2 months

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why? please explain the soldier, port, king in excruciating detail PLEASE

EDIT: ITS FINALLY DONE i'm so sorry this took me like six months I got really busy with school work and I wanted to make sure I wasn't half-assing this anyway thank you for asking please enjoy

For reference I will be quoting the “Poet Soldier King” test on uQuiz as I feel they summarize each role most succinctly.

"You wonder, sometimes, if anger is the only thing you can feel. Remember: love is passion too. You made your own rules and will follow them to death. You try and forget that there is only one rule, and that it is "FIGHT". You are tired of fighting. You try to forget that, too, and keep going. You dream of quiet. Your love is where you heal." -Soldier

It's a subtle element but Vylad’s entire character/existence is about enduring conflict. It's an easy thing to forget due to his calm demeanor, but Vylad has been fighting since the moment he was born (hell, even before). Fighting the ill-contrived gossip of being a bastard son, fighting to prove himself a genuine Ro’Meave, and fighting against Garte and Zane’s abuse over his childhood. It’s a subtler form of conflict, but it’s very interesting to imagine how he was able to put up with all of it (I’ve planned so many prequel fics about the Ro’Meaves you guys). Then there’s the whole shadowknight topic that really is indicative of itself. Vylad's whole arc was based upon leaving behind the violence of his past as a literal soldier within the Shadow Lord's army. Again it’s really easy to forget but this is someone who was revived to burn the world to the ground and slaughter any and every man, woman, and child that got in the way of it. He told Aphmau himself in season 2: “One good deed does not fix a thousand wrongs done. I'm not a good person, let's just leave it at that. Please.” We may not have seen it on screen, but who knows how long Vylad was traveling with Sasha and Gene. I doubt Phoenix Drop was the first village they targeted, and I doubt Gene or Sasha or even Zenix were ever like “oh yeah you can wait outside while we commit atrocities on this Lord and his family and burn the whole village to the ground.” Vylad has a very practical mindset (another trait indicative of a good soldier), and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was purposefully good at his job so it would land him more opportunities to get out of the nether now and again. He enacted violence well enough that he was trusted to be sent outside the nether to go fuck up the overworld. Vylad is a man thoroughly haunted by war and the violence he’s committed against others in a way his brothers just… aren't. Sure, Garroth knows fighting and violence as a means of protection and ensuring the safety of others, but he doesn’t know war. He’s never had someone he cared about die in his arms. He’s never seen a whole village burn to the ground and see innocent people slaughtered left and right. He’s never seen a child screaming at their dead mother to get up. He may use violence, but he was never a violent person. Zane, on the other hand, most definitely was, however, but he hardly ever enacted any of the violence himself. 90% of the time it was jurors or guards he’d given orders to. And while he was more than happy to get his hands dirty every once in a while, he never felt genuine consequence from it.

Continuing on Vylad’s inner psyche, we see after he still keeps a very practical, soldier-like mindset out of the nether in company with Aph and Co: He gets annoyed at Aphmau when she puts off telling everyone about the Tuu’la invasion. He surveys Laurance from a distance and does not interfere even in danger because he’s aware of the long term effect of distrust it would cause him. Upon the chaos in Narhaka, he immediately goes to burn books that have important locations the enemy could use against them. This is actually one of my favorite scenes because of how subtly status-quo breaking it is. Tell me right now of any scene involving book burnings done by a guy the audience is supposed to root for. Vylad’s view of the world makes him incredibly pragmatic and able to calculate the win-loss ratio of his actions and let that decide whether or not he will go through with it.

Vylad may not have the typical surface-level look of the characters often put into the category, but if you really dive into his past, his mindset, and the way he views the world, he easily fits into the role of soldier; with the final line “Your love is where you heal” setting him on the path of redemption we see throughout the whole series.

"Loneliness. Strength. Joy. You are powerful, but struggle believing it. You think you're not enough. Here's the truth : you are. You sing songs and hope they carry faith, because you have run out of it, and yet you still throw your heart out to the world and hope it makes it through. You convince yourself that pain is art because at least then, you will always have something to create. You are tired of stumbling through life. You dream of a ground you can stand on. One day, you will dance. Your love is where you feel - without fear." -Poet

Now I admit for Zane it does require a more particular perspective to place him as poet, but I’ll start simple and slowly transition to red string and corkboard. Firstly, from the original song lyrics, “He will slay you with his tongue” applies in at least two different ways. The first being obvious: Zane is incredibly charismatic- you don’t just make it to High Priest without a certain degree of people skills included but not limited to negotiating, preaching, and being able to reason your way through any theological question a questioning sinner could ask you. It’s a shame we don’t see it put into use very often throughout the series, but I think his position gives enough testament to his people skills. The second way this line applied is a bit more literal and a bit more dark, which would be the sheer amount of people who were murdered not by his hands directly, but on mere orders. He can quite literally have people slain in just a few words to the right people. Moving to the more esoteric; the line “You are powerful, but struggle believing it. You think you're not enough.” seems like it be a hitch to his characterization, as it first invokes the idea of someone who lacks self-confidence, which is FAR from what we see Zane characterized as in the story. However I see this from the lense of artists becoming blind to the depth of their own skill. Zane is powerful, but it’s not enough for him. He’s become so accustomed to the level of influence he holds he’s become desensitized to it, like how you stop feeling the cold of the water once you stay in it long enough.The power he’s been swimming in his entire life no longer brings that vitalic shudder of control he craves. Thus he seeks power that goes beyond mortal influence to raw, unchanneled divinity, as that’s the only thing that he has ever been told is above him. He hungers the same as any artist— to be something greater than they already are.

“You convince yourself that pain is art because at least then, you will always have something to create.” The idea of creation draws back to Zane’s relationship with control and divinity. I think it's highly debatable as to whether or not Zane has actual “faith” in the divine (i.e, seeing them as gods he wishes to emulate or simply as extremely powerful beings minus the religious element), but in either case it again leads back to desire for more. (sidenote: Zane’s fatal flaw being lust is such a delicious piece of irony and I could make an essay of its own on it). Anyway, back to the point I was originally trying to make: Zane sows pain and destruction as a means of asserting his power/importance both to others and himself. The “pain” spoken of would normally belong to the poet themself— but this is no ordinary poet, and there is no specific indication where said pain emerges from.

"Duty. Strength. Resignation. You were told to do things and you did them. The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture ? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren't, but, sometimes, it's hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs. Your love is where you breathe." -King

God where do I start. “Duty. Strength. Resignation” It’s like someone just said ‘describe Garroth in three words’. Duty has been his entire life, wanted or not, which leads directly into resignation. “You were told to do things and you did them.The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will.” He learned his history. He learned the politics. He followed the dogma. He believed in Irene and his father and the glory of O’Khasis and his divine duty to lord over its people. His people. He said it himself in episode 68 he wanted to be exactly like his father, and that he thought to be lord was an honor and a privilege. To him, the weight of the world has rested upon his shoulders for so long that he becomes accustomed to each additional hardship quickly and quietly, never kicking up a fuss about his growing stress and dissatisfaction, like a frog in a pool of water that is steadily increasing in temperature. He locks his festering disdain for glorification of leadership away from his father, his family, and the rest of the world because he cannot show that he is anything but the Atlas of duty he was born to be.

Until, one day, he has enough. He saw what happens to his dear little brother, likely the only person he felt he could truly bond with, and despite everything he still dealt with it, for the sake of the people around him, but when his father commands him to marry a girl he has never met (likely while he is still processing his grief) in the name of ‘duty’, it is the straw that breaks the camel's back. He sees that everything he has worked towards is meaningless as he will never reach a point where his father will be satisfied with him. That his father will continue to take and take from him until there is nothing left but a soulless puppet that will continue to speak his words even after his reign has ended. Every burden he has carried, every grievance he has hidden, every struggle he’s overcome and the hard work he’s put into building himself a true heir of O’Khasis— it all amounts to nothing.

So he leaves.

Now, let me ask you: what would you do if you were a runaway prince escaping the crushing weight of expectation? Take a bunch of money from your no-good dad? Buy a boat ticket and live a new life in luxury on the other side of the world? Never work a day again and dive head first into careless relaxation? Surely, you wouldn’t look twice at a dilapidated little village on the coast. Wouldn’t bother to stop by and lift a finger to help it. You're free, you have a whole life of sweet exemption to look forward to. You wouldn’t give it the time of day.

“You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture?”

Garroth finds himself in Phoenix Drop— a rickety dead-end little town as far away from home as possible. He stays, and he helps. He keeps the village running, he helps the Lord wherever he can. He takes in the broken, starved boy he finds in the woods. He does whatever he can to improve the lives of the people around him. Why? He owes them nothing, he’s spent a lifetime crushed under the weight of people's expectations and he turns around just to find himself carrying the weight of more lives on his shoulders. He is doing everything he was taught and everything he ran away from.

But this time it’s different. This time, he sees how he’s helping. There’s no more grating voice telling him none of the effort matters. He has a rigid back and steady hands, metaphorically and physically. For the first time in his life, he can see with his own two eyes that his effort is worth it. There isn’t doubt and lies and corruption floating in and out of his mind. Just the warm, honest smiles of the people he helps. He feels it and it is real. The question “Is it nature or nurture?” is genuine: Is Garroth helping these people out of the kindness of his heart or because it was what he was always told to do, and now that he is without the purpose he was assigned he’s leaning on something familiar? Personally, I think that’s for the audience to decide. I myself would say a mixture of both, leaning more so towards nature. But I digress.

It’s better then, when he helps and can see that he is doing good, but of course, that peace is not to last him. With the Lord’s death and impending turmoil of Phoenix Drop, Garroth’s role in the village shifts drastically to closer resembling the role he ran away from. People are treating him with near as much kindness anymore, no. The most forgiving are losing faith and the least are blaming him. Blaming him for failing to meet their expectations. Now, as things are deteriorating, he has more than enough reason to leave. He gave it the good ol’ college try, and he failed. With the sentiments of the village becoming scarily familiar to that of his father, he should just say “fuck it” and head on off to that faraway land where no one will know his name.

But still, he doesn’t. We see him in Rebirth and how desperate he is to fix the village, to make it work. Even when everyone else is telling him to give up, he refuses. Even sinking, a captain stays on his ship. (Side note: it’s scenes like this that cause me to start tearing up people’s lawns whenever I see takes that label Garroth as having a “fear of responsibility”). And he is completely ready to either make things work or die trying, regardless of what stands in his way.

‘You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren't, but, sometimes, it's hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs.’

Aphmau wasn’t the first person he saved. Zenix had likely been around for at least a year beforehand. However Zenix was a hothead teenager in need of guidance, which simply made him become another responsibility Garroth set upon himself. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely cares for him, but their relationship is far different than the one he has with Aphmau.

With Aphmau, he finally has someone who shares the burden. Not only that, but sharing it willingly and with a smile on her face. He’s not used to having a person who presents themselves as an equal sharer of responsibility. Much less, someone who is willing and wanting for him to put his burdens on her (At least, that’s how he sees it). He can’t remember the last time he truly allowed himself to be vulnerable with someone. All the desires he’s pushed down start to bubble back up again, and he starts to imagine things he’d long tried to do away with. He sees Aphmau as a strong leader, one whose idealism is a strength and not a weakness, and how she accomplishes things he never quite got around to doing. An admiration grows for her, yes, but that’s not what makes her different. The difference, he sees, is her vulnerability. How she allows herself to be vulnerable around him. How despite the brave face she puts on, she has just as much fear that she isn’t enough. And she tells him this, directly, because she trusts him. And all of a sudden he realizes that if she can be strong to the rest of the world, and yet still let him see her weakness, her softness, then maybe, just maybe

“Your love is where you breathe.”

He can take his armor off, too.

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 12! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Spanking. (If spanking is not your thing, I have marked those parts with ~ at the start and end of them so you can read past them.) Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Sex. ANGST. Jealousy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10,660

A/N: We're back, y'all and this part is a MONSTER so you're gonna have to carve out some time (it's what you deserve)! It took on a life of its own, honestly. I really wanted to explore the darker sides of both our Reader and Elvis and their choices. It is important to me in this piece to show that Elvis was a very complex human with very real faults, which can throw some people for a loop if they idealize him or don't know much about him, so be warned.

With that said, the convo between him and Anita in 1961 is real. I transcribed his parts as best I could with the quality of the recording. Hopefully, I did his mood justice in the writing (in terms of how Reader is interpreting it), but if you do choose to listen, I recommend headphones and patience. It's a long one and not a great recording. And once again, depending on your point of view, it shows a not-so-flattering side of EP, so proceed with caution.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your love, patience, and distractions as I've been ill! This community has been so wonderful and it's been amazing getting to know you all better and to be able to share our love of EP in all the ways! 💖

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. I will say I'm a bit self-conscious about this part for a variety of reasons, mainly covid-brain, so be gentle! I'm sorry in advance if it's not up to par.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Los Angeles, 1961

Walking down the hallway, you cannot help but be drawn to the perturbed sound of Elvis’ unique cadence from beyond the door of the den. It is cracked open just enough for the sound to come through, which must have been a mistake by whoever left last, probably one of the guys. You had seen Red come from this direction not that long ago.

You’d come out to LA at Elvis’ behest to join them all for a visit while he was filming his latest movie. You were happy to see Jack after so much time apart, and you’d instantly gotten swept back up into the Elvis lifestyle while being here, though it was moderately toned down considering his filming schedule. It was a nice change from what was becoming a bit of a lonely existence at Graceland. It wasn’t that you were alone, per say, it was just that the other wives were having and taking care of their little ones, which was a constant reminder of a life you couldn’t have. You loved spending time them and with the children—they just weren’t your own.

You certainly don’t mean to snoop, you’d only been making your way through the California villa to the bedroom to grab something out of your bag, but your curiosity wins out. You stop just shy of the door, head bowed, ear to the crack, wondering who has Elvis in such a state. Of course, you can only hear one side of the conversation, but you try to piece together as best you can what might be going on. You know you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.

Elvis responds to the person he’s talking to in an exasperated tone, “You know why—you know why I don’t call you anymore? This very reason, right here. This very reason right here…I-I-I-can’t talk to you, hon. You mess with my damn head, man. I-I-can’t count on a decent conversation with ya. Ya start throwin’ up all kinds of shit to me. Look, if I called you e-e-every damn night, you’d start bitchin about something different. You’re just a fuckin’ nag, that’s all, you’re just a nagger that’s all.”

Your eyes widen at that, at how mean he’s getting with whichever one of his women he’s talking to. You have seen his temper firsthand over the years, but not directed at you and you’ve never heard him talk to a woman this way. After knowing him all this time, this side of him shocks you a bit, and you stay rooted to the spot.

“Well, that’s the way I feel about it, a-a-and y-y-y-you don’t have to be that way either. Not to the extent that you are, you don’t have to be that bad,” he says vehemently. “I just know you’re gonna start throwin’ something up to me a-and I ain’t got time to hear it. You turn me the fuck up, you know that?”

And he certainly is turned up, you think. His annoyance and frustration are coming through loud and clear on this end, punctuated by his stutter. The woman must be talking because he pauses before continuing.

“Yes, all the time. I-I-I can’t stand it, I-I can’t stand it, Anita, I swear I can’t stand it. I call you and do right, my ass,” he says, annoyed. “I do, do right! My ass. If I called you e-every night, you’d start that shit.” Elvis starts mocking her in a whining, high pitched voice, “‘Who’d you see today? You g-got a girlfriend, I’m surprised at you, blah blah,’ that bullSHIT!” He spits it out at her, angrily. “Naw, it ain’t no lie. Naw, you bring it up every time I talk to you.”

Your heart races a bit just hearing the confrontation and at the thrill that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place. Of course, it’s Anita, you think. He’s been seeing her the longest of any of his girlfriends, even through Germany. You are friendly with her, but not very close. Although she is always nice to you, she has an air about her that rubs you the wrong way. Not that you’d ever show it, but she just seems a bit self-important to you, what with her beauty queen titles and flitting up to New York or out to Hollywood for her singing or acting. She is a little too pretty, a little too nice, and sometimes it just feels underhanded.

Or maybe you’re just jealous, a niggling voice in the back of your mind says.

