#every once in a while I rewatch a few episodes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gg-pedro · 4 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 3) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 3: today, it would be sarah's 34th birthday. but today, tomorrow, and every other day, joel needs you.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, implied age gap, smoochin', gropin', mentions of death, joel grieves, joel sings, arguing/fighting (kinda), mental health discussions, lewdness, angst, heavy feelings (and there's more where that come from!)

words: 3.4k

a/n: man. can u tell I rewatched episode 1? i’m proud of this one. also, I hope this reaches my fleetwood mac lovers.

Joel, while in the middle of hauling a bag of horse feed over his good shoulder (and ‘good’ was being generous), realized he was getting old. This was the tenth revelation of the day, give or take. From when he forced himself out of bed onto aching joints, to when he hadn’t heard Ellie come up behind him in the kitchen, and most notably, to when he realized Sarah’s 34th birthday would’ve been today.

It didn’t sting anymore. Not after this long, not after 20 years. It didn’t even hurt.

It just ached.

He sloughed the feed into the trough, stepping back to catch his breath. He glided his hand over the pretty little mare that he usually took out. She seemed too small to not be a pony, but hey, equine standards had flown out the window 20 years ago along with everything else.

Tommy knew, too. He never forgot. Maybe that's why he patted Joel on the back at breakfast that morning and told him to go ‘take a ride’. Clear his head. They still had work to do today. The Earth never stopped spinning. Joel thought that by now, it should’ve.

To be fair, the date could’ve been a little off, but the air was that same lukewarm cold and the sun shone blinding in a clear blue sky the same way it did on the day Sarah was born. Winter was melting into a tepid spring in Wyoming, and Joel was still here to fucking see it.

For a second he wondered if his vision was going, too, having to do a double-take when he noticed you leaning against the wooden beam of the stall entrance.

“Jesus,” he mumbled. “Y’ever heard of knocking?”

You rolled your eyes. “Must’ve missed the door.”

“How’d you find me?” He asked, finally turning to really look at you. Irritatingly beautiful.

“Ellie,” you answered. “Said you were going for a joy ride.”

He sighed, coming over to wrap his arms just below the dip of your spine. “Kid couldn’t keep a secret if her fuckin’ life depended on it,” he grumbled, pausing afterwards to give you a slow kiss.

“I like the honesty. She’s got nothing to hide, especially if it has anything to do with you.” You grinned and fell right into his little ploy.

“Mmh. Lucky me.”

He had you backed against the wooden railing in an instant, his hand creeping up below your shirt and onto the soft skin of your waist. The touch raised goosebumps all over your body. You placed two hands on either side of his neck, gently, enjoying the way he was feeling you up with his lips glued to yours.

“Now? Right here?” You asked once you had the chance to break away from his mouth. “A little risky, Miller. Don’t forget, I’m still your worst kept secret,” you chided.

“No, not right here. And fuck you.” He pulled away until all but one hand was still stroking your side through your shirt.

“Likewise.”

And Joel loved you. Maybe not in the same way he loved Tommy or Ellie or Sarah, but still, he did. He loved your smart mouth, the way you blazed like a fire in bed with him, your natural talent, the way you made it all ache less.

And you did– make it ache less. That was reason enough.

He gestured to the horse that was a few feet away, still eating its breakfast. “You wanna join?”

“Can’t say no,” you said. “What’s the occasion? I thought they were strict about leaving for non-essential reasons.”

Joel was looking at you until he wasn’t, his gaze going right through you. He could tell you. He knew he could. You knew about his daughter and you still never brought it up. You’d lost people too, he knew that. He could tell you and you would bring him into your arms and say something like, I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m here. I’m here if you need me.

He would tell you. But not today.

He shrugged and pressed a kiss into your hairline. “Just another day. I want you to come.”

“Alright, then.” You nodded towards the guitar sitting in the corner of the stall. Dark stained wood around the edges fading into a lighter mahogany. It was beautiful. “Bringing that, too?”

“Yeah, why not. Here, let me help.” He grabbed it and lifted it over your head, situating it so that the body of the guitar was resting against your back. “You ever played?”

You shook your head. “No. Good thing you do.”

He brought the horse out into the open, making sure he still had everything important– a gun in his pocket and a broken watch on his wrist. He helped you up onto the saddle, sitting behind him and flush with his back.

Outside the walls, It was a beautiful day. The sun had melted away the heavy snow on the peaks of the rolling hills, the first kiss of spring. New life, grass that had started to green. You had your arms wrapped tightly around Joel’s middle, face pressed against the back of his shoulder. The fields seemed boundless. You hadn’t realized just how infinitesimally small your world had grown since being in Jackson.

“Are there usually infected around here?” You asked.

“Not really. The valley helps. We’ll stay out in the open, don’t worry, baby.”

You didn’t even have to ask. The little tour he was giving you around the east end of the fields was mostly an effort to case the surrounding area, his senses on high alert for anything dangerous. The truth was, this place was secure. Still, Joel would move mountains to keep you safe. Would do anything. He’d made mistakes in the past that he wouldn’t let happen again. Couldn’t.

After a loop around the outer wall, riding with a mixture of the horse's friendly canter and Joel intentionally speeding her up to scare the shit out of you and make you hold on tighter to him, he settled on a plateau at the top of a hill, a few steps away from the thick evergreen forest.

After helping you off the mare and spreading out the woven blanket he had rolled up on the back of the saddle, Joel sat down with a heavy sigh. You tied the lead to a low tree branch where the horse seemed content to roam. After, you pulled the guitar over your head and handed it to him.

It was still early in the day, and the sun was barely cresting over the hilltops from this view. 10:42 AM. That’s when his daughter was born. He looked down at the broken face of his watch out of habit, even though the thing had been broken for years at this point.

You dropped down next to him and your head immediately connected with his shoulder. Looking over at him, his eyes were far away and glassy. “What’re you thinking about?”

Joel shook his head and pressed a slow kiss into your forehead. “Nothin’. Just wondering what I should play.” He brought the guitar into his lap and strummed it a little, pausing to tune the top string down half a step. “Feel like I gotta impress you.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head. “You don’t have to. Who’d you used to listen to?”

“Oh, Jesus…” he had sort of let go of the fond memories he had of old music. With you, though, he was starting to miss it. “Some Zeppelin, some Billy Joel, Pearl Jam… Nirvana was just gettin’ good, too. Lots of Chet Atkins when I was younger.”

You just smiled, moving your hand to stroke his knee. “None of that surprises me.”

“You like Fleetwood Mac?” he asked after a while. “Stevie Nicks, always one of my favorites. My daughter’s, too.”

Your heart hurt a little at that. Joel had never brought up the daughter he’d lost with you. You kissed his shoulder as he started picking the strings to the tune of Landslide, that gentle back and forth that you hadn’t heard in more than 20 years.

“That's a good one, baby.”

You still remembered the lyrics. He did, too.

I took my love, I took it down

I climbed a mountain and I turned around

And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills,

‘Til the landslide brought me down

Joel’s playing wasn’t perfect. He’d picked the guitar up again a few times in the last couple weeks, but before that, it had been a lifetime ago. On that radio station in Austin, The Best Of The ‘70’s, this one would come on all the time. Sarah would grin and sing her best rendition, as loudly as possible, always egging Joel on to join in too. Sometimes he would, but not always. He regretted that.

He thought your voice was beautiful. Clear and bright. His voice was probably an octave below yours, gravelly and out of practice. The two of you mixed together like honey into whiskey.

Oh, mirror in the sky,

What is love?

Can the child in my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

He would’ve liked to scoff at that. There's nothing to do but handle it. Push forward and deal. He didn’t die on September 26th, 2003, despite his best efforts and no matter how much he wanted to. He was here with you. Singing with you, laughing through the verses, watching the sun light up your eyes. And for that? A part of him had to consider himself a lucky son of a bitch.

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to make a life with you. The extent to which he could see that to fruition, he wasn’t sure. Everything was uncertain. He didn’t even deserve it. Nothing he had done over the past 20 years was worthy of you. But fuck, he could be good. If he tried, maybe, he could be good for you. And trying? It’d be worth it.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘Cause I’ve built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I’m getting older, too

Joel had to stop singing. Tears were swelling in his dark brown eyes and one wrong move would break the entire dam of emotions. He kept playing, though, into the second chorus, happy to listen to you.

Well, I’ve been afraid of–

“Joel?”

You turned away from the landscape to look at his face. Tears were streaking his cheeks, his eyes staring straight ahead of him. You didn’t say anything– you took the guitar out of his arms and brought him into yours instead. You rubbed slow circles into his flannel-clad back, holding him tight as his shoulders sagged and shuddered with every shaky inhalation.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry," he managed to say.

“It’s okay, Joel. You’re okay. It’s just me, you know I don’t mind. I got you, come on, just get it out.”

You had your own guesses as to what was getting to him so bad. You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t pry. He wouldn’t tell you like that, anyway. He had to do it himself.

After a few pregnant moments passed with the two of you like that, his breathing finally evened out enough for him to speak clearly. He pulled away from you, taking your face into his hands so you couldn’t look away. His eyes were reddened and puffy, his cheeks wet.

“I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. D’you understand that? Nothin’. I’m gonna take care of you. Keep you safe. Keep you happy.” He tucked your hair behind your ears before gliding his thumbs over the skin just below your eye. “I will. You just gotta let me.”

You gently pried his hands away from your face, taking them into your own and pressing a kiss into his knuckles. “Okay, baby. I’ll let you. I’ll let you,” you repeated. “I’m safe with you, I know.”

He pulled you in suddenly, practically squeezing all of the air out of your lungs with the grip he had on you. “I promise you. I promise.”

He promised you, and you believed him.

And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,

Well, the landslide bring it down

Oh, the landslide bring it down

At your lesson with Ellie, she seemed more motivated than you did. Sooner or later, she was going to exhaust the entire Star Wars: A Beginner’s Score sheet music book that you had found a few years back.

After successfully sight reading the first few bars of The Imperial March and promptly declaring that she had had enough ‘piano-ing’ for the day, Ellie gave you a look.

You furrowed your brows. “What?”

“Nothin’,” she said flippantly, looking away from you. “Just– are you and Joel, like, together?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ellie turned, looking exasperated. “Pft. You know exactly what I mean.”

You rolled your eyes and jokingly shoved her away from you by the forehead. “We’re getting married next week, actually,” you said, laughing. “Mhm, we’re running away with each other. Gonna buy a big white house with a big picket fence down south– you know, to keep you out.”

“Oh, fuck you, dude.” She giggled too, punching your shoulder in return hard enough to push you down the piano bench. “I have a right to know! And besides, I don’t have anyone to tell. I can keep a secret.”

“I disagree, but– if you memorize your F# minor scale by Tuesday, I’ll tell you all about it. Has to be perfect, though,” you qualified.

“Fine,” she said with stubborn resolve. “And… there's one more thing.” Her eyes cast downwards and her shoulders drooped a little as she gave a long exhale.

“What is it?”

She looked back up at you through her dark lashes. “Did you hear about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda?”

“The– the who?”

With a completely straight face, she said, “Yeah. He’s lucky it was a soft drink.”

Ellie’s laughter could barely be heard over your exaggerated groaning. You had your head dropped into your hands and Ellie in tears when Joel walked in through the front door.

Ellie, sighing and wiping her eyes, said: “I told her the ol’ soda-can-to-the-head one. Pretty good, right?”

“Jesus…” you heard Joel mutter.

Shiny-eyed and smiling, you pointed to the door. “Out of my house. Both of you. And don’t bother coming back.”

Ellie grabbed her coat and was out the door before Joel could even open his mouth. “See you Tuesday!”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

Later that day, in the hot and unusually busy Tipsy Bison, Joel was too drunk.

It was the perfect conclusion to the most bittersweet day he’d had in a while. Had the morning with you, finished up a roofing project just after dinner, and against his better judgment, asked if you wanted drinks. You arrived as a pair, undoubtedly eliciting new whisperings from your fellow Jackson residents, but Joel was starting not to care.

You’d mentioned going out together in passing to him after he had told you about the bar scene when he was younger, commenting on how you wished you’d gotten to experience that. And yeah, maybe this felt more like playing pretend to him than anything, but he wanted to give you good days. Good memories. A real life, where you could experience things with him and not have to worry about how long the happiness would last.

Tonight, it backfired. A year ago today, he would’ve been mixing whiskey and oxycodone to forget it was Sarah’s birthday. But now, he was too drunk with Tommy, and you were watching all of it, and he wished he still had a handful of pills to knock him out.

“She your girlfriend now, brother?” Tommy slurred, clapping him on the shoulder.

Joel grabbed you roughly by the waist from his seat at the bar, tucking you in close to him. “Yeah, she��s my girl,” he cooed. “Ain’t that right, pretty baby?”

Tommy chuckled, slamming his glass down onto the counter. “Same way Tessa was your girl? Or different this time?”

Joel wanted to be sick. “The fuck’s wrong with you, asshole?”

You, a little tipsy yourself by this point, smoothed a hand over Joel’s curls in an effort to de-escalate this conversation. “Joel, hey. He’s your brother. Don’t start a fight.”

Tommy shook his head and patted you on the arm. “It’s okay, baby, let him speak.”

Drunkenly, Joel stood up, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be saddled with all this shit,” he started. “Always chasin’ your sorry ass. Halfway across the fuckin’ country this time. If it weren’t for you, Tess’d be here.”

This was an old argument, but they were drunk, and it seemed like the perfect time to rehash it.

Tommy stood up to meet his eyes. “Oh yeah? Really? If it weren’t for me, Joel, you’da had a bullet in your head by now. Oh, y’haven't told her? Your girl? Go on, tell her. Tell her all about Sarah. Happy fuckin’ birthday to her.”

“Keep her name out your motherfuckin’ mouth, you– bastard–”

You had your arm interlinked with Joel’s, but he flung you off of him in an instant. He swung at Tommy, but his aim was a little diluted from the gin and Tommy ducked anyway. He only got one attempt in before five different people were pulling them away from each other to opposite ends of the bar.

You followed Joel, thanking the two men who were restraining him as he shouted strings of profanities and nobody, assuring them that you could take it from here.

“Joel, you gotta calm down. Hey. Hey, Miller, I’m fucking talking to you.” You grabbed his face in your hands and forced him to look at you. “Take a breath. Just take a breath.”

He did as he was told, but his eyes were still darting rapidly around the room. “Tommy…” he breathed out. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to, I swear. Did I hurt him? I hurt him, didn’t I?”

“No, baby. You– uh, you missed.”

“Ah, fuck.”

Maybe narcotics wouldn’t have fixed this, either.

Joel let you drag him back to your place without putting up much of a fight. Sarah. She would’ve been ashamed of him. There was a mounting list of things that Sarah would’ve hated him for, and this was just the icing on the cake.

Back on your couch, lying on his back, he wanted today to be over.

“I was s’pposed to be doin’ good for you,” he said quietly. “Bein’ better for you.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, your voice straining with the force it took to tug off his left boot.

“I’m no good for you.”

“Joel–”

“I ain’t, babydoll. I ain’t. Not for you, not for Ellie, not for Tommy, not for Tessa, and not for Sarah,” he mumbled. “It’s her birthday.”

“I know.”

“I miss her,” he swallowed. “Real bad.”

“I know, Joel.”

There was a lump in his throat and a tightness in his chest. Landslide was still stuck in his head.

… saw my reflection… snow covered hills …

He shut his eyes. “Is Ellie alright?”

“Mhm. She’s asleep down the street,” you said, tracing lazy shapes into his stomach.

“She’s a good kid,” he mumbled. “Tough kid.”

“She is,” you agreed. “She relies on you– cares about you. Lots of people care about you.”

… time makes y’bolder, children get… older …

Joel hummed in response. “I still need you.”

… I’m gettin’ older, too …

You bit your lip. You should really get back up, make sure Joel had a glass of water and painkillers near him for when he woke up. Maybe even a bowl from the kitchen. But your body felt like it was being weighed down by lead, and the infrequency at which you actually drank alcohol was making you unfathomably tired.

You laid down on top of him, head pressed against his chest. His breathing was slow and even and his heart rate was calm.

“I need you, too.”

152 notes · View notes

nighttimeebony · 10 months

Text

Every time I rewatch No. 6, I learn something new about the different ways that Nezushi subverts trope expectations, especially expectations established by poorly written same-gender romance stories in anime.

For example, I realized today that despite Nezumi being so closed-off and emotionally distant with Shion (at least in the beginning), Nezumi is actually way touchier than Shion is.

In episode 1, after he tackles Shion, he keeps ahold of Shion's wrist even after he's gotten off of him.

In episode 3, he keeps touching Shion's face.

In ep 4, he puts his arm around Shion while they're leaving Rikiga's place.

And later in the same episode, he puts Shion's hand on his heart.

In ep 6, Nezumi is the one who pulls Shion to dance with him.

Nezumi can barely go five minutes without touching Shion in episode 9.

Nezumi initiates their kiss in the last episode.

And then, of course, there's all the times he grabs Shion's shirt when he's trying to get Shion to listen to him (seriously, it happens like once an episode).

While Shion does endorse physical contact with Nezumi and never shies away from it, he's rarely ever the initiator. There's only a couple of times where Shion is the one initiating physical contact between them, and even those few times are vastly outweighed by the number of times Nezumi is the one to initiate physical touch.

TL;DR: Nezumi's love language is physical touch and I think we should talk about that more.

#nezushi #no. 6 #no. 6 shion #no. 6 nezumi #no. 6 anime #shion x nezumi #nezumi x shion #maybe ill do a followup post about how shion's love language is words of affirmation

416 notes · View notes

venus-haze · 2 years

Text

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

Summary: Elvis takes up Priscilla’s offer to go to rehab for Lisa, and decides to take the steps to break from the Colonel personally and professionally. Elvis is referred to you, a Memphis-based therapist who specializes in helping patients work through codependent or otherwise unhealthy relationships. While he ultimately hopes his turning his life around will give him a better chance of reconciliation with Priscilla, the level of emotional intimacy you allow him in the context of your sessions makes him redirect his attention to you.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. I appreciated having an excuse to rewatch some of my favorite Sopranos episodes because I got a lot of inspiration from seasons 1 and 5. It’s more dialogue heavy than my other fics because of the therapy sessions. I’m not a psychiatrist and nothing in this fic should be treated as legitimate advice regarding mental health, please refer to licensed professionals for that. Look at the warnings before deciding whether or not you want to read this fic because it’s extremely dark. Do not interact with my blog or my posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. The therapy session scenes involve discussions of codependency in relation to parenting and relationships as well as self-blame, death, and drug and alcohol abuse. Explicit sexual content which involves force and coercion and brief daddy kink. Elvis’ mommy issues. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (all other parts by @crash-and-cure)

When you received a phone call from Dr. Wilson, one of your colleagues who worked at a rehabilitation facility in San Diego, asking if you were taking new patients, you hadn’t thought much of it when you answered that you were. He elaborated that while the patient was doing well in rehab, he thought he could benefit from continued therapy sessions, particularly because of your specialization and proximity to the patient’s home in Memphis. He informed you that he’d reveal more information about the patient and provide you with the clinical notes he’d taken throughout rehab once he received the patient’s agreement and approval to begin seeing you.

A few days later, you got the follow up call. The patient was interested in being treated by you and had given Dr. Wilson permission to send you copies of the clinical notes. He finally revealed who your Memphis-based patient would be—Elvis Presley. You nearly dropped the phone when he told you. Him going to rehab made sense, his drug and alcohol-fueled antics on stage frequently made entertainment headlines, but you certainly hadn’t expected that he’d need the specialized therapy that you offered.

Elvis still had two weeks left in the rehabilitation program, and you’d receive the clinical notes before then to get an idea of what Dr. Wilson had already addressed with him. When you received the packet at your office’s mailbox, marked with a large ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on it, you almost hesitated. While aware of his career, you weren’t a huge fan of Elvis’, so that wouldn’t pose a conflict of interest, but you wondered if you could truly be impartial and fair toward a man whose existence permeated almost every aspect of American popular culture.

From what Dr. Wilson had said, Elvis needed help, not as a rockstar but as a man. You were one of less than forty therapists in the country who specialized in helping patients break down codependent relationships. Your office wasn’t far from Graceland at all, ensuring Elvis wouldn’t have to go out of his way for regular therapy sessions.

Finally opening the packet, you were faced with a manila file folder with Elvis’ full name and birthdate printed on the tab. You grabbed your notebook, preparing to write what was relevant for the sessions, but the more you read, it seemed like everything was relevant. A deceased overbearing mother whom Elvis revered as a saint, a manager who exploited his career for decades, and an ex-wife who was burdened with being the man’s stand-in mother and therapist from an alarmingly young age.

You sat back in your chair, exhaling deeply to ground yourself. Taking on Elvis Presley as a client would not be easy, that much was obvious. Most of your clients didn’t have webs as intricately woven as he did, as much to unpack and consider as Elvis. Yet, from the notes, he wanted help. He wanted to change. He didn’t want his daughter Lisa to grow up without a father, but he also wanted a career and a life that he could finally be in control of, where he could be sure of who to trust.

On a Friday afternoon, when you were in between appointments, your phone rang. You answered, resisting the urge to gasp when you heard who was on the other line, despite expecting his call.

“Hello, is Dr. Y/L/N there?” Elvis asked.

“Speaking,” you answered.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Dr. Wilson didn’t mention you were a woman.”

“Is that a problem, Mr. Presley? Because I can refer you to another specialist—“

“No, that’s fine. I just thought you were a secretary or somethin’—no offense.”

“None taken,” you said.