You scoff at that. Jealous of what? Sure, it seemed like she had a glamorous life, what with all the things she did, and how beautiful she is, and being the girlfriend of THE Elvis Presley, but you know better than that. And right now it sure doesn’t seem like you have much to be jealous of, considering the way he’s talking to her. She’s been around four years, and there is still no true commitment from him. At least you have a husband who loves you and you are a permanent fixture in Elvis’ inner circle, giving you a leg up in this situation, you think a little haughtily.

Good god, what is wrong with me? Why am I being so petty?

You don’t have an answer to that.

Obviously, Anita is not happy, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Anita’s not dumb, even though she can play that part if needs be. She knows he’s seeing other women, and just because you’re not her biggest fan doesn’t mean she deserves to be treated poorly, by him or anyone else.

The thing is, you realize suddenly, even though he is likely in the wrong, you are still going to take his side in the end because he’s your friend. And that thought surprises you a little bit. But at the same time, there is anger starting to simmer in your chest at his poor behavior, at the way he keeps some of the women in his life hanging, waiting with bated breath to see if they will be the one to win his undying and singular attention.

You, of course, know better. Elvis is needy and fickle and loves being adored by as many women as possible. If there is one thing he’s addicted to, it’s girls. But he would no sooner give up his freedom to love as many of them as possible than he would to give up his career. Not to say that he doesn’t genuinely care for some of them; in fact, he is overly loving and demonstrative in some ways. It’s just that the standards for his love seem different than anyone else’s, and he gets away with things he might not otherwise because of who he is. But in your experience, the girls all figure it out eventually, and it seems like Anita is finally getting there.

It sounds like she is giving Elvis the business about it, which he doesn’t like one little bit.

“Why can’t you be sweet instead of bitchin’ like an old naggin’ ass wife, huh?” you hear him say, a little viciously, your eyes going wide. “I can’t stand that, I can’t stand it. Baby, you’ve got me crazy, you know that? You get worse a-all the damn time, a-and th-th-that’s why I don’t talk to you on the phone.”

You really, really should leave and get your nose out of his business, but it’s like you’re incapable of getting your feet to move. You’re mad at him for speaking this way to her, even though she likely IS nagging, you know it’s for good reason. She is right. He wants to have his cake and eat it, too, and he does not like being called out on it.

You hear him backtracking now, almost wearily telling her how much he loves her, over and over. The man doth protest too much. And the way his stutter pops up now, it sounds more like a child covering a fib than agitation. But you hate to assume.

“I told ya that I’m in love with ya. I-I-I-I-I-if I—if I—if I didn’t love you, I tell ya, I wouldn’t waste my time with you. I don’t have to,” he rebounds bluntly, harshly, then recovers quickly, “Well, I-I look forward to being with you, and I-I think about you a lot. But because I don’t call you three or four times a damn week, you say to me ‘Why don’t you…?’” His nastiness gets the better of him again, as he starts to mock her, but then he stops, his frustration evident. “Aw, HELL. I tell ya how I felt aboutcha, you oughta know how I feel. I mean, three long years, w-we’ve been battling this back and forth this same thing. You know I love you, darlin’.”

It all sounds rather unconvincing to you, as he seems to bounce so quickly from one emotion to the other. Maybe he believes it, you think, but you don’t think she’s buying it, not by the way he continues to reassure her, nearly pleading in some moments, and calling her pet names before that indignant tone returns to his voice. Even from out here, you can feel just how hard he’s trying to be patient, trying to placate her, with the many declarations of his love.

Silence falls for a moment, and you wonder what she must be saying to him, whether she’s falling for this or if she’s just as disbelieving as you are. You think she might be coming around based on how his voice changes yet again, how he’s both gentle and matter of fact, then his tone becomes almost boyish and sad.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the hall towards you. In a complete panic, you nearly jump out of your skin before looking around frantically for an escape. Desperate, you fling yourself into the room across the hall, but in your excitement, the door slams behind you.

Your hand pops to cover your mouth, as if this action alone will have kept anyone from hearing the door.

There is silence for a moment before you hear Elvis shouting, muffled, “Cliff? Cliff!”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you chastise yourself for being so damn stupid as to be eavesdropping on Elvis of all people, then you say a silent prayer that no one finds you as you hear more footsteps and another door slam. The footsteps head away, and with shaking breaths, you slowly open the door to find the hallway empty once more.

You tell yourself you are gonna skedaddle right out of there and go on with your business, but then you hear Elvis lay into her yet again:

“I-I-I love you very much a-and q-quit-quit-quit bitching and nagging me so much. I get so mad, I could break your neck.” That takes you aback, the way he just throws the phrase at her before going back to imitating her meanly, “’I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I can’t help it!’” W--w-w-w-what are you gonna do when I’m nuts and in an asylum?” Then he mumbles something you can’t understand but you hear him chuckle before he sighs big and loudly.

He's telling her he loves her but in a way that makes it obvious that he wants off the phone. She’s not having it based on the silence from his end.

Then he’s back to talking real nice and low to her, seemingly contrite and sorry, his stutter emphasizing it all. The stutter gives him away, you think, though you aren’t sure if it’s more agitation at her or that he’s feeling guilty. Perhaps it’s both.

“Well, m-maybe I’m not doing my part right now, but I mean give me a chance, you know. Just give me a chance. Don’t-don’t-don’t worry, j-j-just give me a chance, I-I, it’ll all come out in the long run. Okay? Take my word for it, hon, I wouldn’t lie to you. I love you, Anita.” A pause and then he giggles, “I’ll enjoy it. I love you very much darlin’. I do, Anita, I do…w-w-w-why would I lie to you, baby? I-i-if i-i-i if I’m l-l-l-lying…” he says, his stutter so bad now it’s hard to understand anything he’s saying.

You internally scoff at this. He’s been lying to her for years. But part of you wonders if he truly believes it will all turn out for them in the future. He is something of an idealist, after all. Maybe he really does fear losing her. Maybe that stutter is betraying his nerves rather than his guilt.

You aren’t sure how you feel about the prospect of him actually settling down, especially with Anita. For one, you don’t think it’s in his nature, but two, something about him doing it turns your stomach. You can’t pinpoint why, exactly, but the idea of him being married with little ones running about Graceland makes you want to scream.

You quickly push that thought out of your head, convincing yourself that your broiling frustration at him has more to do with his treatment of Anita than anything else. If he loves her and needs her so much, maybe he should just tell her the truth. You continue to listen in as he talks baby talk to her and emphasizes just how much he really will call her more, and then you hear him yawn.

“Hell, I’m tired. Oh, yeah. You do? You do? Well don’t sound so damn serious. How much you love me? How much you love me? Maybe? Baby? I love you. I love you. I wish, I wish, I wish I was with you,” he says, weary and tired of the conversation. There are long moments of silence, and you wonder what she is saying or if she’s hung up on him.

“I gotta go. There ain’t no party, I just gotta go. I’ll talk to ya later. I will. Don’t throw up more ideas…” He starts that terrible imitating of her again, “’I can’t! I can’t help that!’ I could slap your face right off.” He laughs through the rest now, and you know him well enough to know he’s being an asshole, provoking her. You can practically hear her shouting through the receiver, she’s yelling so loud.

“I think you’ve lost your damn mind. Yeah, ya have,” he says gently, quiet but cutting. Then he continues to chuckle, seemingly finding her agitation amusing. “Well…we’ll see. I’ll talk to ya later. Okay? Okay? Take care honey, be patient. Alright. Take it easy. Bye.” You hear the receiver click as he finally hangs up the phone.

You’re fuming now, a bit off the rails considering none of this has anything to do with you, and you know it. The gall of him to behave that way when he knows he’s in the wrong, that he is lying to her. For god’s sake, he is having a party right now and there are girls here that you know were invited by him for a particular purpose, and he’s over here telling Anita how tired he is and how crazy she is when she is right all along.

The now-small logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave and to get your nose out of his business before you do something stupid, but instead you listen to Elvis as he lets out a huge sigh that ends in a frustrated growl.

“Who in the hell is out there lurking in the hallway?” you hear him shout out of nowhere.

Shit.

Your heart pounds, knowing you are caught, and you are mad enough that you refuse to run away. You take a deep breath instead, pushing the door open slowly.

Elvis looks up through his dark lashes from behind the huge mahogany desk, his hands steepled and his jaw set. Surprise flashes over his features when he lays eyes on you, his left eyebrow shooting up, but his eyes quickly return to a steely blue, hardening.

“How much did you hear?” There’s no preamble, no beating around the bush, no charming quip.

You consider lying for a moment. “Enough,” you finally say, knowing lying would be futile—he knows you well enough to see through your deceit. You are angry enough at him for it to show on your face.

“Hmmm. Mmm hmm,” he tuts, seemingly disappointed in you, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “What the fuck were you thinkin’, listening to my private conversation?” It comes out frighteningly low and biting.

You open your mouth to speak, but before anything gets out, he’s yelling, “What is it with the goddamn women in my life sticking their noses where they don’t belong?!” You cannot help but flinch at his outburst, even as angry as you are.

Elvis gets up so fast and so violently the rolling chair he’s sitting in flies backwards, hitting the bookshelf behind him. Rounding the desk, he advances on you, and you stumble, countering by stepping back. With his dark hair and flashing eyes, his features both soft and severe all at once, his natural beauty is intimidating.

Already angered by his conversation with Anita, he is teetering right on the edge of fury, on that blinding temper of his. Which is why you have no idea what comes over you next.

“So, how’s Anita?” you ask sardonically. A small part of you is hoping that your sarcasm will deescalate the situation. It does not. More likely, for whatever reason, you have this urge to push him right over the edge. He’s never turned his temper on you before, and his temper can be blindingly terrible, yet still you persist.

“Don’t be insolent. It doesn’t become you, y/n,” he seethes, his soulful eyes now a churning, hard, steely blue, like the northern Atlantic during a storm.

You continue anyway, “You should just tell her, E. She obviously suspects what you’re doing, wouldn’t it just be easier—"

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion!” he shouts at you. Your heart begins to pound in your ears, along with the ringing of his voice, but you are stubborn as hell and pissed off, too, so despite all the warning bells, you keep going.

“You’re right, you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway as your friend and as a woman who knows—and more so because no one else will dare to call you on it—” you shoot at him, trembling with anger, “Being cheated on and then being lied to and made to feel crazy about it when you know something is wrong is awful. That’s why she’s nagging you all the time. You are making her feel crazy. You should either tell her or leave her, Elvis, but this isn’t right.” You let out a breath, your body hot with anger and you are surprised at your boldness.

“Aw, hell, y/n, you gonna be bitchin’ and naggin’ now, too, huh?” he barks, his eyes flashing.

More words, ones you didn’t expect to speak, come rolling off your tongue. “Why are you hanging on to her if you are just gonna constantly screw around behind her back? How can you really love her and do that to her? You have to know after all this time that she wants you to marry her, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen, is it? What exactly is the point of all this, then, Elvis?”

You expect him to scream at you again and you brace for it. But instead, he steps closer, cornering you. Anger is rolling off him in waves but now it’s tempered by something else, too. Something heavy and thick that starts to suck the air from the room as his deep eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

“Why y/n, you sound almost jealous.” It comes out smooth, too smooth, with a dark chuckle as he takes one more bold step into you. Your back hits the wall, breath catching at the insinuation.

“W-what? No,” you eek out defensively, in a voice far too high for your liking. You feel your cheeks flush. You know objectively what he’s trying to do, distract and deflect blame for his situation off him and onto you. It’s manipulative but effective because you are flustered beyond repair now.

And maybe because there’s a little truth to it, that small voice from earlier adds. Though you have no idea how Elvis may have pulled that deep thought, one that you barely acknowledged yourself, from the deep recesses of your brain.

Faltering under the pressure of his gaze and the closeness of his lean body practically pressing up against yours, you try to skirt around him.

He slams his hand onto the wall next to your head and you wince as his arm blocks you in. You’re breathing hard now, feeling something between shock and fear and exhilaration as his beautiful face comes too close to yours, forcing you to turn back to him.

Elvis will not be ignored.

“I’m not sure I believe you, baby,” he purrs. “Why else would you be snooping into my private romantic business?” His nose almost grazes your face, tantalizing, the scent of his Old Spice filling your nostrils, consuming you. You realize you’ve never been this close to him, not like this.

Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you roll your eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you respond, glaring at him. It sounds almost convincing.

Elvis chuckles meanly, not believing you, his lip curling into a grin, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s a panther stalking his prey, and you have come crashing into the jungle, demanding his attention.

His wrath is laced with something fervently sexual, and anything sexual coming from Elvis is ten times what it might be from another man. It’s intoxicating in the worst way possible, clouding your thoughts, distracting you from your frustration at his behavior. It’s as though, over time, he’s learned to wield his charismatic essence and his sexual energy into a weapon, one which he is now turning on you.

You realize you are in way over your head, but you’ve left yourself no room to backpedal out of this.

Elvis’ icy eyes roam over your face. For a moment you think he might close the gap between you two and press those pillowy lips to yours. For a moment you allow yourself to wonder if they feel as soft as they look, if they taste as sweet as you imagine.

What would he do if it were you that closed the gap? Would he be shocked out of his rage and pull away? Or would he kiss you back? Would you want him to?

Guilt washes over you, a cold shock, in response to these thoughts. What in the hell is wrong with me today?

But right now, cornered as you are, you feel like you might do almost anything to get out of this intense limbo he has you trapped in. You decide to call him out and see what happens.

“Oh, please, Elvis. Does this bull work on all the girls?” you hum almost nonchalantly, even though your heart is galloping, but it has the desired effect. He bites his tongue and shakes his head, leaning back from you. “What, you think you can just try and beguile me, of all people, and I’ll forget about what a jerk you’re being?”

“That’s not—,” he begins, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, shut it,” you interrupt, even more mad now after calling him out on his bad behavior for the second time. “I have half a mind to call Anita up myself after the stunt you just pulled!”

“The hell you will!” Elvis growls, eyes heated, yanking you by the arm towards the desk. “I’ll teach you what happens when you stick your nose where it don’t belong.”

You yelp in surprise as he pulls you over. It all happens so fast; you barely resist because your brain doesn’t comprehend what’s happening until he’s planted himself on top of the desk and bends you over his knee.

“Elvis, what are you…?” you yell. He cannot be serious, there is no way he will—

The first smack hits your backside hard. You choke in shock, not just at the sting but at his audacity. You are frozen, speechless, until you realize he’s aiming to do it again. You try to wriggle off his leg, flailing your arms for purchase, but he is much stronger than you. His arm clamps down on your back, holding you fast.

“Elvis!” you shriek at him, “Don’t you even think about—!” The second smack lands harder than the first, on the other cheek, and you squeal, kicking your legs.

“You gonna stay outta my business, y/n?” he asks.

“Goddamnit, Elvis!” you hiss, trying to glare back at him, but he holds you fast.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no’,” he muses, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he brings down his hand again. You yelp again, then grit your teeth. He’s not going easy on you, though you are absolutely sure he’s not anywhere at full strength, either. He’s not truly trying to hurt you. While your dress is softening some of the blow, it still smarts, sending your eyes watering.

You are livid, but much to your shock, you are also finding yourself exhilarated, stimulated. Your heart races and you have no idea what’s gotten into you. It’s like everything you’ve done in the last thirty minutes—poking your nose in where it didn’t belong, becoming so angry at him, pushing all of his buttons on purpose—was some strange way to get here. Not that you knew, not at all, that this would be your punishment, but it was almost as if you were crying out for his attentions all along.

This realization stuns you into stillness, and you barely register him talking to you again.

“I can do this all day, y/n, until you tell me what I need to hear,” he says in a sing-song voice. He’s enjoying it, his anger still there, but no longer at the forefront of his intent. No, now he is entirely focused on getting you to cry uncle.

You are stubborn and silent, though still reeling with confusion from your realizations of what got you here, slung over Elvis Presley’s knee, and that you, too, might be enjoying this, but in all the wrong ways. When his hand slaps your ass this time, you bite back the sound that wants to come forth, because it is no longer one of shock. Never in a thousand years do want to admit that you are relishing the feel of his hand on you like this, that the sting is having the opposite effect of what he wants or what either of you expects. It is wrong in so many ways.

Your lack of response must confuse him because you feel him hesitate in the slightest. You are unsure what comes over you, other than the impulse that you don’t actually want him to stop, which means he definitely should stop, but you can’t let him know why and instead it all comes out jumbled. The intended, “Elvis, please don’t!—Stop!” somehow (perhaps a little less than subconsciously) turns into a breathless, pleading for him to continue, “Elvis, please…don’t…stop.”