The two of you discussed what his goals for therapy were, and that he wanted to attend twice a week, which was how often he was seeing Dr. Wilson while he was in rehab. Many people were hesitant about therapy since it had an unwarranted stigma attached to it, but you supposed the group therapy and personal sessions in San Diego had proved its effectiveness to him. You agreed to schedule appointments for Monday and Thursday afternoons at 4:30pm and leave the service door to the building unlocked for him, so he could come in at the end of the work day and not have to worry about passersby and other patients seeing him there and causing unwanted attention.

The conversation was short yet pleasant, but if you were being honest, you hadn’t been so nervous about taking on a patient since you first opened your own practice. You had tried to reason with yourself, that he was just a man seeking help like all of your other patients. None of your other patients, however, were Elvis Presley. You managed to calm yourself down the day of his first session, focusing on the other patients you had scheduled.

He arrived fifteen minutes early the day of his first appointment, a non-issue as you had made sure the session before his was wrapped up by four, giving him a window of time to arrive while the office was empty. You took a deep breath before opening the door to the waiting room from your office, and found him staring at a painting on the wall. He turned to you, giving you one of the most dazzling smiles you’d ever seen in your life.

You greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Presley, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand.

“Follow me, and take a seat anywhere you like,” you said, leading him into your office and closing the door behind you.

“Is this some kinda test? You can tell something ‘bout me by which one I pick?” he asked half-jokingly.

You laughed. “No, no, it’s just that we’re going to be sitting for an hour, so I want you to be comfortable.”

He sat in the armchair in front of the bookcase, rather than the one in front of your desk. You grabbed your notebook and sat down across from him. The two chairs were nearly identical anyway, so it didn’t make that big of a difference where either of you sat. Taking a moment to study him, you couldn’t help but acknowledge to yourself how good he looked. You always thought Elvis was a handsome man, but post-rehab, he seemed to be glowing in a way that seemed almost youthful. After allowing yourself to ogle your new patient, you cleared your throat.

“Now, before we begin our first session, I want to establish doctor-patient confidentiality and inform you of your rights as a patient. Is that okay?” you asked.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“Wonderful. I take doctor-patient confidentiality seriously. Anything you say in this room will stay in this room. However, if at any point during our sessions you indicate that you intend to seriously harm yourself or others, I would have to go to the police.”

“Seriously harm?”

“Any intentional action that would result in the hospitalization or death of yourself or another individual,” you elaborated, and he gave you a silent nod to continue. “I may encourage you to dig deeper into your psychological and emotional state, you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to, but keep in mind that I’m trying to guide the conversation in a direction that will help you achieve the breakthroughs you want.”

“You know, my mama used to call you psychologists ‘headshrinkers’. Hell, I even do sometimes,” he said with a laugh.

You smiled at the comment, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for people to be skeptical of mental healthcare, but since he’d already brought up his mother, you didn’t want to lose that momentum.

“I completely understand. When I told my parents I was getting my doctorate in psychology, I might as well have told them that I was going to clown school,” you said. “Some people turn to religion for their psychological guidance. My parents are like that. Were yours?”

“Oh yeah, mama was always quotin’ scripture.”

“And your father?”

“He went to church with us sometimes, but it was usually me and mama. I stopped goin’ to church once my career started takin’ off. Didn’t have the time to, but I still love those old gospel hymns.”

You nodded, taking quick notes as he spoke.

“You writin’ that I’m some religious nut in there?”

“No, just general observations, things you’ve mentioned that have appeared while treating other patients. The more I treat people who’ve struggled with codependency, the more I can help others by recognizing patterns of behavior,” you explained. “I read from your file, which thank you for letting me look at by the way, that you experienced this codependent abuse from your former manager, Tom Parker.”

He exhaled, and you made note of his utilizing the coping method to calm himself down.

“The Colonel thought he was entitled to half of everything I made, even though I was the one workin’ myself sick. He had that hack doctor put all kinds of junk in me to keep me movin’ like some walkin’ dead man. That cost me my family and half of everything I ever earned. I’m suin’ the son of a bitch, but I can’t let this happen again.”

“Elvis, I’m sorry that happened to you. You were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. You have every right to be upset and angry. I encourage you to express those emotions while we're here,” you said. “I want to challenge you to stop referring to your former manager as ‘The Colonel’. I think that language is detrimental to your progress as it sets him in a place of authority over you, when in reality, he isn’t and never was.”

He scoffed. “What should I call him then? ‘That piece of shit’?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d like, yes.”

For the rest of the hour, he spoke about his former manager, and while you had an idea of what went on from the notes your colleague had given you, the extent was just as bad as you’d expected. As a doctor, you were particularly horrified by the so-called ‘Dr. Nick’ who exacerbated Elvis’ addiction to prescription medications in the name of the almighty dollar. Elvis peppered in mentions of his mother throughout the session as well, and you made a note to dig into that in the future. You weren’t the biggest proponent of Freud, but you knew many people went through life subconsciously mirroring the behavior of their parents unless they made a conscious decision not to.

At the end of the session, you let Elvis know that you admired the progress he’d made so far, both in rehab and his first session with you. He smiled at that, and confessed that even though he wasn’t sure about seeing a woman therapist, as soon as he saw you, he knew there was something different about you, and he already felt comfortable around you. You stayed in your office late to work on the notes for his file while they were still fresh in your mind, and left around a quarter to seven.

The Monday and Thursday sessions continued consistently for the next few weeks, and you were thrilled with how much progress Elvis had made, both in therapy and in his personal life. He was more involved in Lisa Marie’s life and had her over at Graceland regularly, making sure his days were completely clear whenever she was over so he could focus on spending time with her. His sleep pattern had become more regular, with some bouts of understandable insomnia. You and Dr. Wilson had already agreed that with Elvis’ history of addiction, holistic approaches to any psychological conditions would be best, and prescriptions would only be given as an absolute last resort. When he told you that he felt better than he had in years, physically and emotionally, you considered it a huge success, and encouraged him to acknowledge and celebrate that.

Understandably, most of your sessions with Elvis were spent discussing his former manager and the influence and control that he had on Elvis’ career and personal life, particularly the strain it caused on his mother. That was a sensitive issue for him, and he tended to deflect when you tried to bring her up or discuss his relationship with her further. About four months into your treating him, however, he mentioned feeling some resentment toward his father for mismanaging Elvis’ finances, making an off-handed comment about how it wouldn’t have happened if his mother were still alive. You saw this as the opportunity to get him to finally elaborate.

“Your mother was the dominating figure in the family unit, then?” you pressed.

“Mama was a good woman, the best woman. She put food on the table when daddy was in jail. She believed in me before anyone else did.”

“I never said your mother wasn’t a good woman,” you observed. “Why did you jump to that conclusion, that I was attacking her?”

The room was silent for a few moments as he considered your question. “Everyone else did. You know, she was right about not trustin’ the Col–Parker. It’s like when I signed that contract with him I was signin’ her death sentence.”

“Do you blame yourself for her death?”

“I know it was the alcohol. I learned that much in rehab, but in her heart, it was me. She died while I was in basic training, doctor.”

“I’m glad you’re talking through this. It’s going to help with our future sessions, but I want to establish that you’re not responsible for your mother's death anymore than you’re responsible for her other actions throughout her life.”

He shook his head. “Me leavin’, that killed her.”

“Why would your leaving kill her? As I understand, you were drafted. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Because I was supposed to take care of her. My daddy wouldn't, so I did.”

“Do you think it’s right for a child to take care of their parents?” you asked.

“It’s not about what was right,” he argued. “I had to do it.”

“How old were you, when you first stepped into this pseudo-parental role?”

“What?”

“How old were you when you began taking up the household responsibilities that belonged to your father?”

“I was real young, when he went to jail and we had to move. I had a good childhood, though. We didn’t have much, but I had friends and I went to church, did alright in school.”

The hour was almost up, but you knew you were close to reaching a pivotal point in his treatment. As soon as you got him to consider that his codependency issues started with his mother, you could work through his relationships with Tom Parker and even Priscilla, but it’d be easier said than done to drag his mother off of the pedestal he put her on. She’d been dead for over a decade, and yet she still had a spectral stranglehold on her son.

Your intention wasn’t for him to walk out of your office hating his mother, but to recognize the unhealthy behaviors he emulated and to work through the grief he clearly never fully dealt with.

You figured you had time to ask him one more question, and chanced it with, “What do you miss most about your mother?”

“I could tell her anything, and she’d always have something to say. Maybe not what I wanted to hear, but she always meant what she said. I trusted her like no one else. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“It’s hard for you to trust people, with the position that you’re in and how people have taken advantage of you in the past. That can be lonely, and some people engage in self-destructive behavior in an attempt to get the care and attention they yearn for. I believe that you will be able to trust again. Just something to think about as the session ends today,” you said. “You’ve made a lot of progress, and I want to acknowledge that.”

He smiled. “Thank you. You really know your stuff, but I guess that’s what you went to school for.”

“I appreciate that,” you acknowledged. “I hope you have a great rest of your day, Elvis, and I’ll see you at our appointment next week.”

After Elvis left, you worked on your notes from the session to add to his file. You weren’t just paying him lip service before, he had made a good amount of progress, and even despite some of his hesitations, worked through some aspects of the treatment that you expected to be more challenging for him.

The next few sessions, you pressed him more about his mother, and while he pushed back against your insinuating that some of his codependent tendencies originated with her, he did acknowledge that the pressure of not upsetting her did cost him his participation in his high school’s football team, which he loved for the brief amount of time he spent playing. She had been worried about him getting hurt, a pattern you noticed as Elvis spoke to you about his childhood.

You weren’t expecting to find that the root of her anxiety over Elvis’ well-being came from losing his twin, Jesse at birth. Elvis was born into the world having to be two men instead of one, and when his father fell through as the family’s provider, he had to pick up the slack for three. It was a lot for someone to handle even without the challenges of fame. The more you worked with Elvis, the more convinced you became that he could have benefitted from therapy a decade sooner.

In all honesty, you were glad Elvis’ appointments were at the end of the day, because they began to become almost as draining for you as you figured they were for him. Still, he never missed an appointment and always arrived early. The work you did was always difficult, and you couldn’t help but empathize with your patients, but Elvis seemed to take everything out of you.

One weekend, you had plans to get dinner with Mark, a man around your age who you’d met in grad school and had an on-and-off again relationship for a while, before deciding to stay friends. Out of habit you both referred to whenever you’d get together as ‘dates’, and the one you planned was at a higher end restaurant in Memphis. The two of you had been so busy with work that when he called you to catch up, you hadn’t realized it’d been months since you’d seen him. The restaurant was the type of place where you had to make reservations in advance, and so with this in mind, he made one a few weeks prior.

When you and Mark arrived at the restaurant, there was a crowd of loud and restless people overflowing into the street. The two of you pushed your way through to get inside and waited to speak to the host, who informed you that due to unforeseen circumstances, there’d be a thirty minute wait for your table despite your reservation.

The two of you considered leaving and going to a different restaurant, but decided against it, since you had the reservation anyway. To your relief, the wait only ended up being less than five minutes, even though you could tell by the reservation list on the host’s podium that several couples were still ahead of you and Mark.

A waiter led you to your table, and after taking your dinner orders, Mark excused himself to go to the restroom. While waiting for him to return, you could hear people gasp and murmur behind you, until a familiar shadow fell over your table.

“Dr. Y/L/N, funny meeting you here,” Elvis said.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to see your high-profile patient of all people in the restaurant. “Mr. Presley, how are you?”

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”

“Are you here alone?”

“No, my date is just in the restroom.”

His expression shifted, but he nodded agreeably. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” you whispered as he walked away.

Fuck. He was upset you were there with someone. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to temporarily redirect their codependent tendencies onto you, considering the level of emotional intimacy that was involved with the therapy. It’d only once escalated to a level where you felt obligated to refer the patient to another therapist, but you hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Elvis. He’d been making great progress with each session.

When Mark had returned to the table, you gave him a strained smile but continued on with the date as usual. About halfway into your meal, the waiter approached with a bottle of wine neither of you had ordered.

Before you could question anything, the waiter said, “Compliments of Mr. Presley.”

“As in Elvis Presley?” Mark asked.

The waiter nodded and set the bottle on the table. You weakly told him to thank Elvis, and he left to do so. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mark leaned in, “Is Elvis Presley your patient?”

“I won’t answer that, Mark.”

“Holy shit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine.

You didn’t recognize the label from the wine rack at the supermarket and figured it was some expensive brand that was either old or imported, or both. As Mark poured himself a glass, you contemplated whether or not to drink it. Refusing so would confirm that Elvis was your patient, but drinking it would mean you accepted a gift from a patient, both situations required you violating your own code of ethics. Sighing, you let Mark fill your own glass with the wine.

The rest of the night with Mark was fun as you caught up on your personal lives, and Elvis didn’t make a reappearance at all. When Mark walked you back to your car, the two of you promised not to go as long without seeing each other again, and parted with a quick kiss.

You spent Sunday lazily reading in the comfort of your apartment, adjusting the radio in your living room to different stations every so often. All of them seemed to play at least one of Elvis’ songs at some point, and you wondered if you were only noticing the frequency he was on the radio now that he was your patient. Some artists were just radio mainstays, and he was one of them.

On Monday, you knew you’d have to address the situation with the wine to Elvis, but to your surprise, he beat you to it.

“So, how was the wine?” Elvis asked.

“It was kind of you to go out of your way to have something so nice brought to my table, but I can’t accept gifts from patients,” you said. “I hope you understand.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning over so his elbows were resting on his knees as he asked, “That guy you were out with, he your husband?”

“No, just a friend.”

“You married?”

“No, but–”

“You ever been married?”

“No,” you repeated, “but while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss your marriage and Priscilla.”

You noticed him hesitate to answer. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

“How did you meet Priscilla?”

“Her daddy and me were both stationed in Germany at the same time. I met her when she came to a party at my house one night.”

“What attracted you to her?”

“She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met in my life. She was beautiful and sweet. I just knew there was somethin’ different about her,” he said, quickly adding. “I was respectful, ya know. She put up with a lot from me, but she was there when I needed someone.”

“You mentioned in a previous session that your mother died while you were in basic training, and after the funeral you were sent to Germany, where you met Priscilla. Do you think you incorporated her into your grieving process?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You kept pressing him for more details, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to meet the woman he’d go on to marry after such a devastating loss. The more he elaborated on his relationship, the more you came to understand the codependent nature of it as well. Priscilla became a stand-in for his mother despite her youth, and he began to depend on her the same way. You found it particularly interesting that he encouraged her to dye her hair and gave her the same nickname he had given his mother.

“I understand you and your ex-wife are still close, and she’s part of the reason you’re here. Can I ask you, when you and Priscilla divorced, what you were feeling?” you asked.

“I–I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?”

You nodded, making a note to revisit that later. For the rest of that session and Thursday’s session, the two of you spoke mundanely about how his day to day life was going, the strides he was making to live a more sustainable lifestyle. He informed you that he wanted to make music and perform again, but wouldn’t tour while his lawsuit with Tom Parker was ongoing. Even then, he planned to take it slow, scheduling dates more spaced out to give himself time to rest. He did mention trying to work something out with his team to do one-off performances in the Memphis area in the meantime, to figure out how this new era of his career would go.

The following afternoon, when you usually had an hour or so break between sessions to have lunch, you were interrupted by repeated knocking at your office door. You opened it to find a gift basket on the ground, looking back and forth in the hallway to see if the person who left it was still there, you picked it up and brought it over to your desk. The basket was filled with an assortment of goods that you knew must have been expensive from the brand names that you actually did recognize, and all of the gifts were perfectly suited to your taste. For a moment, you thought it was Mark’s doing, but when you read the attached card, you sighed.

Early on in your career, you had made it a rule to not accept gifts or favors from patients. It helped establish to your patients that you were their doctor, not their friend, as much as you did care for them. You took your ethical responsibility as a therapist seriously, and so you contacted the company where the gift basket had come from, informing them that you’d like them to pick it up and inform the sender that you couldn’t accept it. You’d been expecting the phone call you received about an hour later.

“I tried to get what I thought you’d like,” Elvis said. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

“Mr. Presley, I told you in our last session that I don’t accept gifts from patients. I appreciate the gesture, it was extremely thoughtful, but it violates my personal ethics.”

“You drank the wine I sent over to your table,” he argued.

You pursed your lips. You knew letting Mark accept it was a mistake. “That was a completely different scenario. If I had publicly refused, it would have confirmed to my date that you were my patient. I made the decision to respect your privacy.”

From the way he huffed over the phone, he was frustrated. He always did so in sessions when you pressed him to dig deeper into the aspects of the major relationships in his life that he didn’t want to confront. “I understand, doctor. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, is all. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a good night, Mr. Presley. See you on Monday,” you said.

The next few months went on without incident, and you were pleased with the progress you were making with Elvis. He was willing to open up to you much more, and you found yourself revealing some information about yourself to him as well. Sometimes, it unnerved you how he seemed to remember things you had mentioned in passing weeks or even months before, as if he were taking his own notes on you.

Once in a while, you’d run into him while you were running errands and minding your business in Memphis, having quick and cordial conversations before going your separate ways. Part of you suspected it was deliberate, as a man as famous as him knew he couldn’t step foot anywhere outside of his home without making the news.

On a Friday evening, as you led your last client of the day out of your office, a man you didn’t recognize was standing in the waiting room, looking around at the decor in your office. When you walked out, he looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost.

Before you could speak, he said, “You look really familiar.”

“I don’t know how that could be. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N.”

He hesitated before answering. “I must be seeing things, then. I’m Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. May I ask what brings you to my office?”

“Elvis sent me. He’s doing his first show in over a year next weekend, and he wanted me to bring you this VIP pass. Soundcheck, front row seat, backstage access, the works,” he said, holding out the small plastic card to you. “It’s in town, so he’ll send a car for you.”

You shook your head, feeling like a broken record when you declined. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept gifts from patients. Please send my regards and tell him thank you anyway.”

Jerry nodded. “Alright, nice to meet you, Doc.”

As soon as he left, you collapsed onto the couch. You were making great progress with Elvis, serious progress, but it was clear that he was shifting his codependent tendencies onto you. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to consider referring him to another therapist. It’d be a hassle for him, as the closest therapist with the same specialization as you was located in Nashville. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to exhibit similar behavior toward you, especially early on in their treatment, but you’d been working with Elvis for nearing a year. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his case was far more complex than any of your other clients, past or present.

While you were in the supermarket checkout later that evening, you glanced at the tabloid magazines that were displayed next to you, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the cover of most of them–various photos of Elvis, out and about in Memphis with different women who all looked almost exactly like you. Suddenly, you felt as though everyone in the store was staring at you, and you abandoned your cart, rushing out of the store and to your car where you had your first panic attack in years.

As you cried into the steering wheel, attempting to catch your breath, your mind raced at the implications of what you just saw. The women were stand-ins for you, but they weren’t enough for him, they never would be. You knew that if you continued to spurn his advances, they’d only become more elaborate and unavoidable, and by giving him some of the attention he desired, you’d only be encouraging his unhealthy behavior. Your next session with Elvis was that upcoming Monday, and you’d make sure to let him know about your colleague in Nashville and cut all ties with the rockstar.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, you wanted to cancel all of your other appointments for the day, but your other patients didn’t deserve to have their treatment interrupted because of one patient. The day flew by, to your dismay, and 4:30 arrived far sooner than you were ready when he walked through the door and into your office. He sat down in his usual seat, and you resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t appreciate being manipulated for personal gain, and you figured he of all people would have understood that.

“Mr. Presley,” you began sternly. “I have repeatedly tried to enforce the professional nature of our relationship as doctor and patient, and yet you insist on sabotaging the massive strides you’ve made in your treatment by repeatedly making attempts to violate that. I think that continuing to see me as a therapist would be detrimental to your recovery, so I’m referring you to a colleague of mine with a similar specialization. After this session, I will no longer be your therapist.”

He stared at you incredulously before becoming stone-faced. “Well, since you won’t be my therapist anymore, I guess you can accept all those gifts now.”

Your mouth nearly fell open at his boldness. “Mr. Presley, you’re missing the point entirely.”

“No, I think I get the point loud and clear, Y/N.”

Your chest contracted as his use of your first name. “Mr. Presley, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”

He stood up from his chair, and instead of walking out the door, crossed the few feet of space between you and caged you into your chair. He stared down at you intensely, silently, for what felt like hours. Too frightened to move, you held his gaze until he cupped your chin in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin.

“You’re doin’ this for us, mama,” he whispered, “so we can be together.”

“I’m doing this for my own safety.”

“I knew you felt the same way about me, how much you wanted me too.”

“Elvis, please, let’s just sit back and discuss this. I won’t refer you to another therapist,” you lied, trying to appeal to whatever sense of rationality he may have had.

His other hand drifted to your thigh, inching its way up your skirt. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you pushed him off of you and hoped that it would disorient him enough for you to run out the door. Instead, he beat you to it, pressing you against the wooden door that stood between your freedom and captivity.

“C’mon, mama, we’ve had this date since the beginning,” he purred in your ear.

Perhaps you had been too preoccupied with having Elvis Presley as a professional success story than acknowledging the delusional and obsessive tendencies he displayed. Where did you go wrong? You tried to think back through a year’s worth of therapy sessions to figure out when exactly you’d given Elvis the impression that you were interested in him romantically or sexually, but were torn from your thoughts when he kissed you aggressively. He must have mistaken your attempts at protests for moans, because he only deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip so you’d gasp in pain, giving his tongue access to your mouth.

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and tried once again to push away, but he was too strong–and determined as he backed you into your desk, the impact from both of your bodies bumping against it sending some of the items to the floor.

“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded. Why were you still coddling him?