And though you feel his leg tense under you slightly, the only outward indication that he takes it any other way, he indeed does not stop. You squirm at the last second, realizing your mistake. And when his hand lands this time, fingers splayed wide, he hits decidedly lower and more centered than before. There is no way to know if it is purposeful or accidental, not that it matters in this moment because you cannot help the way your fingers dig into his thigh and the embarrassing moan that escapes your lips when he slaps your center along with your ass.

There is no denying what that sound meant. There’s no way to play it off or pretend it didn’t happen. You are fully aroused and completely mortified.

And Elvis knows it. You know he does by the way he stills, how his other hand clenches your dress at your waist, how you can feel his chest heaving along with your own in the thick, heavy silence that comes after.

For a moment, you wonder if he will push, if he’ll try to continue under the guise of this insane game, and a shameful part of you almost wants him to, wants to see how far you’ll both go, but that thought is fleeting.

He releases you, and you scurry off his lap as though he is on fire. And he might as well be with that tell-tale twinkle burning in his crystalline eyes, which are no longer stormy with anger but brimming with amusement and surprise and curiosity and heat. Then, as if he can’t help it, those pink lips pull up into a wide, cheeky smile, his tongue peeking out between his teeth and the tip touches his top lip. The look is somewhere between bashful and positively sinful.

You smooth your dress frantically with your hands, your face burning. Flustered beyond repair, you swipe at your watering eyes, feeling the heat scorch through your body. You are so utterly embarrassed that you could cry. Neither of you speaks at first (what in god’s name can you say??), but Elvis starts to giggle—giggle—that hiccupping little laugh of his that you know will spiral into a fit if he really gets going.

“Don’t you…don’t you dare laugh at me, Elvis Presley!” you sputter and stamp like a child, pointing at him, but his face is going red now and he’s starting to lose it.

“I’m-I’m n-n-not! I just c-can’t…” he stutters before he erupts into full blown belly laughs.

“Oh, my god,” you cry, bringing your hands to your face. You are both livid at him and mortified at yourself, but the situation is completely ridiculous and his laughter becomes contagious. “I swear to god, this isn’t funny!” you wail, fighting back your own laughter.

This just sends him into fresh peal of laughing, and he doubles over.

You finally break down, laughing, too. “Shut up!” you yell, but all the sting is out of it with your own giggles. “This is all your fault!”

“MY fault?!” he cries, trying to catch his breath, tears leaking from his eyes.

You don’t have an answer to that. You know it’s very much on both of you, especially you.

Finally, the laughter starts to die down and you both are wiping at your eyes and catching your breath. Silence starts to hang heavy again, but you break it with ferocity.

“Let’s just pretend that none of this ever happened, okay? I’ll forget everything I heard, and you’ll forget…the rest of it, and we’ll never, ever speak of this again,” you say seriously, with conviction. “Deal?”

As absurd as the whole situation is, you both know there are very real consequences, for both of you, if any of what’s transpired leaves this room. The problem is you know he can be terrible at keeping secrets; however, there is no way for him to tell yours without exposing himself. You can see him work through this now that he is calmed down, his blue eyes regarding you carefully.

You force yourself to remain steady under his intense gaze, trying your best to ignore the way your body wants to involuntarily respond to him all the sudden. You need him to know how serious you are because if this somehow got back to Jack, or to anyone at all, you would be humiliated at best and divorced at worse.

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, you think, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone. But it lights enough panic in you to get your head on straight.

“I’m serious, Elvis. Not a word from either of us,” you reiterate, as Elvis’ face has become unreadable. Your body still feels hot and you will your heart to slow, praying that he’ll give you the answer you need so you can get the hell out of here.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally nods, “Not a peep.” He purses his lips and mimes locking them and throwing away the key. You want to roll your eyes, but instead breathe a sigh of relief. You turn, quick on your heel to leave, needing as far away as possible from this whole situation. Far away from him.

“Y/n?” he calls out from behind you as you reach for the door.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you brace yourself for a quip. You turn, not expecting to see the apologetic look on his face that you do. It’s almost childlike in its sincerity, his eyes big and mournful.

“I-I’m sorry I lost my temper. I-I-I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that,” he says, playing with his ring nervously.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. An apology is not at all what you were expecting. You blink a couple of times, your whirlwind of emotions calming for a moment.

“Thank you, E. And I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. It really is none of my business,” you add, cheeks warming again as you look down, feeling embarrassed for all the reasons, feeling exposed under his gaze.

“Naw, baby, you’re just callin’ it as you see it. You’ve never pulled punches with me, and I don’t expect you to start now,” he replies, lip curling up in a smile.

You nod. “Even so, I’ll do my best to refrain from spying on you in the future.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.” You turn and leave before he has a chance to stop you again. Hurrying to the bedroom you are sharing with Jack, you lock yourself in, lean back on the door, and slide to the floor with your head in your hands.

What in god’s name came over you? Why would you do such a thing? And why in the hell did you like it when he touched you like that? Panic and guilt run through your veins like ice. You push all the thoughts away, as deep and as far as they will go.

Not a word. Pretend this never happened. Nothing is wrong if it never happened.

You repeat it in your head until it sticks.

Carrying the black folder with your sheet music, you take a deep breath and take a seat on the stage behind the curtains that hide the backstage from the audience. You’ve never been backstage for one of his shows, and it is bustling with musicians. Your job tonight is to follow along with the Sweet Inspirations and see if you can find your footing in the music while the show is happening. With the volume on stage, no one should be able to hear you from out front.

Nerves flow through you, nevertheless. It’s been a crazy three days with the vocal coach, who has assured you that, yes, you have the capability to do this and are “a natural,” but that you need to work through your stage fright. You’re not sure if it is her idea or Elvis’ to put you backstage during a performance, but here you are, your heart pounding as though you were going on stage with the rest of them.

In those three days, you haven’t seen Elvis alone, either. This has made you incredibly uneasy for a variety of reasons. Part of you is glad because you feel like your head is clearer about the whole affair, that you have some semblance of control, that if you want to end it (and you should) that you can.

However, another part of you craves his attention, missing him desperately, worried that he’s gotten what he wants from you and now is moving on. You keep thinking about how if he’s not spending his nights with you who might be keeping his bed warm instead. This fear is beginning to wreak havoc and is at odds with your logical thoughts. You know you need to get over it, to get over him, that all of this is just for fun anyways. It’s just sex. Nothing other than that was ever promised. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants.

It's not as though you haven’t seen him, though, it just hasn’t been alone. Between your lessons, his schedule, and Jack seemingly looming everywhere, it’s been hard to steal any time away. As soon as you told Jack you were staying, that Elvis was offering you a job as part of the show, you couldn’t quite get a read on how he felt about it. Jack seemed surprised, a little annoyed, and wary when you told him. You were sure he wouldn’t want you around anymore, but instead he has been more attentive than usual, which has also thrown you for a loop. You don’t know if he suspects something might be going on, but he hasn’t been off cavorting until all hours of the night anymore, instead staying with the guys at the after party every night in Elvis’ suite.

In any case, all you and E have had are a couple of fleeting, longing looks and the occasional touch, which is maddening. He did come to one of your lessons, but remained professional in front of the coach, only giving you a quick peck on the cheek and left a lingering hand at your waist, burning through your dress and threatening to set you aflame right there and then.

During the after parties, where the gang, plus a lucky group of fans (usually pretty, young things), would come up and join you all. You smiled your way through the gatherings trying to appear as normal as possible as the girls flirted endlessly with Elvis, and he flirted back at them. Not to mention the way Jack would look at the girls, too. The whole situation was becoming untenable.

Thank god for Sandy, who always seemed to be there when you needed her, with a squeeze of a hand or a bump of your shoulder, stealing away with you to the bathroom when it all became too much.

But, lucky for you, you at least had a distraction of learning all the music for the show, hence why you are here now, amongst the fervent energy that is building backstage. The Sweet Inspirations just finished their set, and now everyone is waiting on the man of the hour.

You finally see him round the corner, clad in his black herringbone suit, the one you find impeccably flattering on him. He looks gorgeous but is vibrating with nervous energy and seems like he could be sick at any moment, his eyes focused on something only he can see. Involuntarily, you rise out of your chair in his presence, wanting to go to him, to comfort him, but you stop yourself. It isn’t your place, and you don’t want to distract him or possibly make his nerves worse.

Much to your surprise, Elvis seems to sense you, turning to you, and his cobalt eyes light up when they meet yours. He switches gears, much to the surprise of some of the guys, and walks towards you. They don’t follow, which you are glad for. You meet him, desperately wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but everyone seems to be watching. His eyes travel over your face, needy under the fear he’s experiencing.

“You’re here,” he says gratefully, as though it is a surprise that you actually showed up.

“I’m here,” you reply. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. But better now,” he says, those big blue eyes blinking at you with an almost shy smile.

“Me, too,” you laugh. God, you want to touch him so badly, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and it nearly breaks your heart with the way it makes it swell in your chest.

“I miss you, too,” you nod breathlessly, “and we’ll talk later, but right now, you need to go out there and kick some ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath, puffing his cheeks and letting it out slowly. He reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezing it tight, his huge rings cold against your skin. Then he turns abruptly, heads off, and cues the band to start.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Seeing that side of him, so needy and small, is such a contrast to how larger than life he is as he walks on that stage. It reminds you so much of the young man he once was, so different from the cocky, self-assured man he can be today.

Then the show starts in earnest and you sit back down, realizing you have a job to do and can’t just moon over him the entire show. You do your best to follow the music, humming along, quietly finding the high harmonies to the songs you feel like you’ve heard a million times but are now experiencing differently because you are listening for other things.

You do notice that some of his jokes are falling flat and that the audience isn’t responding as enthusiastically as they could be. Elvis fights for their attention, being the consummate performer that he is, and you can tell he’s a bit ruffled by it.

By the end of the show, you’ve been swept up in the music and it feels like no time has passed, your nerves long forgotten. It’s an amazing feeling, really, as the crowd applauds and the curtain falls and everyone bustles with after-show energy. Even though you weren’t officially on stage, you still feel swept up in the high of it all and it’s invigorating.

Elvis, of course, is soaked with sweat, breathless as the swarm descends with compliments, though he doesn’t smile or seem to believe them even though he nods through them. You know he is a perfectionist in his own right and by his demeanor, he seems agitated by how the performance went. His eyes find yours only briefly, guarded, before he is hustled away. You hide your disappointment in collecting your music and instead focus your energy on conversing with some of the musicians as they pack up their instruments. The mood feels sour, dampened, as Elvis’ displeasure radiates even after he leaves. Your emotions are tumultuous, as you feel neglected, and you are glad when you see Sandy waiting for you so you can go up to the penthouse together.

“How’d it go?” she practically bounces. “How nervous were you?”

“Pretty nervous at first, but after the first song, I just kinda got swept up in the music. It was pretty remarkable, actually,” you reply. “Though E didn’t seem very happy with the show.”

She pulls you along, through the curtains and out into the hallway. “And how is…everything else?” she intones with a knowing look.

You sigh, shifting your music folder to the other arm, looking down. You hurry her along, away from prying ears. “He came up to me before the show and told me he missed me,” you whisper.

“Oooh, really? That’s good, right? Sometimes a man needs to know what he’s missing to really appreciate it,” she muses. “Do you miss him, too?”

“I don’t want to! But as soon as he was there in front of me, I felt like I was gonna come out of my skin to get to him. I’m just…having all these feelings I don’t know what to do with, San,” you fluster. “Every time I think I have a handle on it, something happens to remind me that I’m completely off the rails.”

“You’re not ‘completely off the rails’, y/n. You’ve just got it bad,” she says almost nonchalantly.

“Ugh! I’m desperate to see him alone, and seeing him but not being able to touch him or to do anything that might give us away is hard. Not to mention, all these girls hanging all over him is making me crazy, and Jack seems to be everywhere under foot all the sudden, which is even more maddening. Oh, I need to end this. I can’t keep doing this,” you whine.

“Listen to me, we are just gonna go upstairs and hang out with everyone just like normal, okay? And we’ll try to get you two alone at some point. I’ll talk to Jerry, okay?” Sandy says, grabbing you by the shoulders. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, babe,” you sigh. “I’m fine, really.”’

Sandy side-eyes you as you both head up to the top floor.

The guys have procured yet another gaggle of women and a few men to join the party tonight. Jack has planted himself next to you, uncharacteristically putting his arm around you. Surprised, you try not to stiffen, reminding yourself that this is your husband and it’s totally normal for him to put his arm around you, but it feels more possessive than affectionate. Or maybe you are just imagining it.

You busy yourself making small talk as you all wait for Elvis to appear. When he does, freshly washed, the smell wafts over you, reminding you of your most recent escapades in the shower. You flush a little at that, hiding your face by taking a drink.

Elvis glances at you only momentarily as he enters. He seems a little off, you think, a little edgy, as he commands the room and finds a seat amongst the girls. Your jaw tenses as they fawn and fall all over him, and he flirts back as though he can’t help it. This makes you insane to watch for the third night in a row. All you can think about is his hands on someone else the way you want them to be on you.

And the more you want Elvis’ hands on you, you instead get Jack’s, which seem to be gripping you at all times in some way. Over your shoulder, on your knee, on your hand…you’re trapped in this tortuous hellscape where you would do anything to get him to stop touching you, but you can’t, you can’t without it giving yourself away.

You are equally trapped as you watch your lover give his attention to everyone but you. Every time Elvis laughs or smiles or his eyes sparkle flirtatiously, or if he touches one of them or when they touch him, you want to launch right out of your chair at him.

He wants them, you think. That’s why he hasn’t seen you the last few days. He’s been with other women.

The thought drips like poison into your heart, twisting it, filling you with anger and sadness.

Why would he want you when he can have any pretty young thing? No one wants you. No one chooses you. It drips again, icy and brutal.

All of it goes on for what feels like an eternity, and you want to scream, to cry, to escape, but you’ve made this bed and now are being forced to lie in it. It’s your punishment for all your misdeeds, you think. But your stomach is rolling with an ever-growing fury at Jack, at Elvis, at those girls, at yourself, and you start to squirm in your seat.

Finally, your jealousy gets the better of you. If Elvis won’t pay attention to you, then you’ll find someone else who will. It makes the most sense that it’s your husband, of course, who is already strangely attached to you tonight, so you bite your tongue and force yourself to return his affections instead of shirking from them. You lean into him, you put your hands on him, on his chest, his arm, his leg. You pretend it was like it was years ago, when you still both wanted each other more than anything. You throw yourself into the act because it takes your mind off the women across the room.

Jack is surprised, you can tell, but he’s not too far gone into the bottle and soon is returning your affections, pecking at your cheek and neck. After a while, when he whispers in your ear that he wants you, part of you is exhilarated, powerful, because finally your husband wants you again.

It’s in that moment when Elvis’ eyes find yours for only the second time since you’ve been here, those intense blues locking on as Jack’s breath tickles your ear. Elvis’ gaze darkens dangerously, and you watch his jaw clench as he watches you and Jack. And when Jack takes your hand, pulling you off the couch, you feel Elvis’ eyes burning holes into your back.

Finally, is all you can think. Finally, the men in your life are paying attention.

You are so wrapped up in this game, in your anger and your jealousy, that when Jack yanks you into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, you aren’t even upset about it. You want to be disgusted at him (and you are—you still hate him for what he’s put you through), but in this moment, he only has eyes for you and that’s all you want right now, even if it is misguided. Even if the love isn’t there like it’s supposed to be.

When he kisses you with his whisky-tinged breath, it almost feels like he cares. When he gropes you and touches your body in the places he thinks he knows will turn you on, you pretend that it does. You let yourself get swept into a fantasy, into the act, because at least it’s something to chase away all the terrible things you’ve done and all the terrible thoughts in your head.

When you grab at the straining erection in his pants, the heat of him burning into your palm, and hear his gasping moans in your ear, you feel powerful. As you sink to your knees, you relish the look of lust and surprise in your husband’s eyes, and it’s enough to keep you going, even though part of you is appalled. You take him into your mouth, closing your eyes, wishing he was someone else. Jack twists his hand in your hair as he leans against the counter, slack jawed, and you know this won’t take long. It makes it bearable. You’ve known him long enough to know exactly what to do: how to lick, where to touch, the noises you need to make. And you relish in the control you have as he comes undone in record time.