“You want this, mama,” he groaned, grinding his clothed erection against your exposed leg like a dog in heat. “I know you do.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to argue, bringing his lips to yours again and hastily unbuttoning your blouse. He rid you of your bra just as quickly, and took one of your breasts in his mouth. Guiding one of your hands to his crotch, he rubbed your hand against it, and you let out an involuntary whimper as his moans vibrated against your sensitive nipple.

Thrusting against your hand, he pulled away from your breast, muttering something about cumming in his pants if he didn’t do anything about it soon. He shed his shirt, throwing it aside. The reality of the situation hit you as he lifted you back on top of the desk and pulled down your panties. He dragged his ring finger up your slit, and you shivered at the sensation of the cold metal of his rings against it. Apparently satisfied with how wet you were, he wasted no time unzipping his pants and ridding himself of them to reveal he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You stared wide-eyed at his cock, as he stroked it before positioning it at your weeping cunt.

“Just take it, mama. Be real good for me and take it like I know you can,” he cooed in an attempt to placate you as he slid himself into you.

You choked on air at the sensation, not expecting how big he’d be, and tears began to run down your face. He kissed them away as he thrust into you, whispering about how good you were being, how perfect you were. Two of his fingers played with your clit, and your felt your vision go hazy at the pleasure that was building up in your core. You’d never felt that good in your life. Maybe you did want it after all.

“Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, nearly throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization of what you had said.

That seemed to stir something in him, because his thrusts became harsher and more erratic while you berated yourself for actually enjoying it. The moans that came from your throat sounded almost foreign to you.

“You got no idea how often I thought about this, mama,” he managed to groan. “Come for daddy.”

With a grotesque cry, you came, feeling yourself clench around him as he kept up his ruthless pace. His own orgasm followed soon after yours, and as you felt him cum inside you, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or yourself more. What felt like hours passed before he finally pulled out from you, leaving your inner thighs wet with cum and lightly bruised.

You looked at him through your tears, knowing your mascara was surely tracked down your face. He reached for you, and you flinched back, nearly falling off of your desk until he steadied you, and you broke down into humiliating sobs into his shoulder, your nails purposely digging into his skin. You wanted to hurt him, somehow, make him feel how you felt. Instead, he seemed unfazed, releasing you from his grip when your crying had settled down to hold your face in his hands.

He looked into your eyes with all of the delusional affection you’d feared and whispered, “You’re my girl, my bestest girl.”

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere elvis

2K notes · View notes

woniverse-writes · 7 months

Text

"Moth to a Flame (part 1.5)"

Bada Lee x Reader

part 1 ⟵ part 1.5 ⟶ part 2

series masterlist

summary: all teams react to the first episode of street woman fighter season 2

word count: 1.7k

warnings: surprisingly no swearing lol, uhhhm I don't think there are actually any warnings for this chapter, not proofread

The members of Jam Republic settle in on the couches and chairs of the dance studio lounge room surrounded by staff as they get ready to watch the premier of Street Woman Fighter Season 2. Kirsten already has her phone out and ready, Latrice is on face time with her brother, and Ling is taking pictures of the three youngest members as they pose and mess around. The camera crew is doing some last-minute sound and lighting checks, even though this would just be some extra reaction content posted on the choom’s YouTube channel.

A few miles away was team Bebe, were all cuddled up together on their couch in the Just Jerk studio lounge. They were waiting for Tatter and Minah to arrive, seeing as they were both in a class at the moment, but both were supposed to get there right as the show would be starting. They were offered some energy drinks while waiting, which the team gladly took.

Once the show started playing everyone was screaming and cheering in excitement, all phones having pulled out to record the introduction. After getting past the initial shock of seeing themselves on TV, the girls returned to their seats and got comfortable again. The team introductions and reactions were shown first leaving some laughing in annoyance at the reminder of the comments, while others stressed out about the things they had said only for the sake of the competition.

When Jam Republic came on the screen an uproar in almost every single team space occurred. They all restated their previous positive opinions of the team- like how Kirsten was well-known, Audrey had the face of an angel, and y/n was a princess. But they also brought up y/n’s initial anger issues. They all remember how scary she seemed back then, and now they all laugh at it because while it is still scary, she’s very cute. The editors put scary music over her at first when she started glaring, but then cut to her pouting a few minutes later and put a kitten meow over it, which caused y/n to roll her eyes and giggle while all of her teammates burst out laughing. The reactions of other teams were quite similar with them all dying laughing as well and calling her cute.

“Our baby” Tatter cooed making grabby hands at the screen, causing everyone else to tether giggle or chime in. Bada surprisingly didn’t really say much, she just smiled and giggled, looking extremely in love

They show Bada and redy’s battle and jam republic is reliving their emotions that occurred a few months prior when the show was shot. y/n giggles and leans on her hand hiding behind it as she rewatches the scene. she smiles shyly at the older girl’s moves, reacting much more tamed this time compared to her original reaction. Said reaction was aired immediately after the battle ended, including the part where Kirsten pointed out her intense blush which caused her and all her teammates to laugh, y/n somewhat lowering her head and laughing softly in embarrassment. they also happened to air what was said shortly after when y/n said “The way she got up in Redy’s face- UGH I WOULD’VE DIED” causing y/n’s eyes to widen briefly before she immediately buried her face in her hands as the rest of jam republic died of laughter

Team Bebe’s reaction to the battle was as usual- hyping Bada up and laughing over the drama, but they were definitely more interested in the reactions, especially y/n’s. When the screen panned to the small girl with her hand on her forehead as she stood in a daze, the blue team instantly burst out laughing, including Bada who had no idea this was how y/n had been reacting to her. Then as they heard her say she would’ve died if Bada got in her face as she did with redy, Bada hid behind her hands and smiled embarrassedly as her teammates ‘ooh’ed and teased her

“With that logic, I can’t believe she’s still alive…” Lusher mumbled but everyone heard it, causing another uproar of jeers and claps from the team

“I can’t believe I didn’t listen to you back then” Bada muttered still hiding behind her hands as she glanced over to Lusher, who just smirked and shrugged her shoulders. Shortly after that the battle between y/n and Lusher comes on and the editing overdramatizes the whole thing making it seem like y/n was going to pick Bada by adding long pauses and cuts in between her words.

Everyone thought your interaction beforehand with Lusher was cute, as you shook hands and wished each other good luck- seeing as your reaction was that of a slightly breathless fangirl who just met her celebrity crush. Other teams giggled and cooed at your bright smile and wide eyes

“y/n just looks so happy to be there-” Lia Kim said with an endeared smile and the rest of her team agreed all sharing a similar reaction. Bebe is hyping Lusher up even as they rewatch the battle that already occurred, loving how fired up she had gotten during it- It showed the part where she ruffled y/n’s hair before the switch and everyone freaked out

“I hope you know I really thought about killing you for a hot second in that moment…” Bada joked with Lusher who chuckled and nodded her head

“I did it more so to provoke you than her” the younger girl responded causing her leader to scoff and roll her eyes while letting out a sarcastic ‘of course’- but when y/n started dancing lusher was the first to get even more hyped

“YEEEAH THAT’S MY BABY GIRL” the girl was hyping up her then-opponent, now-friend, as if she weren’t the one in a battle against her. Her team laughed at her antics before they all began excitedly chattering about how amazing of a battle it was, and how y/n’s power and personality were showcased perfectly. And just like y/n’s reaction was aired, Bada’s gay panic sent every single member of every team into an uncontrollable fit of laughter when it was shown immediately following y/n’s ‘razzi shots’ move

“Oh my god, I’m crying- that was the funniest thing ever” Redlic wiped tears from her eyes, still trying to calm her laughter.

“I never thought I’d see Bada react like that” Mina Myoung stated, amused and lowkey satisfied by the usually cool leader’s anything-but-cool reaction.

“We’re usually the ones reacting to Bada like that, so it’s definitely refreshing seeing that she really is just like us-” “and toward y/n, which is absolutely justifiable” the two biggest y/n supporters- Redy and Harimu- conversed aloud. Of course, other teams’ reactions were shown to her dancing, but the editing specifically highlighted Bada fumbling to pull herself together as y/n sexily finished her half of the battle. Just like everyone else, team Bebe was laughing hysterically- all except their dear leader of course, who was now curled into a ball on the couch, covering her head with her arms as she hid behind Lusher and screamed in denial

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY REACTED LIKE THAT” Bada screamed into Lusher’s shoulder as her members only laughed harder at her muffled stress

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY ACTUALLY AIRED IT” Minah responded practically crying with how hard she was cackling. When Jam Republic saw it they all freaked out as well but screamed and shook y/n around as she sat shell-shocked in her spot in between Audrey and Emma on the couch. y/n’s eyes were as wide as possible as her jaw practically lay on the floor. They ended up having to pause the episode because even the older members couldn’t bring themselves to calm down. y/n sat completely zoned out for the next seven-ish minutes, trying to calm down her heated face. While Bada was also zoned out for a while, it was because she was having an internal mental breakdown.

The episode ended right as Lia Kim and Mina Myoung were about to battle, leaving the audience in suspense as they wouldn’t be airing it until the following week, which left everyone annoyed but excited for the next episode. After it ended, everyone debriefed for a few moments but they were mostly talking about the connections. The teams discussed how there was a lot of history between certain contestants- like Mina Myoung and Lia Kim, Bada and Redy, and then Harimu and Redlic. After talking about the old relationships, they all somehow managed to have similar conversations about building new connections with other dancers

“I was surprised at how reactive Bada was, especially towards y/n…” Mina Myoung snickered, still grinning away at the thought of Bada losing her composure.

“Yeah but everyone was reactive toward y/n-” Gooseul commented in reaction, but was immediately cut off

“Right, but Bada is usually pretty chill and reserved… her reactions to that girl were anything but reserved” They all laughed and agreed

In the Jam Republic space, all the members were doing the same as every other team by debriefing.

“I think we got a pretty positive reaction out of them!” Kirsten happily noted with a lifted tone of voice

“We definitely proved them wrong, especially with our secret weapons-” Emma moved to ruffle Audrey's hair while squeezing y/n, causing the two youngest to complain but the older members to chuckle.

“I guess they did really like us, huh y/n?” Audrey smugly observed and prompted the other to respond

“Hm, it sure seemed like it.” the youngest chuckled with raised eyebrows, still slightly in shock by how much cooler she looked on TV- loving how she could see everyone’s reaction and hear their comments. It really boosted her ego when she realized that was Bada’s first impression of her… they had known each other for a while now, so it was pretty normal for her to see the older girl have similar reactions to the ones she did in the episode- but it didn’t hit y/n right away that this was all months ago before the two girls really knew each other. They had been through a lot since then and were still recovering from some of it, but y/n and Bada definitely had a better understanding of each other now.

taglist (open): @tinybada @angel-hyuckie @violetinferno @jesuschrist2006 @1luvkarina @uwulyn @justandloyal2961 @deadgirlwalking3 @heeheemich @squidvoldyvoid @vivzyo @ouhaika @jksjx @ocyeanicc @marianamartinsthings @jxrdxnh @luvjanexx @lorenztired @khjssss @heavenlycloud @loisje123 @starchasermyloves @zhivaxo @grinnwolph @notyourd0lly @stinkbvgs @nermandiiiii-blog @abllucena @arujee @idontknownemore @thatgayinsomniac @l-a-u-r-a--b @fruitr0llup @cgriffin9797-blog @woooooya @kaaylvst @ssc7514 @astoreea @linda-botello @kpopgirl-97 @erikook @majookim @okjaeminn @misszoldyc @sammisregrets @jysai @moonsvrse @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @tikitsune @aestrelle19 @laaaasanielzz @randomhoex @tswisal1 @leasha25823 @unpretty-reader @charlesswife

accounts in bold were unable to be tagged

#moth to a flame #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee x reader #street woman fighter x reader #bada x reader

398 notes · View notes

candied-cae · 6 months

Text

Okay... I finished OFMD S2...

And yeah, as much as it breaks my heart, this season disappointed me in so many different ways. There are a few things I absolutely adored, but a lot of it felt like a disservice to a lot of the work S1 did to establish the universe and its characters.

Oluwande gave Stede advice like one whole time this season, even though that was a big part of the first. Him consistently being supportive was such a light, and it was pretty much replaced with him just being generally bubbly (and I fucking loved watching him be bubbly and joyful, might I add, but it's different).

Jim's complicated relationship with the idea of taking vengeance wasn't brought up at all. Jim's relationship with Oluwande was absolutely shifted, even now, I cannot watch S1 with the knowledge that they're going to be played off as "best friends who hooked up once" and see it, they HAD to have been intended as an endgame couple in the beginning.

Frenchie didn't sing even once, despite the fact that the very first scene opens to his voice! Frenchie as a character was shrunken a ton, in general. Ed leaned on him a lot in S1, that was gone. Wee John was shown as his best friend, but how many words did they even exchange this season? They let him do another grift, but it didn't include Oluwande so (personally) it felt cheapened.

Wee John didn't make a single fucking joke about fire! Even though there was a lot of fire this season, and he made like three separate comments about arson in the previous one?!?!?! And, again, he barely even talks to Frenchie at all!

The Swede was benched for half the episodes, Buttons became a bird halfway through and possibly won't be coming back at all, Ivan was killed off with a one-liner, and Izzy died as a completely backwards version of himself that we were given almost no show of him transitioning into.

Izzy, who practically stole a bunch of other character's "moments" while they rushed through his redemption so they could kill him at the end and hope they got everyone attached to him enough to care. Izzy got to sing, Izzy got to play advisor to Stede, Izzy got to do drag with John, Izzy whittled a gift for Lucius instead of Pete, Izzy pretty much interrupted every single scene Gentlebeard had... It's just... frustrating.

Season 1 was revolutionary to me, but Season 2 just felt far more average in comparison. I don't know, I was so excited, and rewatching season 1 is still exhilarating, but season 2 just doesn't do as much for me. I really feel like it was the wrong choice to spend as much time as they did with Izzy when they still skipped almost the entirety of his "redemption," condense so many of the other characters to make for time, but still make sure we could fit in some incredible jokes.

One of the only things that didn't change for me, was the humor.

But about half of my favorite things just didn't exist these last 8 episodes, so I need to go drown myself in some fanfics.

134 notes · View notes

sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 9 months

Text

Note: request by @bubblyabs! thank you so much!! I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: SKMD SPOILERS. fluff/smut 18+, a lot of fourth wall breaking and my infamous attempt at humor.

pairing: SKMD!Sihtric x Modern!You (f)

summary: The fictional man of your dreams was suddely not so fictional anymore.

wordcount: 5,2k

'You looked really hot there.'

There you were again, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, ready to once again finish another binge rewatch of The Last Kingdom. You just couldn't stop yourself. Ever since you became obsessed with the show, you could watch nothing else. No other series appealed to you anymore, and you kept going back to the very first episode, pathetically anticipating the second season, because that's where your favourite character comes in; Sihtric Kjartansson. The man needs no introduction, if we're honest.

You don't know what exactly it is about him, but you were smitten. Each time he appeared on screen, you needed a glass of water and a cold shower afterwards.

You thought the actor who played him was cute too, you just couldn't really recall his name, you only remembered he had some complicated last name, Federsomething. However, cute or not, nothing was better than the rugged look of that pretty Danish rat boy in that medieval Netflix show. And so, only several weeks since your last rewatch, you were watching the movie again, which was the very last taste of the entire show you would ever get. Until they'll make some lousy remake in 10 years or something, which you would obviouslly not watch because you couldn't stand the thought of all those actors being replaced. Not on your watch.

Anyway, you had cried your absolute eyes out during the movie when you saw it the first time. But more importantly: whoever was responsible for Sihtric's haircut in the movie, was an actual blessing from the lord. Every time you saw his very first scene in that movie, where he walks up to Uhtred, with that long, loose hair, you simply just slide down your couch, being a whole hot mess. The things you would do to get that man in your bed, and the things you would do to him… oh, if only he wasn't fictional. You'd let him rail you, but alas.

And that made you groan each time. The most beautiful and perfect man you had ever seen was freaking fictional! It seems ridiculous, but Sihtric just ticked all your boxes.

He was funny, brave, loyal, adorable, hot, sexy, maybe not the smartest but you had no problem taking care of that man, he was good with weapons, he was protective and a real family man. What else could a you possibly want? You cursed Bernard Cornwell for coming up with the character and whoever casted that actor, as they are clearly responsible for you being forever single. Because you would never settle for anyone who was not Sihtric Kjartansson; fictional character and the goddamn love of your life.

And just like two weeks ago, you finished the movie and switched off your tv, while being a sobbing, snotty mess once again. Your three week holiday had just started, and your initial plan was to stay up late each night, but you had a headache from crying, so you decided to go to bed when it wasn't even close to midnight.

The next morning you woke up early because of some loud banging. You figured the toddlers of your upstairs neighbours were at it again, banging their fists on the wall, running through their apartment. You could hear their little gremlin claws stomp and scratch everywhere they went. But you had to admit, they were louder than usual today, and it actually sounded like they were kicking and stomping at your front door.

You groaned and got dressed for another day of simply doing nothing. You started your coffee machine and opened the door to your little hallway, which led through the front door. You hadn't checked for any mail downstairs in a few days, and it was time to leave your cave for that little adventure to the main hall of your apartment building.

But you would not get there, at least, not any time soon. No. You were about to get the biggest jump scare of your life, to which you would scream so loud, it would without a doubt wake up the entire city. And after that, everything would turn black in front of your eyes.

During your unconscious state you had the weirdest dream. You had opened the door to your hallway and found the cause of that weird banging noise. The noise came from your own apartment. The noise was created by a man, kicking at, and rattling your door, in a pathetic attempt to open it. And it wasn't just any man.

You recognised him from the back within a split second. It was the fictional man of your dreams, dressed in the red-brownish leather armour he wore when you last saw him on your tv, his hair braided and his face bloody and bewildered. You screamed so loud when you saw him, that someone probably called the cops, because it was a horrible, distressing sound. And it also scared the hell out of Sihtric, who turned to face you while reaching for the hilt of his sword as he stepped closer. But after a second, his expression changed from anger to astonishment, and he stared at you, all confused and wide-eyed. You stared into his mismatched eyes as he was merely two paces away from you.

'Lady?' he said, with the voice and accent that simply set your body on fire whenever you heard it.

And you randomly thought how Sihtric looked taller on tv than he did in real life, in your hallway, and then everything just turned black.

And it turned out that it wasn't a dream. But it all had actually happened before you passed out, in your hallway. Sihtric had been quick to catch your fall and caught you in his arms. While still completely confused, and in shock, he had carried you into your living room and carefully laid you down on your couch. And as it would take a good five minutes before you regained consciousness again, Sihtric took a quick look around your apartment, growing more confused and concerned with every passing second.

And you suddenly opened your eyes again as he had his back turned to you.

You blinked rapidly, your eyes trying to focus on the backside of the man in armour, which you recognised all too well. It hadn't been a dream, it all actually happened. And it was still happening apparently. How the fuck was this possible? Did someone prank you? Did someone pay a ridiculous amount of money to hire the actual actor, just to scare the shit out of you and to mess with you? Breaking your heart in the process as you could never be with the man of your dreams? What a sick joke.

While that medieval looking hunk stared at your family pictures, you quietly took your phone from your pocket and opened instagram. Your eyes grew wide when you saw that the actual actor, who you knew played Sihtric in the show, had posted a story just a minute ago, announcing that he was currently in some country, far away from yours, at a comic con.

'No way,' you whispered, 'but then who the fuck-', you looked back at Sihtric again, who had made his way over to your Last Kingdom book collection.

He stared at it, but as you couldn't see his face, you had no idea what he was doing because you remembered he shouldn't be able to read. You followed his movements with huge eyes, completely in shock, and without realising it, your phone slipped out of your hands and dropped on the floor with a loud thump. You spooked Sihtric, who slightly jumped, and was quick to turn around, again ready to draw his sword.

'Where am I?' he asked, trying to sound calm.

'W-what… uh, England?'

'England?'

'E-England,' you said again.

'What is the year, lady?'

'2024.'

'What?'

'No, sorry! Sorry, I- I mean 2023!'

Sihtric stared at you, and you thought if he wouldn't blink soon, his eyes would dry out.

'H-how did you get here?' you asked.

'How did you get here?' he asked cautiously.

'I… live here?' you frowned.

'Why?'

You blinked. 'Because… I… pay to live here?'

'Oh,' Sihtric said, then nodded, 'that seems fair. What is that?' he asked, pointing to your tv.

'It's a t- uhh,' you figured that if for some reason this really was Sihtric, the medieval dude from your favourite tv show, he would not know what a tv is, so for the sake of playing it safe, you lied, 'it's a… art.'

'Art?'

'Yes, like a drawing,' you panicked.

Sihtric looked at the tv, then back at you, and said, 'but it's all black?'

'Well, it's… modern… art? It's really expensive,' you said, hoping he would not try to break your tv for whatever reason.

'Expensive?'

'Yes,' you said, 'it's, uh, over a six hundred poun- pieces of silver.'

Sihtric looked back at your tv again, scratched his forehead, and then locked eyes with you again, 'Lady,' he snickered, 'I think someone has fooled you. That drawing is not worth that amount of silver.'

You smiled, simply agreeing, while anticipating his next move.

'Is that,' he squinted his eyes and walked over to your kitchen, 'Uhtred?' he frowned, looking at your coffee cup which had a picture of Uhtred's face on it, 'why?' Sihtric asked as he looked back at you.

'I, uhh…' were you going to tell him they didn't have a cup with his face on it, and that you had sent an angry email to the company? Maybe not. You cleared your throat, but before you could speak, Sihtric's eyes found the large framed poster of him, Finan and Uhtred on your wall. And his eyes grew wide.