Jack is still gasping for breath when you stand, spitting what he left in your mouth in the sink and washing your mouth out. He grabs at your ass, panting, “Jesus, treasure, what’s got into you? That was fuckin’ hot.”

You shrug coyly at him in the mirror. “I gotta pee, sweetie,” you say, shooing him out, wanting him away from you. More than anything, you want to be alone to simmer in your anger and revulsion.

“Mmm, okay. Thanks, babe,” he hums, still obviously refracting, drunk on you rather than whisky for once. He kisses your cheek sloppily before zipping up and heading out. It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t even make an attempt to get you off. Not that he could, but it figures.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair askew and cheeks red, eyes blazing. This is the woman I’ve become, you think bitterly. I’m either fucking my lover with my husband in the next room, or I’m sucking off my husband with my lover in the next room.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You don’t recognize yourself anymore. You ache for Elvis, but you cover it with anger and jealousy and fear. You hate Jack for what he’s done to you, yet you fall into him and use him the first chance you get.

Rooting around in the drawers, you find some toothpaste and swish it around in your mouth, hoping, wanting to get the taste of Jack, the taste of your own bitterness out. You wash your hands and comb your hair, wondering if this was enough, if you can go back out there at watch Elvis with those women and not die a little inside.

Knock, knock.

The insistent rap on the door startles the hell out of you and you jump. “One second!” you shout with one last look in the mirror. You open the door quickly, not wanting to keep whoever is waiting, and walk out.

And you run smack into Elvis’ chest. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him—at this point you know his physique and his scent anywhere. A little yelp escapes your lips, and you feel the heat, the anger rolling off him in waves. You gulp, raising your eyes to his and they are as hard and dark as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart jumps into your throat as he grabs you by the arm and yanks you across the hall, throwing you into his bedroom and slamming the door behind so hard that the wall shakes.

You stumble for a second in your heels but recover quickly, turning to face him. Elvis is furious, in that terrifying way you’ve seen before, nearly blacked out with rage. You can see him barely holding on, gripping to a sliver of sanity as he faces you, chest heaving.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” he seethes, his hands fisted and jaw clenching and unclenching, black hair tumbling over his forehead.

Your heart sprints in your chest and you unconsciously step backwards before you catch yourself and stop, lifting your chin at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say almost haughtily.

“The fuck you don’t,” he says, advancing on you. You scurry back again, putting the large couch in between the two of you. “You think I didn’t notice the way he was all over you and how you were all over him out there for everyone to see?? You think I didn’t know what was goin’ on when you left?? You think I didn’t see his fuckin’ face comin’ back into the room, grinnin’ like an idiot?!” he screams, grabbing a bottle of water off the coffee table and hurling into the wall.

You flinch as the bottle explodes, glass tinkling down to the floor. “Elvis, stop it! Calm down, everyone can hear you!” you hiss, trying to knock some sense into him, but he’s way beyond that.

“I don’t give a shit!” he yells. “How could you fuckin’ do that?” The rage and the hurt you see in his blacked-out eyes is more than you ever expected and tugs at your heart. But you are still furious in your own right, furious at him for this display, furious at the whole situation.

“How could I do what, E? What? Be with my husband? My husband? Or have you forgotten since the stunt you pulled the other day in the bathroom that I have one?” you throw back at him, “That I have to go back to my room every night to him, pretending like everything is fine? Did you forget that?”

You’re not even sure if he hears you with how gone he is. He rounds the couch, coming for you. Scrambling back, you find that you have nowhere to go, your back is against the wall. Reaching you, he grabs your face in his large hands, his intense eyes drilling into you. “I don’t ever want to see you looking at another man, touching another man. I’m a really jealous motherfucker, y/n. And I don’t ever, ever, ever want you to be with another man, I don’t care who he is. I want to know that you’re mine and all mine,” he heaves.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, wrenching out of his grasp. “How can you demand that of me when you know it’s not possible? I have to keep up the pretense of my marriage! And you think I don’t know that you’ve been with other women? It’s been three days, Elvis, I’m not an idiot!” He looks at you with a mix of dumbfounded innocence and rage. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Maybe it was the girl in your lap just now or the one kissing you that gave it away!”

Elvis growls, shaking his head, staring down at you with those endless eyes. “You’re just fuckin’ jealous. You’re so jealous you went and fucked your husband in my bathroom to get my attention, is that it?” He slams his hand on the wall next to your head, but you refuse to react.

You know you shouldn’t say it, but he’s right and you know it. You did do it to get his attention, and now you have it. “No, baby, I didn’t fuck him. I just sucked him off and spit him out,” you say demurely, cutting, batting your eyes at him, knowing and not caring how awful you’re being.

The way his eyes widen betrays his shock, but he covers it quickly as they narrow. You wonder for a moment if you should be truly afraid because you have pushed him too far, but you almost don’t care. Part of you wants him to feel all of this, a fraction of the tumultuousness that you’ve been feeling for the last week.

“Hmmm…,” he hums, then clicks his mouth. His eyes are black and blazing as they pass over your body. This stillness is almost more frightening than the shouting. You shiver, trembling, but it’s just as much from your own anger as from his, and you can feel the fury laced with something else entirely. You refuse to back down or look away.

“You goddamn fuckin’ little brat,” Elvis finally snarls and yanks you with him to the couch. He slams down and pulls you over his knees, and suddenly, a memory from a long time ago flashes in your brain, one you had entirely pushed out of your mind. You choke on it as it floods back to you, knowing he must remember, too, knowing that everything is quite different this time around.

You gasp when Elvis pulls up your dress and yanks down your panties, the cold air of the room hitting your most sensitive areas. “Elvis! Elvis, don’t you dare, don’t you even--!” you shriek, writhing in his lap, not knowing if your words are protests or encouragements at this point.

When his open palm slaps your ass, the sound reverberates through the suite, the sting radiating down your thighs and sending water into your eyes. You gasp again, more from surprise than anything. Surprise that while it smarts, it doesn’t feel bad.

“Elvis,” you breathe out, wriggling in his lap.

He holds you to him. “Oh, don’t you ‘Elvis’ me. You’ve been an obstinate, naughty lil’ brat, and I ain’t havin’ it,” he says through gritted teeth before bringing his hand biting down onto the other cheek.

You hold back your cry, digging your nails into his thigh instead, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big reaction. Beyond the sting, you feel heat gathering in your belly, but you don’t want him to know that either.

“Seems ya need a lesson or two about how to behave, now don’tcha, you naughty lil’ girl?” he seethes, laced with a sneer. He brings down his hand again, and this time you can’t hold back the sound that emanates from your throat, a whiny moan.

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Elvis purrs wickedly, rubbing your stinging skin with his fingers. You are completely at his mercy now, your frustrations unravelling under his touch. You buck in his lap, needing more, needing him to ease your toxic thoughts.

“Hmm, you like rilin’ me up? Like gettin’ me all worked up and jealous, huh?” He smacks your ass again, this time his fingers grazing your core. You moan fully now, unable and unwilling to contain it, tears running down your face, your heat building in the most confounding of ways.

“Answer me—didja pull that lil’ stunt on purpose, baby?” he asks, his hand reverberating on you again.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?” he pushes, palming your ass, leaning down towards your ear, his breath hot.

It takes you a second in your haze to piece together what exactly Elvis wants, and once you do, it sends a delectable shiver down your spine. Once again, he never ceases to amaze you in how he can bring out pleasure in you that you never knew you craved or needed.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whine.

You hear him choke back a groan at that and next to your arm, you feel a twitch in his pants. You can’t help but smile.

“You wanted my attention, and now you’re gettin’ it, honey. Is that what you want?” he says, heat leeching from his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe again.

He brings his hand down one more time with a grunt, and you cry out in pleasure and pain, ass raw but you are somehow feeling a release that you didn’t know you needed.

“Look at you, baby,” Elvis says, somewhere between pride and surprise, running a finger through your folds, which unbeknownst to you are dripping wet. You bite your lip at the contact, sucking a breath in. You want him to touch you, but instead he pulls you up to face him. You hiss at the feeling of your raw ass hitting the backs of your heels as you kneel on the sofa.

He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, tears staining your cheeks. “I need ya to look at me, honey,” he orders. You do. His eyes are still dark, but his fury has been tempered by lust.

“You been waitin’ eight long years for me to do that, haven’t ya?” he murmurs. Of course, he remembers exactly how long it’s been.

Your heart flutters and you nod, admitting to yourself that it may have crossed your mind once or twice, in your most secret moments.

“Ain’t nobody else touched you like that, baby?” The way he asks it is almost laced with hope, hope that this is something of you that only he gets to have.

“Never,” you whisper, shaking your head, his hand still gripping your chin.

“Only me, huh? Good girl,” he says, pleased. He lets go of your chin, wiping the tears off your face with his thumb. Then he looks in your eyes.

“I need you to be truthful with me now, baby, yeah? Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Do you want me to keep bein’ rough with ya? Are ya likin’ that? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna stop,” he asks, voice real low.

You appreciate him pausing long enough to ask you and you consider him for a moment, though it doesn’t take long. “Yes, I like it,” you say, surprising yourself with the truth of it.

That dark look flashes over Elvis’ face again, and it sends a thrill right through you.

“Okay, but you tell me if you need me to stop, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good, cuz I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet and I’m still fuckin’ pissed,” he growls. Your heart plummets into your belly with excitement as you watch the sweetness drain from his eyes, replaced by his fervent anger from earlier.

And you smile.

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tomorrowxtogether · 9 months

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Five things we learned from Tomorrow X Together’s ‘Our Lost Summer’ documentary

As the K-pop boyband prepare to return to Lollapalooza, they share a look at their debut at the festival and their first world tour

In just under a week, Tomorrow X Together (TXT) will return to Chicago’s Lollapalooza to make history once again. Last year, they became the first K-pop act to perform at the festival while, this year, they’ll be the first K-pop group to headline. Ahead of their triumphant return, the band have looked back at their first appearance in Grant Park and their first world tour in the new Disney+ documentary, Tomorrow X Together: Our Lost Summer’, giving fans an insight into the preparation and experience of finally getting to meet MOAs worldwide for the first time.

Here’s five things we learned from the documentary.

Before the pandemic halted Tomorrow X Together’s momentous rise in its physical form, the five-piece were only able to embark on a short showcase tour of the US. It wasn’t until three years after they debuted that they were finally able to hold their first world tour, ‘Act: Lovesick’. While they were happy to finally be out on the road and free from the “gloomy” awkwardness of online concerts, there was also an element of sadness to the tour. “At the time, I felt like we were finally doing something we should have done a long time ago,” Taehyun said. “So as much as I felt relieved, it was also a little sad as it felt overdue.”

Beomgyu thinks TXT’s existence is like that of cicadas

Comparing themselves to noisy insects like cicadas might seem like an interesting choice, but the singer’s analogy has depth to it. If a cicada only lives for up to four weeks before succumbing to the circle of life, then TXT’s cycle of practicing and performing is similar. “We don’t have seasons, we’re always in the studio,” Beomgyu explained. “We’re like cicadas – we practice for six to seven months, then it’s two weeks before performing.” He continued to reason that, due to the pandemic prohibiting them from stepping out of the studio to meet their fans, they “lost track of the seasons”. With touring back on the table, though, “now we have our seasons back”.

TXT’s bond is something special

The five members’ close relationship has always been obvious in their interviews and content, but Our Lost Summer highlights just how strong their bond is. While in the US, Beomgyu suffered an illness that caused him to miss part of a show in Atlanta and, although leader Soobin notes he wanted to just “act normal” to his bandmate instead of making a fuss, the footage shows how the rest of the band rallied around him, even in small ways.

“Usually, we jokingly say we can’t stand each other,” Beomgyu said. “But when one of us gets sick, we gather up even though we all have our separate rooms. When times get tough, we’re always there for each other. We become a family.” While there might be obvious signs of their camaraderie with each other on stage, TXT support their bandmates during performances in ways that MOAs are unaware of too. During ‘Opening Sequence’ – the end of an 11-song stint with no break – the members talked to each other through their microphones when they’re not being channelled through the PA, willing them on for the final minutes.

The idea of winning over new fans at Lollapalooza excited them

As much as all artists love performing in front of crowds full of their own fans, festival sets present a different opportunity and challenge – that of winning over the uninitiated and welcoming them into your fanbase. When TXT made their Lollapalooza debut last year, they revelled in that facet of the performance. “I get more excited in front of other fans,” Beomgyu said. “It’s just a different feeling […] On a stage with non-fans, I have a chance to turn them into my fans.”

But they weren’t sure they should be there – and not all of the members left the festival on cloud nine

Despite welcoming new challenges, the group weren’t convinced they should be on the line-up. “Did we deserve to be there?” Yeonjun questioned. “We were worried that we might ruin the vibe.” Although their set proved exactly why TXT deserved to be given that history-making slot, not all of the members were elated after the performance.

“I cried so hard in my hotel room,” Soobin shared. “All the members were saying it was their happiest day since their debut as singers, but I didn’t feel the same.” Concerned about his self-described awkwardness on stage when there was no choreography to get stuck into, the band’s leader said he found it hard to enjoy himself and let go.

Tomorrow x Together: Our Lost Summer is out now on Disney+

#txt #tomorrow x together #230802 #article #nme #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #our lost summer

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xalygatorx · 3 months

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Powerless (2017) | Chapter 5, "Everything I've Done"

Years after Sarah’s wit and bravery saved her brother and brought the Labyrinth to its knees, her daughter Andie is transported to what remains of that same fantastical place, somewhere she thought only existed in her favorite childhood stories. To find her way back home, she must traverse what’s left of the crumbling kingdom, find a way to set both moments and magic in motion again, and even save the Goblin King, himself. But who will save her from him?

Powerless is a SFW slow-burn romance between Jareth and an original female character. The story overall contains descriptions of fantasy violence, mild suggestive content, and grief regarding family illness. Chapter-by-chapter warnings will be provided as well.

Summary: Andie and Jareth get acquainted while waiting for help. Jareth offers her an alliance that hinges on her helping him guard the truth of his condition and reclaim his kingdom.

Pairing: Jareth x Fem!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.9k

"Do be quiet, they won't hear you," said the voice wearily nearby as Andie shouted again, having scrambled back out of the light when he'd first spoken, her eyes still searching the gloomy subterranean perimeter for the owner. "Even so, this is an oubliette. Do you know what that is?"

Andie faltered. "A… It's a trap, isn't it?"

"Indeed. For those to be forgotten."

"Who are you?"

She was finally able to make out a dark form sitting opposite where she stood, but no details came into focus for the lack of light. It was the most human figure she'd seen here yet, even more so than the half-human Nyle. "I think a better question is who you are," the male voice countered as he stood, making his way over to her side of the cave. "You don't seem to be who I first thought. And how have you come to my labyrinth to fall down a hole?"

Her eyes widened incrementally. "Your labyrinth—wait… You're the Goblin King, aren't you?"

A soft chuckle danced around the space just as a boot crossed the rim of the light shining down from the opening she'd made high above them. Into view stepped one of the most eccentric looking men she'd ever seen and, even with the oddities in his appearance ranging from his somewhat spiky blond hair and some smudges of what appeared to be eyeliner around his eyes, he could have easily passed for human. Had she not known the truth, anyway. His teeth glittered faintly as he sent a weary, yet Cheshire smile her way. "Now, that is something I've not heard someone call me in quite some time."

"What are you doing down here?"

"All questions I could easily be asking you," he pointed out, eying her closely. She wondered if he was somehow able to see better than she was down here. Then again, who knew how long he'd been down here. Now that she thought about it, his hair looked matted in places, his clothes a bit rumpled, and he appeared particularly thin, though she had no memory of him to compare his present self to. Perhaps that was just the way he looked.

"Well, then maybe—," Andie began, only to pause when she heard a faint echo of her name down the tunnel. She brushed past him to peer up toward the light, where she could now see a pin-sized head peeping over. "I'm down here!" she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to project her voice more efficiently.

"Stay there! I'm coming down to get you!" Hoggle shouted and he disappeared from over the opening.

"Yeah, where else am I going to go…," she muttered softly, smoothing a hand through her hair before regarding Jareth again. He was watching her with an amused sort of air and the scrutiny in his eyes unnerved her. "What I was saying is maybe we should both be answering these obvious questions. Since we'll probably be stuck here awhile."