'Where did you get that? Why am I… why are… wh-,' Sihtric stopped talking, then eventually said, 'who made this painting?'

'... Google?'

'Who is Google?'

'It's, well, so,' you stammered.

'You paid six hundred pieces of silver for this too?'

'Wha- no, more like…seven.'

'Seven hundred?' Sihtric gasped, 'lady,' he smiled, clearly flattered.

'No! I mean like seven pou- bloody pieces of silver!'

'Seven?' he frowned, suddenly offended, 'only seven? Yet you paid six hundred for that?' he pointed at your tv.

'Sihtric, look,' you sighed.

'How do you know my name?' he asked, frightened.

Okay. This had to stop, right now. What the fuck is going on?

You told Sihtric to shut up, a little harsher than you really meant, but so be it. You took his hands and sat him down on your couch. For some reason he kept holding your hands, which you obviously didn't mind, and you tried to explain how you knew who he was while desperately not trying to get distracted by his appearance. Those tattooed fingers, the tattoo on his neck, and all those scars. He was even more handsome in real life. If this was real life, of course.

'You… you have seen my life?' Sihtric frowned, 'on… the black painting?'

'Yes, it's called a tv. Here, I can show you,' you took the remote, and Sihtric gasped when he suddenly heard noise and saw moving images on the previously black screen.

'Sorcery,' he whispered with big eyes, squeezing your hand.

'No, not sorcery,' you said, remembering how awfully superstitious he was in season 3. And how cute he looked in season 3. Well, he was cute in every season.

'The… the people,' Sihtric suddenly said, 'are they s-stuck?'

'Stuck?'

'Are they stuck in the painting?' he asked, concerned.

'What? No… no, it's… oh god,' you sighed, 'the people are fine,' you smiled.

You quickly switched on Seven Kings Must Die, and you thought Sihtric was going to pass out. He jumped up when he saw Finan and Ingrith, near the beginning of the movie, in Uhtred's hall, your favourite scene, and he ran to the tv.

'Finan!' Sihtric yelled, 'is he stuck?' he looked back at you, worried, 'can he… can he hear me?'

Sihtric turned to the tv again and pressed his fingers against the screen.

'No! Don't touch the screen!' you yelled, worried he'd damage it with his rough fingers, and Sihtric was quick to pull his hand back with a flinch. And you felt horrible for making him flinch, but before you could apologise, Sihtric had composed himself again.

'But… F-Finan?' he asked, 'is he okay? Where is he?'

'Finan is fine! He's not stuck! This all already happened… right?' you grimaced, hoping you were right somehow.

Sihtric looked at you, confused, then back to the screen, and he stumbled backwards when he saw his own face appear on the magic painting. He watched the scene unfold, and he didn't know what to say, he just stared at the screen as he reached for your hand again.

'You looked really hot there,' you blurted out, and you felt yourself blush.

'Hot?' Sihtric frowned, 'I wasn't hot, lady. It was a cold night! Can't you see the furs?' he scoffed.

'No, I mean, you- … no, you're right. It must've been… really cold that day.'

'It was,' Sihtric said sternly, and looked back at the screen again, 'I remember this,' he gasped, 'Finan said he only fell asleep once,' he said, just seconds before Finan said the line on tv.

'See!' Sihtric gasped and looked at you again, 'he actually has fallen asleep many times, lady,' he grinned.

Holy fuck. You didn't even think about that. Sihtric obviously knew everything that had happened, the whole story, not just the bits and pieces you saw from their lives on tv.

'H-has he?' you asked, cautiously.

'Yes, lady,' Sihtric said, 'it often happened because he had too much ale the night before. And because he's old,' he winked with a grin.

'Oh,' you snickered, 'I see. And… you never fell asleep?'

'Me? no, never,' he said with confidence.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, lady.'

You hummed and skipped to the scene where both Finan and Sihtric had fallen asleep, while Uhtred was awake.

'So…' you smiled, pointing at the tv.

Sihtric gasped, 'No, that… see! See, I'm awake. I was merely resting my eyes, I was… in deep thought,' he lied.

'Okay,' you laughed, 'if you say so.'

You watched Sihtric's face, which went from mildly ashamed to a light chuckle, and soon he laughed softly along with you. He still had no idea how it was possible that he could see his own face on your expensive painting, but Sihtric was a simple guy; he saw a pretty lady and he was smitten, not caring about much else anymore, except for winning your heart. He clearly didn't know you were basically ready to marry him on the spot. And for some reason you both just seemed to accept the situation, no questions asked. You watched the rest of the movie together, and it was surreal. Sihtric remembered everything, told you little anecdotes and simply seemed to enjoy seeing his friends on your screen.

'So… did Uhtred die?' you asked when the end credits were shown on screen.

'Uhtred died?!' Sihtric gasped.

'What? No, I mean, I'm asking you!'

'Uhtred was alive when I last saw him!' Sihtric said, and so you found out Sihtric had ended up in your world only hours after that heartbreaking last scene in the movie.

'Okay, then I'm sure he's, uh, fine,' you tried to convince yourself as much as you tried to convince Sihtric. 'Also,' you cleared your throat, 'what happened to your wife and kids?'

'Oh,' he said, 'we had a rough divorce. She broke my heart and took the kids,' he shrugged.

'Oh,' you blinked, surprised, 'I'm… sorry?'

'Are you married?' Sihtric blurted out.

'Uh, me?' you chuckled, twirling your hair, looking the handsome Dane up and down, 'n-no, I'm not. Why?' you kicked your feet.

Sihtric stared at you, he just couldn't believe his luck after being strangely teleported into a different year and world, ending up with a beautiful lady who wasn't married. But then he thought that was odd, because why weren't you married yet? A pretty lady who was clearly rich, at least that's what he thought, who lived in a nice home, was of marriage age, who was also very kind and funny, and with a body which he would undoubtedly be thinking of later that night. Why has no one married you yet, he wondered.

'Are you cursed?' he said without thinking.

'What?'

'Cursed,' he said again, 'you're not married. Why?'

'Uh, well,' you cleared your throat, 'I'm… picky.'

Sure, picky. You were simply in love with the medieval, fictional man on your couch, and you would never settle for anything less.

'Picky?' Sihtric frowned.

'Yes,' you replied, 'only a certain kind of man could win my heart,' you grinned, mindlessly twirling your hair around your fingers again.

'Oh?' Sihtric raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly intrigued.

And he thought of it as a game now, a game he desperately wanted to play, because he wanted to know if he could win. And gods, how he wanted to win you and take you back home with him. Or stay here with you, he really didn't care, not after you just batted your eyelashes at him. No, he would do everything for you now.

'So,' he cleared his throat, shifting a little closer next to you on the couch, 'what kind of man would that be?'

'Hm,' you hummed, thinking as if you weren't looking at that specific man, 'a man who is… kind,' you said, 'loyal and brave,' you smiled at him.

Sihtric hummed and licked his lips as he gave you a playful look. He knew he was kind, loyal and brave, so he figured his chances with you were pretty good right now.

'And… someone who is not afraid to take charge,' you teased, seeing if he's willing to take the bait.

Sihtric grinned and slightly adjusted his position.

'He also has to be protective,' you said, 'and strong,' your eyes trailed down to his clothed biceps, knowing very well what's underneath all of that fabric he was wearing.

'Well,' Sihtric smiled, a little cocky, 'I might just be the man for you then.'

'You think so? I'm not sure…,' you played it cool, but inside you were going stark raving mad, this surely had to be a dream.

'I think I am,' he gave you a smirk and winked.

You were absolutely ready to pull that man in your bed, but it was only noon, you had just met him a few hours ago, and everything was just really freaking weird. So you held back. You told him you'd think about it, to which he frowned, playfully offended. You bickered a little and eventually ended up discussing what on earth you two were going to do now. He had nowhere to go, and you didn't want to kick him out, but he was still a stranger. Even though he had lived in your head rent free for years already. You told him first things first; he had to get into different clothes. Which he agreed to. You did some digging and found some sweatpants you had bought online years ago, which turned out way too big for you, and you had forgotten to return it, which came in handy now. Unfortunately, the sweatpants were pastel pink, and Sihtric clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply as he grabbed them out of your hands. You snorted, and to make it worse, the only thing you owned which he would possibly fit in, was a matching sleeveless crop top.

'No,' Sihtric said sternly, looking at the top you held in your hands.

'Guess you're not brave enough for me then,' you taunted.

Sihtric huffed and snatched the shirt out of your hands. You pointed him towards your bathroom, where he stayed for quite a while, simply admiring every foreign object before he even thought of changing clothes. And when he finally walked out, you thought you were going to pass out again.

He had untangled his previously braided hair, wearing it down now, which you loved so much, all while wearing that sleeveless crop top, which barely covered half of his insanely toned upper body. And the matching sweatpants hung on his hips, low enough to reveal he wasn't wearing any underwear, which made sense, as you had no underwear that would possibly fit him.

He raked his fingers through his hair, exposing even more of his trained torso when he did, and every single filthy thought you ever had about that man crossed your mind at once. You desperately tried to shake your thoughts and took him back into your living room, where you sat down and simply talked. He wanted to know all about you, and even though he didn't understand a lot of the things you mentioned, he knew he was going to marry you. Somehow.

Later you made him dinner and as promised, Sihtric slept on the couch. And you had to fight the desperate urge to find him in the night and lure him into your bed, which Sihtric would have gladly allowed to happen.

A few days passed and Sihtric seemed to adapt decently. He was not as dumb as Uhtred and Finan always made him seem, but he was definitely as clumsy as expected. Knocking over drinks, breaking small objects which he wanted to look at but his hands were too rough, things like that. But you couldn't give a shit, you were madly in love with him, and you couldn't wait for him to break you-... your bed.

Sihtric was very flirty too, and loved brushing his fingers over your face, arms, or well, anywhere he could really, whenever he could. But he was also a true gentleman, and slept on your couch each night, for nearly a week.

One evening he asked if he could see one of those Last Kingdom episodes you had talked about, and you agreed.

It was still unreal to watch an episode with the one and only Sihtric Kjartansson next to you, and it still felt like a dream. You switched on a random episode, and it happened to be the one where his father, Kjartan, ends up getting killed. At first Sihtric had been watching in awe, amazed that he could relive parts of his life like that.

But when he realised where it was going, his face became more and more deprived of emotions. You noticed it quite late and wanted to switch the tv off once you saw it, just before Kjartan got killed, but Sihtric stopped you by taking your hand in his. And he held your hand tightly as he watched the scene unfold. He showed no emotion, which told you he was more or less at peace with it, but it still was a rough moment to sit through.

When the episode was over, Sihtric looked at you, and you could finally do what you had always wanted to do after seeing Sihtric in that terrible scene; you pulled him in your arms and held him tight.

'Are you okay?' you asked after a moment.