He scoffed a bit. "You've no idea what 'awhile' is, girl."

"I take it you didn't just get here, too," she noted with a grimace.

"Oh, no," he murmured with a slight shake of his head. "No, I've lost track of the years."

Andie's eyes widened. "Years? How are you still alive?"

"Time has stopped in this world. With it, so has the aging process for every creature in attendance," he explained calmly before sitting down on the floor again. "Even you."

"So, you just…"

"Starved without emaciating, withered without withering, oh… Yes. And it was more excruciating than actually dying such a pathetic death." He looked at her wearily. "Sit. You're tiring me further by standing like that."

"Well, excuse me," she grumbled, but sat down nearby. "Why couldn't you just magic yourself out? I'm sure the king of the goblins has some kind of magical ability, right? Or am I relying too heavily on fairytales?"

Jareth chuckled, but the sound was weak. He seemed disgusted by it. "I had that ability, long ago. But that's left me, too, it seems. I'm sure the lack of time progression has something to do with that."

"Why would that have any influence?" Andie asked dubiously.

He seemed worn out by her questions already, though she figured he was probably just worn out, period. "Because have you ever had something remotely in the realm of 'magical' happen while you're standing still? Isn't it always after moving forward?"

"You're getting a bit too existentialist on me, Jareth," she commented.

"Now, is it fair that you know my name yet I do not know yours?"

"I guess not. It's Andie."

"Andie, hm? I've never heard such a name. Short for…?"

"Cassandra."

"Interesting," Jareth murmured, though his bored tone disagreed with that sentiment. "So, Andie, what were your other questions? My memory is slacking with my current state of health, as I'm sure you understand."

She was somewhat suspicious of his manners—Hoggle had made it sound like he was a wild, aggressive thing, but it looked like he could barely move. She half expected him to turn on her at any moment, at least until she figured she might just be his ticket out of here. He was perhaps simply lucky she'd dropped in, pun intended. "How'd you end up down here?"

"I lost my magic directly after the Labyrinth, itself, fell to pieces," he said uncomfortably and she could only wonder why he was telling her this. "Those I presided over grew more rampant and restless and some attempted a mutiny once they felt the scales begin to tilt. I thought it wise to disappear awhile."

"You meant to get trapped down here?"

"Of course not. I took the plunge down here while attempting to disappear, of course," he said irritably before sighing and glancing at the tunnel over them. "Succeeded too thoroughly, I suppose."

"Why are you telling me this?" Andie finally asked. "About your magic being gone and your blunders, why would you give me that information when we've only just met?"

Jareth looked at her pensively before replying, "I need your help. And you must know that it is quite humiliating for me to say that. It is also a leap to trust you with that explanation, as—you're right—I've known you but a few moments in a timeless world. However, I would hope for both our sakes that this is not a mistake."

"What do you need my help for?"

"Well, first for getting out of here, which you've already managed to do just by being here. Also for finding a way to return the Labyrinth to its original form. I need time to move again so I can regain my power and my control over this unpredictable place."

"I'm supposed to help you with that?"

"You seem moderately intelligent," he said with a lift of his shoulders that made Andie want to pummel him. "And you seem to have already won allies. I will need such connections and, this time, they cannot stem only from fear." Jareth's intense gaze moved over to meet hers again as he said his next words. "I will also need you to keep my lack of magic to yourself. Under no circumstances can I afford this information to be divulged. Do you understand?"

Andie met his gaze levelly before looking at her hands and saying seriously, "You know, it's unwise to go on first impressions of people."

"I do not have much choice at this moment. I need someone on my side."

"And what makes you think I'm on your side?"

"Well," he murmured, beginning to become irked but containing it. "You are not not on my side…"

"That is terrible logic," Andie told him. "Awful. You're lucky you've not been killed on that thinking."

"Indeed, but it is true," he groused. "Look, I'm putting a good amount of faith in you, recognize that this does not come lightly—"

"Or with permission."

"Andie," he grumbled.

"All right, all right," Andie muttered. "But make more informed decisions in the future. I may not spill your secret, but I'm not planning on risking my neck to save your skin either. And don't act like you know me, like we're friends. You don't know anything about me."

"And the same applies in reverse," Jareth pointed out. "At least I'm willing."

"Because you want something from me."

"There is no point in denying it, as I've already made that clear. Yes. I want your help."

"Earn it," Andie snipped just as a hidden door nearby swung open and Hoggle entered the oubliette.

"I knew I shoulda gone with ya, are you—" He paled when his eyes found Jareth. "It's you!"

"In the flesh," Jareth said flippantly, shooting a glance toward Andie as he stood. "Having a chat with your new friend. Say…" He paused and looked at her considerately. "How did you come to be in my Labyrinth anyway?"

"I picked up a glass peach, it cut my hand, and then—boom—I was here."

Interest sparked in his eyes and she began to ponder what Hoggle had warned her about earlier. "And how did you manage to come across such a trinket?" he asked softly.

She started to answer and, after catching Hoggle's eye, who was practically begging her silently not to tell the truth, she said instead, "I found it. In a thrift store."

Jareth's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press the subject. "Curious."

"Indeed," she murmured, not breaking his gaze. He watched her a moment longer before nodding and walking toward the door, ducking low to make his way into the tunnel beyond. She looked down at Hoggle. "Thank you for coming down here."

"Of course, though I might've done things differently had I known he was down here, too," he murmured, casting a sideways glance through the doorway. "Go on."

Andie stepped through the doorway and then straightened up, hearing Hoggle walk out and shut the door behind them. They then began to walk down the tunnel, Hoggle stepping ahead to lead the way. There was something rigid in Jareth's frame that reminded Andie of a caged animal wary of recapture, so she kept her distance. However, the young woman nearly leapt out of her skin when a booming voice shattered the silence only permeated by their footsteps. "TURN BACK."

"YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY," boomed another up where Hoggle was walking.

"Oh, shut it," Hoggle grumbled, ignoring the enormous stone heads. "Don't mind them, they're just False Alarms."

"NO, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING."

"Now, that's just rude, trying to steer people off course," she accused the last one to shout.

"It's… It's my job, Miss," it said awkwardly, glancing away from her. When it didn't shout again, she cut it some slack, moving along to catch up with Hoggle and Jareth, who had slowed to wait. Jareth still had an air of amusement about him, but said nothing.

After following Hoggle through the winding tunnels of the Underground, they reached the end and crawled out through a small burrow, camouflaged beneath a line of brush. Hoggle turned around to help Andie out and grimaced when Jareth stepped out as well. He leaned toward Andie and whispered, "What's he still doing here?"

She shrugged. "Feels like tagging along, I guess."

"Not fond of my company, Hogarth? I'm offended," Jareth commented patronizingly.

"It's Hoggle! I see at least one thing hasn't changed in this place!" he grumped as he began to lead the way back to the campsite.

Walking ahead to mutter about things Andie only heard bits and pieces of, she walked at her own pace, finding that she'd scraped her cheek a bit when she'd fallen in the oubliette. "Stupid hands," she sighed as she ran her fingertips over the uneven edge of the scrape and winced when it stung.

Ludo was pacing around the camp when they got back, visibly relieved when he saw that they'd come back. Andie couldn't be sure whether he just didn't notice Jareth or didn't have an opinion of him since he didn't react to the addition to their party, but Jareth certainly didn't seem to care for the bumbling giant. Didymus, Leona, and Nyle all had their reactions, however.

"Oh, goodness me, are you all right?!" Didymus fussed as he hurried over to them, his jaw dropping when he saw Jareth. "And where on earth did he come from?"

"Everyone is so shocked to see me, where did you all think I went?" Jareth muttered with a roll of his dual-colored eyes, which soon fell upon the half-goblin nearby. "Nyle. An interesting surprise."

Nyle inclined his head, but the venom in his voice was plain. "Your Highness."

"Indeed," Jareth agreed flippantly, which only seemed to piss Nyle off more. Andie made a mental note to ask him about the Goblin King a little later on, expecting a nicely candid answer from someone with such a sour opinion and not afraid to express it. "And…?"

"Leona," the sphinx said calmly, though her eyes were narrowed with some contempt.

"Ah, yes… You've left your post."

She snorted softly through her stone nose and Andie wondered suddenly if she was only stone on the outside or if some kind of magic made her stone body malleable. She couldn't really say why she kept wondering about these things when none of it made sense, but her brain hadn't stopped trying to categorize and decipher the oddities yet. "So have you."

"The entirety of the Labyrinth is my post, I recall assigning you to the clocktower."

"It was the side entrance to the castle and this place is already so disorderly, it hardly matters."

Jareth arched a brow her way. "You would speak so to your king?"

"I am fashioned to fear nothing and, as such, I have nothing to fear," she said dismissively. "This is what makes my guardianship so absolute."

"Hm," he murmured before shrugging it off. "Fair enough." He appeared to be a mixture of equal parts miffed and impressed. "Say, where might your… A-ha!" He'd sighted the provisions, but Hoggle began to make a beeline toward the stash. "Excuse me, dwarf, you think this wise?"

Hoggle paused and seemed conflicted in what to do next, but ended up slowly stepping away, muttering about being a coward. It was no wonder he wanted everyone to still think he had his magic, Andie noted. He's an absolute bully. She watched Jareth step over and pour himself a cup of tea from leaves Didymus had contributed, which had tasted strangely like cold medicine to Andie, and help himself to the leftover food. Didymus looked to Andie after a moment of quiet had passed in which everyone had cast judgy, aggravated glances toward Jareth and said, "I was thinking, perhaps the Wiseman would have some, well, wisdom for you on how you might return home."

"The Wiseman?" she repeated curiously.

"Exactly as he sounds, milady. Quite wise. And it couldn't hurt to ask, could it?"

"Not at all, thank you for saying something," Andie said with a smile before heading over to sit near the wall, where she'd taken lunch earlier. A patch of dark sky had wandered near and had begun to take over the area of the courtyard and for about a square mile all around. Her fatigue hit her all at once and Andie slouched just enough to gain a stable position and before she knew it, her eyes had shut and she was out like a light.

Jareth was making a point of eating slowly, despite his stomach feeling as if it would gnarl and swallow the rest of his insides at the first sign of nutrients in centuries. The curse of living agelessly while his body's needs and soul's unrest rotted him in a cell was disturbingly potent, as he'd previously had doubts that anything in this world could faze him any longer. It was all he could do not to cringe every time he swallowed another bit of dried meat or sandwich, it didn't matter what he ate or drank from the provisions by the fire, it all felt like lead in his stomach. He could feel eyes on him though, and knew now wasn't the time to show even mild discomfort.

Darkness closed in around them and painted the visible overhead with spiraling stars and an endless depth of black. Jareth listened to the other creatures around the campsite shift and settle into place for the "night," though the cycle of light had been disrupted with the rest of the reality around them. Once he heard stillness fall back over the courtyard, he looked up, surveying the faces decorated by shadows and the flicker of the fire. Jareth glanced away from Ludo and Didymus across the clearing with disinterest, his gaze settling on the dark-haired girl to his right. He stared at her for a long moment before scoffing softly to himself and looking back down to his tea, which he sipped deeply and then nearly choked on, before going off to rest for the night as well, though the last thing he felt the need for was sleep after spending so long in the dark of the earth and his own mind.

It was only forever, he thought to himself with a dismal tinge of melancholy disguising itself as irony and humor. His lips curved without the expression touching his eyes. Not long at all.

Next chapter: Chapter 6, "Falling Down"

#labyrinth #labyrinth fanfiction #labyrinth fanfic #jareth x oc #jareth the goblin king #jareth #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #the labyrinth #romance fanfiction

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'The greatest innovation of Doctor Who has always been the concept of regeneration. When the 1st Doctor, William Hartnell, became too ill to keep playing the role, producers devised the idea of regeneration, which allowed the Doctor to renew his face and his body whenever he was killed.

This rendered the Doctor — and the show itself — essentially immortal. The Doctor could continually regenerate, and the show could continually recast its lead actor and reset itself every few years. It became the key to the show’s longevity and an essential part of the show’s creative DNA. And, 60 years later, Doctor Who just changed the rules of regeneration again.

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE END OF “THE GIGGLE”?

At the end of “The Giggle,” the Toymaker has revealed himself as the mastermind behind the insanity that has taken over humanity. He has somehow escaped his domain and entered reality, allowing him to manipulate reality to suit his twisted games. Wreaking havoc at UNIT headquarters, he turns bullets into flowers and kills UNIT soldiers by turning them into balloons. Worst yet, he takes control of UNIT’s Galvanic Beam, a giant alien laser that he starts to aim at the rest of the world, threatening their ultimate destruction. Then, to goad the 14th Doctor (David Tennant), he points the crosshairs at Kate Stewart (Jemma Redgrave), Mel Bush (Bonnie Langford), and Donna (Catherine Tate).

But the Doctor demands that he take issue strictly with him — the 1st Doctor beat the Toymaker all those years ago, so they should even the playing field with another game. The Toymaker acquiesces, suddenly shooting the Doctor through the chest with the Galvanic Beam. The Doctor begins his regeneration, the familiar yellow light glowing around his face as Mel and Donna grab his hands. But something strange happens — the light stops. The Doctor recognizes that this regeneration isn’t like past ones, and tells Mel and Donna to pull at his arms. They do, and he splits into two, into the 14th Doctor (Tennant) and the 15th Doctor (Ncuti Gatwa).

WHAT IS BI-GENERATION AND WHY IS DAVID TENNANT STILL AROUND?

What is happening? “Bi-generation,” according to the 15th Doctor. Bi-generation is a completely new concept for the show, though the 15th Doctor explains that the idea existed but “it was just a myth!” Both 14 and 15 are still the Doctor with the Doctor’s memories and abilities, but they can co-exist, even getting their own TARDISes (15, notably, gets a cool jukebox in his). Now the 14th Doctor and the 15th Doctor can go on their own adventures, though 14, shouldering all the pain and guilt from his past adventures, is urged to settle down for a little with Donna and his family.

There are still a few mysteries left to be answered with this newfangled bi-generation. Does this mean that when 14 dies, he can still regenerate? Does he still have two hearts as a Time Lord, or is he closer to human, like the last time showrunner Russell T. Davies pulled this dual-David Tennant trick in 2008’s Season 4 finale “Journey’s End”? And why did this face come back? Donna’s theory is that it was the Doctor’s way of dealing with all the pain he never was able to process, by going back to a familiar face so that he could settle down with an old friend. And with 14 apparently settling in for early retirement with the Noble-Temple family, this seems to be the case. But it’s unlikely that he’ll stay retired for long.

With this new canon-shattering change, Tennant is essentially given free rein to continue his adventures as the Doctor, separate from Gatwa’s 15. And with showrunner Russell T. Davies itching to expand the Whoniverse into a mega-franchise on par with Marvel, a Tennant-led 14th Doctor spinoff seems like something “The Giggle” is setting us up for. But hopefully, Tennant bouncing around the universe in his own TARDIS (likely with Catherine Tate in tow) doesn’t take away any shine from Gatwa’s historic upcoming era as the 15th Doctor. But whatever the case, the universe just got a whole lot bigger and full of potential. Allons-y!'

#The Giggle #David Tennant #Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #Ncuti Gatwa #Donna Noble #Catherine Tate #Journey's End #William Hartnell #The Toymaker #Neil Patrick Harris #Kate Stewart #Jemma Redgrave #Melanie Bush #Bonnie Langford #UNIT #Bi-generation #Russell T. Davies

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sizhui · 4 months

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Something im happy (for deeply personal sad reasons) to write about in the kagami comic is the situation of kagami being a partial clone of omois daughter who died over a decade ago. Its deeply shocking for omoi to have his prepubescent daughter come back as an adolescent boy with nothing inbetween. This is amplified by omois deep revulsion towards sexuality and the human body that stems from his sexual abuse. Omois daughter in life represented perfect purity to him, and even though her death destroyed him, in a way it helped preserve an image of his daughter as an eternal, unsullied child which brought omoi comfort... he was still able to believe that some good came out of the experiment. but now suddenly he has an older boy wearing his daughters face, a boy with an adult body with all that entails, a boy who though inexperienced with physicality takes a curious interest in morbid eroticism - as though to spite omoi. He spends the entire first act trying to mould kagami "back" into the little girl that he never was, only to have the illusion shattered at the end when he finds out that the course of the experiment defiled and impregnated his daughter before her death in order to start the clone peoduction. Omoi is disgusted to the breaking point and fights kagami in an attempt to kill him. He eventually destroys the laboratory and all the other clones but cannot bring himself to kill kagami upon realizing that kagami was raped by Maho. Omoi attempts suicide, but kagami possesses him and physically destroys the matter of his brain containing memory of his daughter, leaving omoi alive but severely impaired.

Kagamis relationships to Maho and Sho-chan will also be good to write about although not as interestijf as the parenthood dilemma. Sho-chan is a cishet man who was in love with omois daughter when they were both young, and never accepted her death, deluding himself with daydreams of the girl coming back as an adult who could be his partner... but when she finally does "return" it is as a man. Sho-chan finds himself extremely drawn to kagami, and though reluctant at first, they eventually bond only for sho-chan to shyly ask kagami if he could shapeshift into a female body for him. The words "it's just two bumps and a hole, it's no philosophy" completely ruins kagamis trust in him, because everything that sho-chan and others previously affirmed to kagami about his personhood is fatally challenged by the idea that he will become desirable if he becomes more like a dead woman than a living man. Sho-chan and kagami never managed to be friends again afterwards.

Maho is just a sad woman who toys with others to affirm her own crumbling existence. I never see jirai onna characters who are presented as more than the aesthetic and actually embody that very grim, toxic and miserable lifestyle. She is disgusted with kagami being essentially a mass produced good (which brings out a slight irony as women wearing hear style, girly kei, are often called 'mass produced types') initially she refers to kagami as an "it" and once dresses him in her clothes trying to humiliate him, but eventually begins coercing him into a relationship. What happens is kind of depressing so ill leave it for the comic.

Anyway, this comic is more or less my meditation on transmasculinity, personhood and sexual trauma. But with punching and fighting.

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

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Saul Silva x reader - This empty space

Part two:

You opened the book and turned it around, showing them the old map.

“Before I tell you anything, let me explain. Over a thousand years ago there was ten realms. Solaria bordered Umbra. Solaria was half the size it was now, and the grounds you school is built on is the grounds where the first castle once stood.”

You turned the page to show them the castle.

“Umbra was a peaceful realm, mostly country. A few cities but it was mainly farmland. Ruled by a fair monarchy, one that would aid another if needed, and wished to live in peace. My family, the (L/N) family.”

“You’re a princess?” Stella asked shocked.

You shook your head.

“No. I am not the queen of what little land remains. Though I have no people under my rule. But that has nothing to do with this. Solaria was powerful, yes, but it wasn’t always the strongest, Umbra was. Shadow magic is what gives you the alternatives to your magic. Though mind, earth, water, fire, air and obviously light magic already existed it was basic. Shadow magic allows the user to use shadows and dark mist to their advantage, and ancient magic allowed us to learn your magic, add to it, create more uses.”

You sighed.

“Solaria felt threatened by this, and requested umbra stepped down. Gave up their land. And they refused, so Solaria declared a war. It lasted for nearly two hundred years three kings of umbra had fallen, the first to old age, the second to war injuries, and the third to illness.”

You turned a few pages in to the book to let them look at the history timeline.

“Umbra requested that Solaria gave a few days so the people could mourn their fallen king, and it was granted. It took two days to prepare and on the third day the funeral was held. The king of Solaria requested to attend, to learn about the illness that had befallen the young king. And he was allowed to attend, in hopes it would create peace between the two lands.”

You closed to book and they all looked at you.

“Solaria’s Prince was rued with bloodlust, he saw his chance to win the war, win his right to be king, and he took it. First, he shot his own father in the back, and ordered his army to kill everyone at the funeral, brining the whole nation to its knees as it capitol city burned to the ground, villages and farms were destroyed as Solaria took what it wanted.”

You pulled something from your pocket and set it in front of you. It resembled a pocket watch, yet it looked different.

“Prince Conrad of Umbra was furious, and fallen, and as such he summoned down what ancient magic he could, in a blinding rage he vowed that they would have their revenge. With the help of blood witches a cursed was placed, in which twelve kings will one day rise, and bring the nation to its knees. The first king would be the original king, the first king of Umbra, the second Conrad and who came after him until finally the last and twelve king would come to pass, and the curse would awaken.”

“When was the curse activated?” Terra asked.

“Just over twenty years ago. When my father was killed by Queen Luna’s order, a fire fairy sent to burn his home down with him inside. Each king will awaken in stages, you may be able to stop them from rising, but you will not stop the final king, Conrd, ruled by rage and bloodlust, he will be the final king to rise along with Umbra’s first king, and together they will burn Solaira.”

“Won’t they be like.. skeletons or whatever now?” Stella asked.

“No, the curse will give them their bodies back for the sake of this. But I’m order to do so they will need to kill someone in order to do so and take over that body, so you won’t know until they’ve kicked someone.”

You picked up the object in front of you, waving your hand in front of it, it clicked open, the front moving, and it revealed a small astronomical clock.

“The final two kings will rise when the same comet that passed the earth the night the curse was placed passes over once again. I’m not entirely sure when that’ll be.”

“This is clearly bullshit, why would they hide it from us if it’s true?” Stella scoffed.

“Why would they admit to the people that because of something your family did they’re all in danger of an ancient curse? Believe what you will, but I have no reason to lie.”

You put the little device back in your pocket again and pulled the book back towards you.

“So what did that message mean?” Musa asked.

“It means that in a months time, the first of the kings will rise. But it’s not what you’re thinking, the list is backwards, so the last king to die will be the first to rise. It will be my father.”

The students all looked to one another and you stood up.

“In order to defeat them you’ll need shadow magic, you may be able to just scrape by with the first few kings, but when you reach the last two there is no winning. Without shadow magic you will ultimately fail.”

“Then help us.”

You went to reply by closed your mouth when you heard the slamming of a cars doors.

“Give me my pillow back.”

Stella stood up, and tossed the pillow back through and you gathered them all, placing the book on top you set them aside and stretched a little bit.

“Get back here you three!” Farah hissed.

“We need answers.” Stella said.

“So you crossed the barrier?! What were you thinking?!” Saul hissed.

The three went back through and you stared at them leaving before you sighed.

“Bloom.”

The fairy stopped walking and everyone turned their attention to you.

Vanishing into mist, you came back with a small vile and walked over to the barrier and tossed it on the grass and she bend down to pick it up.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to beat the curse, my father never got to finish his research, but that will help you. When he rises, throw it at his feet, it will clear his mind, and pass his rage and bloodlust. He might be able to tell you.”

“Thank you.” Bloom smiled.

With that she went over to the car and climbed in, and you crossed your arms over your chest as you turned to the two adults staring at you.

“We saw your body…?” Farah asked confused.

“Well clearly it wasn’t my body was it?” You snapped back.

“(Y/N)…” saul whispered.

He started at you in utter shock and went to walk forward, but he was slammed back by a gust of air.

Your red eyes bore into his, just like they did that night, that night he thought you had died, that night he cried for hours until he couldn’t cry anymore.

They held they same burning anger, the same rage and disgust as you looked at him.

“Never come here again.” You said lowly.

Grabbing your things, you left and all Saul could do was stare at your back as you walked into the old castle and listen as the echo of the door slamming shut reached his ears.

Numbly he walked back to the car and said nothing while Farah was scolding the students, even as he walked back to his office when they got back and slowly sit down as he looked at the picture on his desk.

Your smiling face next to his as he kissed your cheek.

All Saul could think off was you, his thoughts consumed but you and wanting nothing more than to run back to the castle to get in his knees and beg for your forgiveness.

You sat on the sofa, staring into the fire as you slowly took your gloves off, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt to look at your arms.

It was getting worse, and you didn’t have much time left, you knew that.

Looking at the black veins you turned back to the fire and stared into it, and you could remember that night as clear as day.

The night you told Saul you loved him, the same night he chose to believe someone else over you and ignored the fact you had poured your heart out to him.

The rage built up inside of you, and you groaned a little in pain as you felt the intense burning inside of you and you took a deep breath to calm your emotions.

You were a ticking bomb, the more rage you felt, the worse it got, and the more magic you drew in from the world the more the infection spread.

Even if you wanted to help them, it would be too dangerous.

Getting up, you walked to the back of the castle, and to the small stone circle and walked into it.

Sighing, you sat on the floor and rested your hands in your knees and closed yours eyes, and your veins shone a faint black as you absorbed whatever shadow magic you could feel.

It was what your dad realised, if you take away the shadow magic, it would be harder to summon the full force of the forbidden magic

#fate the winx saga x reader #fate the winx saga #fate the winx saga x you #fate the winx saga imagine #saul silva #saul silva imagine #saul silva x you #saul silva x reader #saul silva x reader this empty space

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lorettapetrichor · 5 months

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being disabled was a lot like being gay or trans when i was growing up. i knew it existed. i knew their experiences contained certain elements abled and cishet peoples' didnt. but they were all kinda distant and not things i considered as something i could be or become. it felt a lot like a personal version of the "as long as its not my kid" defense except "as long as its not me." i didnt dislike the idea of me being gay, i actually loved it--the popular crowd at my school was in fact the gay friend group--and that makes sense in retrospect. it just wasnt an option that felt available to me. i hung out with the queer kids in middle school and spent so much time wondering if i was like them, but it was so foreign that i didnt even know how to conceptualize that difference from "theyre gay" to "im gay." they were like two different states and all those other queer kids out there were their own people while i was just me. and then lo and behold, skip ahead a few years later and im a queer nonbinary lesbian.

and like with queerness, i always knew disabled people were out there with different experiences, and that they too needed rights and acceptance--but even as my genetic chronic illness began presenting itself and my pain became worse and i began struggling more and more, i still suffered so much imposter syndrome. i was chronically ill, but of course i wasnt disabled! i didnt have to use a cane, i could get by without people knowing i was sick, and once again, i considered myself an outsider to that community because i couldnt imagine myself fitting in.

and its only set in recently that oh my god i am disabled and it does fuck me over just as much as the disabled influencers across social media i see vlogging their struggles. these days, most of my time at home is spent in bed. i can barely function enough to make it through school or even do my hobbies. its incredibly disheartening and discouraging and somehow, only once i see my lifelong dreams of my future put in peril by this shift in my life, i finally see myself as disabled.

i feel like i had an actual thesis to this but the brain fog has been kicking my ass lately--but really theres both just something to be said about the overlap of queer and disabled experiences and why so many queer people are disabled and vice verse because of the mindset these experiences put you into, and also the reminder that anyone can be disabled whether they appear to be or not (yes, even physically) as well as the fact that disability can happen at any age. im 17 and was diagnosed with ehlers-danlos at 16. there were signs throughout my life but over the past year and especially last months, its actually started to really really impact me more extremely negatively than before. i wrote this because i didnt have the energy to do the 6+ homework assignments i needed to do today so . idk it used up the rest of my energy and i might go to sleep very quickly after hitting post. bleh

#lore talks #ehlers danlos #disability #lgbtq #actually disabled

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bloodsworn-marshal · 8 months

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Writing Prompt: Fair Word Count: 1619

Changes had begun in earnest in recent months. As peace would preside over all of Eitherys following the Final Days, the realm had begun to install measures in place to ensure prosperity amongst its people and any remaining contempt between they and their neighbors. The realm over wished to draw in a breath of respite at long last.

No more war. No more loss. No more summonings of the eikons.

What busyness there was to be had came in the shape and form of improving their cities, their laws, the dividing gap between the social classes. Job opportunities arose at every corner. Refugees were able to choose to return to their homelands or find their place without remaining beggars on the street. Little by little, piece by piece, the Sultanate would work together to find the line that make all fair for each and every person.

Pipin, for one, had become a vital piece in terms of keeping the peace between monetarist and loyalist. His bargaining chip came not only with control over their military, but also with his negotiating and connections with the local tribes that was once held sour thanks to old monetarist’s laws. For his blood and sacrifice with keeping the talks at peace, he held much leverage when directing the discussions to a point without contention.

With his help and growing attention amongst the populace, his name had become commonplace on the average citizen’s tongue. For at long last, it would seem things were being pushed in favor of the little people. Lauded and praised, his presence gave rise to welcoming smiles and expressions of gratitude.

But also did it sow the seeds for those who would use his name for their own gains with ill intent…

---

One man in particular had begun to take advantage of Pipin Tarupin’s name. In his own visage, presenting himself as the flame general’s true father and kin. Begging for money and pity on the street-side, that his own son had abandoned him. Visiting the Hall of Flames daily to demand audience with said son for his share and acknowledgements. Each time denied or put off for a potential next, with each dismissal giving further fire for the lalafellin man to besmirch Pipin’s name further.

One thing was true: They certainly was his biological father. And nothing more. Was being the key word.

The only thing that man truly desired at this point was taking advantage of his son’s rising fame for his own use, getting coin to further fund his gambling addictions and worse yet—fund latest criminal schemes that Pipin already had a hunch was being performed in the background.

Either way, Pipin was wary to ever meet him in person nor alone without some safeguards in place. Else he’d go off something fierce against the man—he loathed him with every fiber of his being.

He knew he’d have to take care of him someday. Once and for all. And hopefully behind the bars of a gaol cell. In the deepest pits if he were lucky.

---

Just one’s luck though. No matter how hard Pipin tried to snuff out the man’s existence from his thoughts, he ended up crawling out regardless. Snaking his way in to a point where a fight would soon be had between the two.

He caught him today giving the same spiel to some passerby’s. But not just anybody of a passerby… but his eternal bonded wife of all person’s.

Adede stood there talking to him. Clearly looking uncomfortable. His bio father happened to recognize her and was currently trying to win her favor. Give his pity party of woe is me, abandoned by prosperous son who forgot all about him, that he was successful and leaving his kin to rot. The usual rhetoric he gave to others. But specifically did he target Adede, watching her movements, laying his woes on thick.

Pipin was livid upon witnessing it from far, striding right forward to intervene before it got further out of hand. He would be having none of this.

“You are disrupting the peace of the streets yet again.” He warned as he approached, sliding up and putting himself between he and Adede. To the point where the guy could only face Pipin now.

The man groaned and whined about this and that, making excuses, that he had done nothing of the sort… same old same old before eventually walking away with a look of disdain. Pipin made certain that Adede was alright, that nothing happened in particular. To which she assured him all was fine..

…But it was not fine. And it was high time Pipin came to blows with his biological father with a heavy hand.

…

When next the man attempted to be granted meeting with the flame general, Pipin allowed for it promptly. If only to be able to get his hands on him in close quarters, where none would interfere. Not only that, he had given the order for the man to be brought in soon regardless. He was suspected of a new recent criminal investigation.

And this time they had proof.

Minutes passed and soon he was brought to Pipin’s office quarters. Huffing and raving that the soldiers had manhandled him, how dare they treat a citizen as such, so on so forth. Pipin merely gave him a look and told him to be seated. This would not take long.

“Have no mistake. I did not call you in here to listen to your prattling. I’ve heard your sob story enough times as it is. Do not try it with me.” He steepled his hands together, folding his fingers in between one another and resting his chin on the bridge. Not please at all from the looks of it.

“Then what did you call me in for, huh!? And here I thought you were finally going to accept me! Your wife sure appeared accepting, sympathizing even. Have you even told her the full truth, how you left me alone so you could cling on the coattails of another.”

“You dare assume I don’t know the actual truth?” Pipin’s eyes flared, roiling in flame. “How you sold my very name and papers for a bag of coin that wouldn’t last longer than a week’s worth of drink?”

“Don’t act as though I haven’t done the same many times over. I gave you jobs! And if trouble ever happened as it did, you always came crawling back and we’d do the same all over again.”

“Ah yes. The scams you put me up to, hmm?” His eyes were narrowing in at this point. “And you assumed I’d do the same again. Except you sold my everything to the Bloodsands. There was no coming back after that. I would have perished a pitiful death, if not for the luck of the Twelve that I was claimed before that time.”

He’d done him a favor in fact. For if that had never happened, Pipin never would have met Raubahn and bonded as they did. But that would not save him from the fact that he had sold off his son for death.

“But you didn’t!” The man crowed, acting as though it were no big deal. “And in fact, you earned much from the experience! You should be thanking me!”

At this point Pipin looked right ready for murder. Until the man had the gall to switch topics.

“Fine lady you have there, hmm? I cannot wait to meet my soon to be grandchildren. That’s my grandchild she’s got inside of her.”

“There will be no such meeting.” Pipin slammed a fist upon the desk. Glaring daggers at the other. Though Adede was yet to be showing all that much, he must have seen the signs and how she covered her stomach. “That child will have nothing to do with you. Nor will you be around for too much longer.”

“Eh? And what the hells do you mean by that!? I have my rights!”

“The rights that you sold off a long time ago?” Pipin held up a finger at this point and produced a stack of papers. “Well now it is my turn. After repeated defamation of my name and investigation upon your person, we found that you are guilty of extorting large amounts of sum from the populace. Not only that, one of your compatriots squealed on your recent ongoings. Throwing your lot in with a criminal organization wasn’t your most brightest of ideas.”

“How did you—You have no proof—”

“Witnessed by my own men and admitted by those you’ve conned in hopes of a lesser sentence. You’ve been outed.”

The man jumped out of his seat, panicked and rushing for the door. But beyond the door, two troops lie in waiting. Taking him by either arm and lifting him into the air to keep from running.

“Take him away. I have heard enough and will not suffer his face any longer. You will be given a fair trial before ere long, so make sure to write up your next pity act before then.”

“You’ll pay for this! You will be founded for corruption and putting behind bars your own kin for your own gain!!”

His cries would fall on deaf ears however. For today Pipin would be ridded of the one final piece from the past that continuously haunted him. No longer would he have to face him on the streets. And full well did it lighten his heart to know that neither would his family.

They would grow in this new era of peace. And never will they need to worry about where their next meal would come from, nor fear for their lives as he once did.

#ffxiv #pipin tarupin #pipdede #writing #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023

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violet27writes · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 10: Scaring

(Continuation of day 6: Mind control and Forced to hurt someone else, here)

Also on AO3 Here.

---

From the moment he woke up, Warriors felt that something was wrong. Terribly so. Not including the headache.

The first indication of that was the fact that he was laying on his bedroll in his chainmail.

The second was the fact that all eyes were on him when he sat up.

Even Sky, who was notorious for sleeping in and being nearly impossible to wake, was sitting next to the fire, intently watching.

“Good morning.”

Warriors turned to the familiar voice next to him. Time sat beside the bedroll with his sword, oiling the blade.

“...Morning.” His own voice sounded dry and almost unused in return. Which was also strange, as he generally didn’t have a ‘morning voice’ unless he had overused it the day before. What had he done… yesterday? His mind only drew a blank.

Time didn’t seem to take notice. “How are you feeling?”

The Captain frowned, why did he ask that? Was there a reason why he was feeling so off? He looked back up at the others, most of whom had gone back to whatever activity they had been engaged in. Twilight caught his eye with an unfamiliar expression, before turning away. “Uh, feeling a little off. I guess. My head kinda hurts.”

“To be expected,” He set his sword back in its sheath, “You were out of it for a time. Do you remember anything from that?”

With a shake of his head, Warriors drew his knees up to his chest. “Was I sick? What happened?”

“Something like that, yes.” Time stood. “I’m just glad you’re improving. The others are pretty high strung at the moment, but they’ll be happy to see you too. Don’t think too hard about it.”

He watched as Time walked away.

‘Cryptic Old Man.’

---

Now, weeks later, Warriors had been able to fall back into a familiar rhythm. The others, however, did not.

They were distant, careful, always keeping an eye on him like he was bound to drop dead any minute now. They were anxious, alert at the sound of a twig snapping. There was no denying that. The only question was why?

His questions were left unanswered when he brought it up, and he tried to not push too hard, but if it was him they were worried about- Shouldn’t he get to know why? Was he so ill before that his existence had been so thin? Had his life been hanging on a thread? Were the others literally waiting in fear of something overtaking him again? Things just weren’t adding up.

So, during Time’s night watch on the first shift, he asked.

Time stared into the fire, a bitter laugh sounding before he finally answered. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you.”

Warriors frowned, but gestured for the older to continue.

“It had been a simple battle, ‘too easy,’ as you had put it. You were double checking the battle field when something just… overtook you. Not physically, but mentally.” He glanced at the Captain. “It wasn’t you, but something took control and attacked. Us.”

What? “I…attacked you guys? Was anyone hurt?”

“Thankfully, no, not seriously, at least. But hey,” Time grabbed Warriors by his shoulders and made him look him in the eyes. Plural. The scared one was looking into him too. “This was not your fault.”

Warriors pushed his hands off and stood. “Yeah right. And cuccos aren’t demon birds.”

Time followed suit. “I’m serious, Captain. Would you blame me if I was in your shoes? What about if it was Sky, or the Sailor. They might say the same thing, but the facts ring true. It was not you who did the attacking.”

“Well you’re not in my shoes. What if I hurt one of them? What if, since they thought the battle was over, they weren’t ready to defend themselves?”

“We weren’t.”

He paused, “What?”

With a sigh, Time grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it up, leaving the other with a clear view of his torso. Along with the new, white scar that ran across it, from sternum to hip. After a moment, he let the tunic fall back into place. “And yet, who was the first to speak to you after you woke?”

The question hung in the air, a few heroes stirring from the conversation, but none fully woken from it.

“I would say I forgive you,” Time continued, “But there’s nothing to forgive. Do you understand?”

Warriors thoughts were racing- ‘The liar,’ ‘I hurt him,’ ‘How could he possibly forgive-‘ ‘this is why everyone is one edge.’

“Do you believe me?”

The silence quickly fell back into place.

(@ailesswhumptober)

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe time #linked universe warriors #whumptober #whumptober day 10 #ailesswhumptober2023 #scaring #continuation

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nolanscheeks · 1 year

Text

Non-Covid Illness (BB)

So I was supposed to go to the Canucks game against the Jets with my boyfriend but instead he decided it would be more fun to get BODIED by the flu. While he spent the day on the couch in a fever haze I saw that Brock and Petey are also getting bodied by the flu so I thought up this. Its extremely loosely based on real life (ie Brock being out sick) and very heavily based on the past few days with my boyfriend. Needless to say I am manifesting health for my love, Brock, Petey and the rest of us. So wash your hands, (wear a mask if thats your vibe, get your flu shot (if that’s your vibe), sleep, and take your vitamins because OH MY GAWD you do not want this flu, it is awful.

Enjoy:)

To say it had been a rough season for the Canucks so far would be an understatement. The highs had been essentially non-existent and the lows had been pretty low. The whole team was suffering but the player who seemed to be getting the brunt of it was your boyfriend. Brock had been absent to start the season due to injury, then missed another chunk of time when he re-injured himself, and through it all had been bombarded with trade speculations and even an attempted healthy scratch. Worst of all, here he was finally uninjured and getting his groove back and now he was sick. Not the ‘feeling rundown, got a cold in’ kind of sick everyone gets this time of year. He was the ‘fever, can’t move, want to curl up and die’ kind of sick.

Brock had left for Calgary on Wednesday morning in a great mood, excited for the one game trip against the Flames and then a few days off to start the Christmas festivities with you and your family. You’d actually been on FaceTime with your mom and brother, figuring out a time everyone could go to the Christmas market, when Brock’s call came through.

The moment you accepted his call and his face filled the screen, you could tell he was off. He told you that he’d felt off since he’d woken up, not hungry and slow during morning skate, and then it was downhill from there. Brock said he’d gone down for his pre-game nap and then couldn’t will himself to get out of bed after it. He texted the trainer who came and took a look at him, told him he had a fever, gave him Tylenol and left him with instructions to ‘sleep it off’. You sympathized as needed and stayed on the call with him until he inevitably nodded off again. Elias delivered Brock to you later that night and the sight of your boyfriend visibly shivering, despite his jacket and hat, broke your heart. He didn’t kiss you ‘hello’, like he always did, or even greet the dogs. He just pushed past you and beelined it for bed, shoes and all. You’d looked at Elias, concern written all over your face. “He’s doing bad” was all he said, giving you Brock’s bag. You thanked him and went to the bedroom to help Brock undress, or at least take his shoes off which was all he was willing to do. You’d gone to bed hoping he was going through the worst of it now and would feel better in the morning but the next few days showed you that was wishful thinking.

The doctor had come to see him Thursday evening and tested him for a bunch of things, hoping they could prescribe something to get him back on his feet but Brock was shit out of luck. The only test that came back positive was the flu so there was nothing to do but wait for his body to fight it. Of course, he could go to the hospital if he got too ill but so far you’d been able to keep his fever down and he was taking in fluids so the doctor didn’t think it was necessary.

So here you were, Friday midday and the big event for the day was Brock moving from the bed to the couch. He was on his side somewhere between asleep and awake, unconscious but not alert either, when you kneeled in front of him.

“Hey” you breathed out, bringing your hand up to touch his cheek. You really didn’t want to disturb him but it was time for more Advil and he needed to drink something.

“Hi” he whispered back, opening his eyes to look at you. The look in his eyes physically hurt you. They were usually so bright and lit up when he saw you, but now they looked glazed over. Glassy with fever and dull with exhaustion.

“Time to do drugs” you joked trying to lighten the mood, as you rattled the pill bottle in front of him.

“I hope you got the good kind” he chuckled weakly, pushing himself into a seated position.

“Only the bed for you baby” you said, giving him the 2 pills and following it up with a Gatorade. “Got these bad boys from the best dealer in town.”

“Whole Foods?” he guessed, taking them and continuing to sip the Gatorade after you motioned for it.

“Shoppers” you corrected.

“Cheapo” he teased, laying back down. Now it was your turn to let out a small chuckle. If anyone was cheap, it was Brock. You transferred from the floor so you were sitting next to him on the edge of the couch. You brushed his hair out of his face, twisting some of it around your fingers. He was still warm and kind of clammy like he’d been since Elias had dropped him off. You sighed, pissed at whatever monster strain of Influenza was absolutely kicking your professional athlete boyfriend’s ass and a little disappointed you guys had missed out on the Christmas market with your family.

“What?” he asked, turning his head to look up at you.

“I’m just so sorry you’re sick like this.”

“Believe me, I don’t like it either but it was my turn” he grabbed your hand from his hair and kissed it sweetly. Brock held your hand for another minute before letting go and letting his eyes close once again.

You stood up, collecting the bottle of Advil you’d put on the ground and went to make your way back to the kitchen when you heard Brock say something muffled.

“What was that, B?” you asked.

“Make sure you wash your hand” he repeated, shoving his face back in the blanket. You cracked a smile, he’d been so cute reminding you to wash your hands, like that was going to make the difference when you guys were sleeping in the same bed and the night before he’d literally been laying on you.

You made your way to the kitchen looking for something to occupy yourself with while Brock slept. You decided you may as well start making dinner, maybe you could bully Brock into eating something more substantial than the third of a smoothie he’d managed today. The doctor had emphasized the importance of nutrition to your guys during his visit but Brock was struggling to eat much of anything right now. You’d even offered to get him sushi or pizza but he’d had no interest. He was drinking at least.

An hour or so later, you had the chicken noodle soup you’d prepped simmering on the stove when you heard Brock’s phone start to buzz.

“Sup Petey” Brock answered, clicking ‘speaker’ on the call.

“Boes” came Elias’ voice, rougher than normal, “I am ill.”

“Fuck,” Brock slapped his hand over his face; “I’m sorry man. Didn’t mean to get you sick.”

“Not your fault” Elias conceded. You heard him sigh into the phone. “I should’ve been nicer to you after the Flames. This is terrible. I might die.”

“When did you start feeling sick?” Brock asked.

“Yesterday” Elias answered, “today is so much worse.”

“Yeah. I got bad news for you, I’m still dead so you’ve got a bit to go.”

You giggled, of course they were still joking with each other despite feeling so bad.

“Keep your flu to yourself next time” Elias scolded.

“I’ll try” Brock said, and then “seriously though, I’m sorry I got you sick bro, it really sucks.”

“You better be. Bruce and all of Vancouver are going to be mad at you if I am not healed by tomorrow.” Elias teased good naturedly. Brock sighed audibly and then they bid each other goodbye. You returned to the spot on the couch where you had been before, cupping his cheek with your hand. His skin still felt too warm and you were beginning to worry about his ability to play in the next night’s game, as well as Elias’.

Brock must have read your mind because he spoke softly; “I hope I feel better tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you agreed. “But if you don’t you don’t and you take another day.”

He nodded at that, letting you continue to caress his cheek.

“Are you hungry? I made soup and it should be ready soon?” you asked.

“Not really,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “I should probably eat though.”

“Definitely a good idea. Maybe some water or Gato too.”

“Oh my god, Y/N. You did not just call it Gato” Brock laughed, sounding exasperated. You returned the giggle and then stood up, reaching a hand out to help him up. As you walked with him to the kitchen you thought he might be starting to turn the corner towards wellness. He had been joking with you earlier about the Advil, was joking with you now, and he did look steadier on his feet. Plus he was willingly making his way to the kitchen for food. You decided to take this all as a good sign that your boyfriend was finally starting to feel better. Maybe tomorrow’s game wasn’t such a long shot.

After dinner Brock continued to improve, even wanting to take the dogs out for their evening walk with you but you insisted he get ready for bed instead. The next morning his fever was virtually gone so he decided to go to morning skate and you took the opportunity to sanitize the entire apartment glad to have the whole flu situation behind you. You had even gone as far as picking an outfit to wear to the game when Brock came home and you realized it had definitely jumped the gun.

“That was a mistake,” Brock grumbled, flopping onto the couch. “I feel like shit again.”

“Too much too soon?” you proposed, unfolding a freshly washed throw blanket to place over him again.

He hummed a yes in response and then “I wanted to play tonight but I don’t think I have the energy.”

“I know you did,” you acknowledged, feeling his forehead with your hand. He was maybe a little warm but nowhere near what he had been. “Get some sleep. Your body is still recovering from being so sick. It might take a few days”

“Such BS,” Brock mumbled. He has already closed his eyes, seemingly getting ready for yet another nap. You leaned down and kissed his cheek before returning to your closet to put your outfit away. You could go to the game without him but you also didn’t hate the idea of watching it cuddled up on the couch with Brock.

Brock woke up from his nap feeling much better again but you guys decided that it was probably best he didn’t play. After a call with the trainer, you guys set up on the couch with the dogs and take out sushi.

“Thanks for taking care of me babe” he said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in tight. “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

You laughed tilting your head up so you guys could make eye contact. “Absolutely, anything for you.” You puckered your lips for him to kiss and your heart filled with warmth as you felt his lips make contact with yours.

Hope you liked it. No shade to Shoppers drug mart. There's one in my building and it was been my best friend the last few days. Stay healthy!

#brock boeser work #brock boeser fanfic #Brock Boeser fic #brock boeser x reader #nhl writing #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader

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z0m813 · 5 months

Text

there are many complexities to being human, and as such, i feel gravely unprepared.

it's hard not to get lost navigating these towering walls of flesh and muscle. i've learned to utilize the ancient art of mimicry; it seems the only way to live among people is to closely imitate them. maybe if i blend in, they won't be able to lock in on my weaknesses, the slight wobble of my knees or hitch in my breath as i speak. since a young age, i've invariably been better off as an observer rather than the observed.

an un-ending lesson on existing, always watching the world move around me. i try to apply the newfound knowledge i gain in studying them, but it seldom works. an ill-fated attempt to fit in, my unnatural movements and abnormalities give me away even to the casual viewer. they see under my skin into something much more visceral, no matter how hard i work to hide it from the onlookers.

as an avid student of the anatomy i find myself surrounded by, i started working in a hospital. the nurses saw my eyes peering through the glass panel separating me from them, soon inviting me inside to watch them work. as i looked over the surgeon's shoulder, he dropped something into my gloved hands. i hold a portion of this older lady's small intestine, a minor causality of deoxygenated tract, dead by hernia. as the doctor worked to resection what remained, i found myself stuck to the stool i stood on, staring down into this fleshy beating tissue, warm and soaked with all the familiar liquids of the inner body.

i somehow felt closer to this unnamed woman in this moment than any other warm body i'd ever encountered in life. the intricacies and details of this machine we call man had taken me captive. i break them down, piece by piece, studying the mixed components of the bodies around me; it's the only way i can make sense of it all. these precious figures are worth much more to me when displayed under bright lights on a pedestal than when they are parading themselves around in the ultimate dance of guilt and shame and lies.

i glance to them as i walk throughout my day, these strangers surrounding me, suffocating me. suddenly i am eight again, looking up at my adversaries that tower over me. puzzles waiting to be solved, enigmatic and taunting. i study them as they would an alien species, or perhaps roadkill to the side of their driveway. is this how they see me? i feel transparent, naked. i don't like being so seen, it's when they're most able to break me down to my core components of which the world is not ready to see.

abominable student of human conduct and vivisection, i walk among them, unholy monster, unknown beast. someday i'll outgrow this maggot filled and blood stained anthropoid costume of mine that keeps me concealed, and they'll finally turn to look at me with a disgust i never quite learned to grasp; with a hatred and contempt i will never fully understand. for they speak a language far beyond the comprehension of an animal who must lunge into the rotted innards its neighbors to just to learn them but then cower in fear of what it discovers.

#poetry #spilled ink #z0m813 #quotes #prose #spilled thoughts #poem #writing #am i inexplicably abhorrent or just autistic?

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yourveryownkarma · 10 months

Text

This was composed so many times and lost over and over again or accidentally deleted and it's been scraped and pieced together for about a year now and I always lock it in my notes and save it everytime I re-do it. I think it is now time to let all of you go; and unlock this from my clipboard and give my heart the freedom to be happy again.

I think it took so much of me to be the caregiver I always wished I had, for you... and I may never get that, but maybe you can get what you need if someone has the blueprints of all I learned with you...

As any other vapid girl, it must start with a quote, one I've found fits and it does it beautifully, at least for me.

"They all turned their backs on us because they knew if we held on tight to eachother... we were something fatal... but we fell into the wrong hands."

To the girl who loves him next;

I fucked shit up to the point of no return and the boy this letter is about deserves what I had the potential to give him... had I not been battling demons stronger than myself at the time.

If the first time you meet him it feels like you're in fucking 6th grade meeting your new best friend, talking a mile a minute and never wanting to sleep because you're so excited you found someone this amazing... (I think we spent 3 sleepless days and nights talking and falling so quickly in love it was worse than some freak hurricane, it caught me by surprise and to this day i know ill never laugh that hard again or be that happy again) then listen please, for everything that is holy please just read this a million times so he finally can have the life he deserves. I promise he is worth every fight every melt down every public scene... I fucking swear on it, but you won't know if you don't learn how to help him out of these situations.

The first few times it's going to seem like a fucking nightmare. Please stop and understand me when I say this... "imagine how he feels". As humans we are not very good at seeing beyond our own selfish existence, so it's going to take some actual effort, he's fucking worth it.

Learn his triggers and listen to what the fuck he's saying even if it sounds crazy to you, listen to those words because there's meaning behind them. It's not just to freak out its not just to embarass you and its certainly not Any fun for him. Keep cold water with you for these moments. He needs it to drink and splash his face with.Do not be afraid to jump in a cold shower with him with your clothes on, because no matter how shitty it sounds now... it's some of my favorite memories to look back on, being able to calm him and hear what he is trying to say because you've learned how to help calm him and you've become that much closer. I would sing to him, i wont give the details of that song or that part as its something i want ro keep to myself, it was my favorite song and i havent listened to it or sang it since the day i droppwd him off at the airport.

Don't lie to him, however fragile his ❤️; it can withstand the hard truth, but the sugar coated lie is a slap deep into his soul, please don't break his trust. It's so sacred and beautiful. I know right now you don't think you can handle him, and I'd love to be selfish and tell you to send him on an airplane to me because I miss my best friend and lover, but if you stick this out... he will make you the happiest girl in the whole world. I know from experience. Please do not hurt him. Because if I find out about this, you will have alot bigger troubles than him not being able to let go. He is sensitive and messy and fun and sweet and chaos and perfection... but don't ever make him feel like he is not enough, he isnt... and don't ever make him feel like he's too much... he isn't. He is a perfect portion of all and he taught me how to love myself and he taught me patience in the purest form.

If you give up easily, you can come join my sad club...

Yours truly, GHOSTGIRL (R.I.P. DEVIL GIRL)

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kelliecthulhu · 2 years

Text

Comfort

I seem to have a season pass on the Struggle Bus so this is just self-indulgent angst and fluff? Please don’t @ me if you think I got a character wrong its angsty most people are gunna be little shits

Notes: Angsty gender-neutral reader, established relationship with Trey and Deuce (separate), happy ending tho :)

Warnings: Descriptions of depression, anxiety, disassociation, and attempted underage drinking

(I'm fiiiiiiiine sometimes just gotta purge the sad out by writing) Okay, but for real if anyone gets worried seriously I'm mentally way better than the fic sometimes it's just nice to feel strong emotions if that makes sense?

Trey

Even before you were thrown into Night Raven College you know you struggled with anxiety and mental illness. You don't remember if it had ever gotten this bad though. Funnily enough, your anxiety had been at peak levels so often your brain finally shut down. Now the loud static in your veins had turned to cold numbness. One moment your skin was too tight and the next, almost as if a switch had been flipped, soothing indifference flooded your senses. Instead of chewing your chapped lips every time Grim, Ace, or Deuce did something, you had a hollow smile. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest while also completely encompassing you. You chuckled thinking about the crescendo of music in a horror movie where there is that brief moment of silence before the climax. You existed in that purgatory between beats aware that at some point the music would come crashing down on you again but for now there was only blissful nothingness. The tipping point had been just a few hours ago in Crowley's office.

He claimed to be hard at work looking for a way to return you home while reminding you of his "generosity" and asking yet another favor in return. His polite smile curved up just a bit too high his eyes under the mask glowing with an ominous light. That moment was when you realized you would never go home. Every day felt like a battle to keep Grim in line so you could endear the headmaster to help you in your quest to go home. You realized that was all in vain because he had just shown his true colors. This was a school for villains and he would never give up his control over you. You had plastered a smile to your face and agreed to whatever he had asked while the last shred of hope combusted along with any self-preservation. As soon as you left his office you found the triad of trouble and decided that you would go along with whatever heinous plan they would come up with this time.

That is how you had been nominated to sneak into the Heartslabyul kitchen to steal your boyfriend Trey's fancy cooking wine. He had been one of the few reprieves since you were forced into this world, but now you didn't want to think about him. In the back of your mind, you knew he would be disappointed in you and that hurt worse than him being mad or even dumping you for your reckless behavior. The normal anticipation and dread from doing something so risky was gone, instead, you felt cool disinterest. You only agreed to this so you could have something to keep the ringing out of your ears and the buzzing of nerves at bay. You had been so focused on completing your task that you didn't hear the quick retreat of footsteps behind you or the slight rustle of clothes before you were plucked off the counter that you had been climbing to get to the alcohol. You didn't even register that you had failed at first. Your eyes were so focused on the cupboard that was now drifting further from view as you bounced over someone's shoulder. What a good metaphor for my life you thought as you were placed in a brightly lit bathroom. It was at that moment you noticed you had been caught by Trey.

"(Y/N) are you listening to me? What is going on I haven't been able to contact you all day and then I find you climbing the counter to get to my cooking wine. What has happened to you?" Trey has a flush color to his cheeks you've never seen before. He looks mad nothing like Riddle's anger but nevertheless, his breathing seems more shallow than normal and he has almost a feral look to his eyes. Weird, not how you had expected him to react. You honestly never thought the day would come when Trey Clover got upset. You then start to look around the space you're in instead of answering his questions. You aren't trying to ignore him but you also don't want to release the feeling of control you have with your detachment. You float in your mind as an observer of your life right now not really present but still controlling the camera. This has to be his bathroom you surmise. It is way too organized to be one of the lower classmen's and you see the array of teeth cleaning tool-

"WHAT THE FUCK" you scream as cold water is unceremoniously dumped over your head. Trey tosses the small cleaning bucked aside and grabs your shoulders panic seeping into his eyes and your anger dissipates. "Please just look at me," this time he pleads his hazel eyes glistening with tears. "Please say something, anything so I know you're in there little heartstopper. Why are you so far away when I am right here? What do you need just say the word and it is yours, just...just come back," Trey whispers the last part pushing hair out of his eyes and searching yours. Maybe it is his disheveled appearance, the slight shakiness of his words, or the warmth seeping from his hands to your shoulders but you break. Like a rubber band stretched too tight all of a sudden awareness presses back in on you. Your eyes burn with the flood of sensations and all you can force out is three words, "I'm scared Trey." Then you can't stop the tears or the sobs that escape your chest.

Trey heaves out a heavy sigh laced with relief and worry. He grabs a clean towel wrapping you in it before picking you up again to curl up on his bed. You are fully wrapped in his embrace with his faint scent of sugar cookies calming you. Slowly the static cacophony is replaced by his low warm voice whispering sweet nothings while he rubs steady circles along your back. You look up at him blurry-eyed and press closer. "(Y/N) I was so scared too. It was like watching a loved one slowly die except I couldn't figure out what was wrong, I still don't really. I wanted so desperately to reach you but each time I tried it felt like you were farther and farther away. Can you tell me what's going on even just a little bit? I love you, you know that? More than the smell of freshly baked bread or ripe strawberries," Trey adds with a small smile intentionally bringing up two of your favorite things. "Are you trying to make me hungry?" you ask fighting your own grin that had snuck up on you. "I would do no such thing," Trey defends, "Why would I ever purposefully bring up two of your favorite foods that your perfect boyfriend could make a reality?" his eyes try to bleed innocence while the corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk. You sigh and grab his hand looking away, "Okay I will tell you only if I also get tea with my treats." You swear you have never seen anyone light up with more purpose than Trey does in that moment. "For you little heartstopper I would try my best to give you the world on a platter if that was your desire." He holds your gaze for a few moments longer before pressing his lips to your forehead and pulling you into another tight hug.

Deuce

Tick. Tick. Tick. You couldn't get the sound of the clock or the scratching of pen on paper out of your head. Professor Trein had turned class into a study hall which meant everyone had to be silently taking notes. This had given you way too much time alone with your thoughts. Since you had been transported here every day made you feel like one of the tigers you had seen at the zoo. You had no magical talent yet were forced to attend classes and live here. Your basic needs were provided on the whim of the headmaster and that was determined by how well you could corral Grim which let's be real was almost never. You had to make sure you passed so Grim could get his wish of being a student. Your life and choices constantly were being determined by others while you had to sit back and let it happen. Just like those tigers the only world you now had was dictated by others. Tick. Tick. Tick. The methodical and steady rhythm made you more aware of your heartbeat. Was it in sync or going faster than the clock? Why could you start to feel invisible ants crawling across your skin? You could hear your pulse and breaths getting louder with each click of the clock hand. You had your book up high to cover the creeping panic attack threatening to taking you under.

You were too caught up in your spiral to notice Grim and Ace until it was too late. They were having an increasingly violent tug of war over a sheet of notes. Unfortunately their paper finally tore in half the lack of tension sending Ace into you and your book being flung from your grasp. The cherry on top of the shit sundae was the perfect arch it flew hitting Trein’s cat squarely in the face. “Mx. (Y/N)!,” Trein roared. “Detention and you will have disciplinary action taken against you for goofing off in my class yet again,” he continued his face getting red while he inspected his cat for injuries. You spun around trying to get the boys to fess up to their wrong doing but your boyfriend Deuce wasn’t in this class so no one was here to make them. No, like always you were now having to take care of a mess they caused but wanted no part in the consequence. When you rose your voice to try and plead your case that Grim and Ace had been the reason for your mishap no sound came out. “I do not need to hear excuses besides you are supposed to be SILENTLY studying what part of that has been made unclear? You will be expected to reflect on your poor behavior as well now sit back down.” Trein demanded leveling you with a look of pure malice for daring to put his pet in harms way.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The noise of the clock was only escalating the building panic you felt rising in your gut. You felt an urge to scratch at the prickles along your skin as if your body was no longer your own. Your eyes began to well up with tears as you begged the universe why is everything those idiots do my fault. You looked back at Ace and Grim trying to convey with your body language that they need to tell Trein the truth. Instead they both had their heads down pretending to be model students. “I will not ask you again, sit down,” Trein coldly repeated. Tick. Tick. Tick. Those three beats of the clock was all it took for your to run out of the classroom before Trein could do anything else to punish you. You sprinted as far away as you could trying to process the strange sensation of running and breathing hard without making a single sound. You didn’t want silence though you needed to scream to cry to let your voice get obliterated from the rage and dread building inside of you. The edges of your vision started to go dark as you felt yourself breathing harder and harder willing yourself to make any noise to ease the horror growing. What wouldn’t this cruel place take from you.

All of a sudden you are yanked from the ground into a rough hug. How had you ended up on the floor? Weren’t you just moving, but a worried voice interrupts your thoughts “(Y/N) what happened? I saw you running from my classroom window and then you collapsed. Is someone chasing you?” Deuce glares over your shoulder a bit of his past self leaking through his features in that moment as his face takes on a hard edge. You go limp in his arms as you lose whatever strength you had left as you are filled with relief and renewed anxiety at him seeing you. Not only had you never told your boyfriend about your mental blocks but you did not want him to see you lose your shit. Yet that was exactly what you were doing because the floodgate had finally been opened. Deuce gently lowers you both down but his concerned expression only grows as he realizes you aren’t making any sounds despite the tears and distress written on your face. He gently cups your tear stained face as he searches your eyes, “Sweetheart who did this to you?” Deuce asks again his eyes softening as he looks you over. You type in your phone explaining to him what happened via text. His eyes get angrier as he reads over what transpired and before you can blink he is up and striding in the direction of your classroom.

You scramble up shaking your head and pulling on his arm. You have seen this look only once and that was when Ace had made an inappropriate joke about Deuce’s mother. Deuce had reminded Ace that day who he used to be. Instead of pushing you away as you tried to stop him he grabbed your hand in his surprisingly gentle as his face hardened with every step. He slammed the classroom door open while still holding your hand. He gave a death stare at Grim and Ace letting them know later there would be words and probably violence but then his eyes went to Trein. You stood there confused as to what he could possibly do as Trein yelled at him for disturbing his class. “With all due respect teach go fuck yourself,” Deuce stated venom dripping off his tongue as he conjured a cauldron. It wasn’t aimed at the professor though the heavy object crushed Trein’s focus that had been sitting on his desk. As it broke so did his spell’s hold on you. You didn’t even have time to fully process what had happened before Deuce was pulling you back out of the classroom in a dead sprint. You both ran all the way to the hall of mirrors since it was one of the furthest places on campus. It was also one of the least visited areas since most people didn’t have any business to be there after the entrance ceremony.

After the two of you caught your breath Deuce pulled you against him your forehead touching his. “I think that is the most impulsive thing I have done since my delinquent days, but I can’t lie that felt so good,” he murmured his eyes alight in a chaotic joy. It wasn’t until that moment you noticed you had a smile on your face. “You’re right Deuce, what you did back there was amazing,” you confessed feeling a lightness in your chest that hadn’t existed since you got here. His eyebrow raise conspiratorially “Wanna do something even more fun? I think it will help with whatever has been troubling you lately. It’s what I used to do to let off steam.” His voice had slipped from its usual proper tone into an informal slang that got your heart rate accelerating this time for pleasurable reasons. You happily accepted and knew that whatever transpired between you two today would be a tomorrow problem. He stood up and offered his hand to help you up then he turned around and walked to the center of the room. “You ready?” he called with a wink. You had no clue what he was going to do but excitedly nodded your head, then he screamed. His voice echoed around the room but he didn’t stop. Deuce screamed until the need to breathe outweighed his desire to release his frustrations, then he spun around and threw a rock fast and hard at whatever mirror he was facing. The loud splintering of glass punctuated his wild display. He pushed his hair out of his face with a pleased huff his energy manic as he looked back at you motioning to join him, “Your turn doll.” You shivered at this unknown side of him and new pet name. This was a school filled with villians, time to damn well act like one. You nudged him aside and took a deep breath pulling all of your anxiety, fear, and frustrations together before releasing it out into the loudest scream you could manage. You shouted for what felt like a minute and an eternity. You stood there yelling until your throat was raw. When you opened your eyes Deuce had a devilish grin while his palm cupped a smooth rock. You plucked it from his hand and threw it as hard as you could right next to the mirror he broke. The sound of shattering glass filled your ears like music. You spun around and pulled Deuce into a kiss. You wondered if this is how the tigers at the zoo would feel if you had broken them out of their cages.

#twst x reader #trey clover x reader #deuce spade x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey x reader #deuce x reader #trey clover #deuce spade #twst x gn reader

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