'Yeah,' he said quietly, enjoying the feeling of having his arms around you.

He softly hummed as you brushed your fingers through his long, wavy hair, which was simply another dream come true, and he held you tightly for a long time.

'Can I stay with you?' Sihtric suddenly asked a few evenings later as you had just watched another episode.

'What?' you asked.

'Can I stay here? With you? I mean… I- I like you. I like being here,' he said, 'and, unless we find out how I got here, I have nowhere to go.'

'Y-you want to stay here? With me?' you frowned.

Sihtric wasn't wrong, he truly had no place to go and you also still had no idea how on earth he had gotten here, which you both quickly stopped questioning as it drove you mad. And naturally you wanted him to stay, but it would be a hard thing to explain to your friends and family, who knew all about your (unhealthy) love for Sihtric, who was, until last week, non-existent in the real world.

'I'd like to stay,' Sihtric smiled sweetly at you, 'with you, lady.'

And you just couldn't resist him anymore. With his long, wavy hair, those mismatched eyes, that smile, and the pink crop top he kept wearing once he realised you liked it on him. He did swap the pastel sweatpants for a black one, after you had bought it for him a few days ago. He was simply the most mesmerising man you had ever seen, and before you knew it, your lips crashed together into a heated kiss. And you tore each other's clothes off as fast as you could. You've been waiting years for this dream to become a reality, and you absolutely would live your fantasy to the fullest right now.

Sihtric seemed just as desperate as you, but before he pulled your panties down, you ran to your bedroom. He was still a medieval man, who knows what he caught in those days and you wanted to limit the risk of catching something as much as you could, and also you did not want a baby, yet, so you grabbed a condom. Sihtric frowned at the package, and you quickly understood he had never seen such a thing. You chuckled a little awkwardly and opened the package.

'It's protection,' you explained, but you didn't want to spook him by talking about STDs, knowing he would probably think it's a curse, so you simply said, 'it's so you don't put a child- I mean, pup in my belly,' you frowned a little as you said the ancient words.

'You do not want my pups?' Sihtric asked, and he almost sounded hurt.

'N… I… well,' you cleared your throat, 'not yet,' you admitted.

Sihtric started to ramble and question you, and you politely asked him to stop talking. You asked if he was okay with everything, to which he then nodded with a smirk, and he allowed you to put the condom on him. And the low hums he let out when you did so, were enough to turn your insides into jelly, and the pressure between your thighs was immense and unbearable. And as you wanted to take your hands off him, he quickly held onto your arm, keeping your hand in place.

'Please,' Sihtric said with big, darkened eyes and a sly smile.

And you understood he seemed to like the feeling of your hand working his length. You had to admit, all those fanfic writers did not lie about his size; you had nothing to complain about here. God, the way you enjoyed having this man on your couch, completely naked, except for the Mjölnir pendant around his neck, with his head thrown back as he smiled while soft moans escaped his slightly parted lips, enjoying the way you made him feel. And it didn't take long before Sihtric came, and the sound of his low groan was pure bliss to your ears, and even more arousing than you already had expected it to be.

After a short moment, Sihtric was quick to push you up and make you sit back against the couch. He kneeled down in front of you, on the floor, and he carefully spread your legs with a smirk. He threw one leg over his broad shoulder, and before you could grasp that your wildest fantasy was coming true, his face was already buried between your thighs. He nipped your sensitive skin with his lips before he softly kissed your wet folds, followed by running his tongue over your core, making you exhale sharply as your hands found his hair. Your body trembled in no time as he sucked, kissed and licked your clit, as if you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life. And just like Sihtric, it didn't take long before you came with a desperate moan, pulling his hair to which he groaned.

You both ended up laughing softly as Sihtric sat back next to you, giving you some time to recover, while you both realised how insane this was. But in less than a minute he already took your face in his hands and pulled you closer, wanting to kiss you like there was no tomorrow. And as soon as you felt like you could take him again, you climbed on his lap, to which Sihtric smirked. He watched you with half open eyes as he bit down on his lip. His hands settled on your hips while yours found support by holding onto his muscular shoulders. His body was even more impressive than you imagined, and you cursed Netflix for never giving the audience a shirtless Sihtric scene.

And then you finally sank down on his cock, you both gasped at the feeling, hands desperately squeezing and scratching each other to display pleasure. And Sihtric was vocal, moaning and cursing with a smile as he enjoyed the way you were riding him, his eyes fixated on you, darting between your eyes, your lips, your breasts and down to your core, loving the view of how you took his length.

'Gods,' he moaned, out of breath, and then he hummed with a light chuckle.

'Fuck,' you muttered under your breath, digging your nails in his shoulders as you tried your hardest to not finish right there and then.

'Hm, I want to fill you up,' Sihtric whispered with ragged breath, and your attempt to not finish before him was to no avail, as his words were enough to make you cry out his name while your walls clenched around his throbbing cock.

'Fuck, sorry,' you said, panting, riding out your own high while feeling a little embarrassed you finished so fast.

But to your surprise, and pleasure, you felt Sihtric's grip on your hips tighten up and he let out another hard, deep groan as he threw his head back, finishing only moments after you, just as he had hoped he would. You both tried to catch your breath as you embraced each other for a little while. Then you took a shower together and dressed in some comfy clothes. You grabbed a few drinks and some snacks, and made your way into your bedroom, telling Sihtric to come with you. And on your bed, you'd talk and joke around for hours, if you weren't too busy kissing each other or cuddling that is.

'If you had the chance,' you asked, hours later, as Sihtric held you in his arms, 'would you go back home?'

'Only if you'd go back with me,' he said, without any hesitation or doubt, and he squeezed you a little tighter against his chest, 'but if you wish to stay here, then I will stay here, even if I could go back.'

'Why?' you asked, surprised but happy to hear his answer, and you felt a little emotional all of the sudden.

'Because,' Sihtric smiled, moving up a little to look into your eyes, 'because I like you,' he lovingly brushed his fingers over your cheek, 'I have lived my life there, back home,' he said, 'there's not much there for me anymore. I would rather stay here and have you, have someone to take care of and to provide for, then going back without you and just… feel alone again at night.'

'I love you,' you suddenly blurted out.

Sihtric's jaw dropped slightly as he looked at you with big eyes, and then he smiled softly, 'I love you too,' he said, 'and I just want to be wherever you are.'

'Sihtric,' you whispered, cupping his cheeks as you stared into the warrior's vulnerable eyes, 'I will simply follow you anywhere you decide to go.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylas-the-grim @bubbles-for-all-of-us @andakth @bel-bottoms @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305

230 notes · View notes

demonslayedher · 4 months

Text

It didn't seem right to skip over episodes I didn't draw recaps for! Things that ran through my head while watching this episode:

--When making this episode, Ufotable had the advantage of knowing what would come later in the manga. While rewatching it today, I had the advantage of knowing what would come later in the anime.

--By that, I mean the judicious use of Nezuko's lines in Tanjiro's dream in "Kamado Nezuko no Uta" *cough which I was just singing again at karaoke a few hours ago so it's even fresher in my brain cough*

--By that, I also mean the imagery of the field of Nichirin-to, wisteria petals, and dawn-like light as Tanjiro contemplates if he were to become a demon, and how he would trust that someone in the Corp would cut his head off for him --It never gets old how the Shabana siblings are a foil to the Kamado siblings, especially because Tanjiro recognizes how close they were and takes it to heart. I love how Gyutaro took a liking to Tanjiro on account of Tanjiro being laughably pathetic, and by merit of both of them being big brothers. That gives them something to relate to which is totally independent of whether they are demons or humans.

--I love that scene with Gyutaro mocking Tanjiro so much; it's one of those scenes that Ufotable really slowed down and dialed up the drama in, while still making every action make sense and count. One of the most tense conversations in the whole anime, and Gyutaro's glee is palpable. I love that all the names he calls Tanjiro are names that he was called when he was human, and while I don't think Gyutaro is conscious of it, it feels like at some level, he's yelling these things at himself because he's angry with himself for having failed to protect Ume.

--Speaking of, I love how Daki is like, "nuh uh, Oniichan, don't you dare make these two our friends, I hate them" and Gyutaro ignores her because she's an annoying little sister. Such siblings. Also, the way she's just casually sitting totally unphased at the top of the building is the biggest mockery, as it rubs him how useless their hard-earned triumph in the previous episode was. I love how much that theme gets stressed in this series--that is what it means to fight demons!

--Kimetsu logic: don't give us any idea what the characters are doing until after they've already done it. Tanjiro wasn't running away, but instead grabbing a kunai and covering its scent? Oh, ok, cool. Zenitsu had another variation on his one technique and he can only use it twice in one fight? Ok, cool. Inosuke can move his organs and resist poison? You know what, okay. Also, a note of voice acting--I love how heroically deep sleeping Zenitsu's voice is (I'm sure that's how the hero of Legend of Zenitsu always speaks), and how Inosuke is clearly Not Okay.

--Uzui can stop his heart? Sure. Alright. I wonder how much of that was voluntary in the middle of a fight with his little Tsuguko on the line, though--perhaps he also went into that state to prevent himself from bleeding out from his arm? But man, he is no-o-o-o-t looking good, that is truly fighting with desperation, however elated he is to have completed his sheet music technique.

--His wives were watching when he was down on the ground and supposedly dead. ;__;

--Ufotable always has such a challenge to make every Breath technique look amazing and they keep raising the bars. Even though a lot of the height of this battle was just being flashy and yelling at each other, they still had to thing about battle mechanics, like what hits they actually manage to get in on each other (Uzui didn't just lose the eye, he took a nasty hit in the abdomen, too!) and the moment Uzui drops one of his swords. Although a lot of the fighting in this episode is slowed down by character thoughts, if you put it all in sequence, it was very, very quick.

--This entire battle, actually, probably did not take very long. The initial blows exchanged between Tanjiro and Daki took a while, but once it got going with Uzui involved, it was very, very fast-paced. Considering people only started to evacuate during the Daki and Tanjiro battle, and most of them were still there during Nezuko's fight, it was probably very lucky if it was vacated by the time this episode started. We don't know how long Tanjiro was out cold, but hopefully that was enough time for the stragglers to get away before Gyutaro's final attack (but Nezuko saves them, yaaay, I also get to enjoy knowing that Nezuko's fire at the end of this episode because Ufotable made that cool choice too!). Anyway, part of the reason I bring up the speed of this battle is because I am still cross at Ufotable for messing up the timeline by placing this arc in very late autumn, which is should had been in summer, thereby making the night short in the first place--and uncomfortably hot even before you add all the flames! (Added bonus: hot and muggy for the boys when they're in kimono and makeup, because that's funny.)

--THE MARRRRKKKKKK

#KnY rewatch #my art #kamado tanjiro #kamado tanjirou #kamado nezuko #daki #gyutaro #gyuutarou

75 notes · View notes

inventedfangirling · 10 months

Text

Pat's Growth- from troublemaker to walking green flag

Pat Napat Jindapat is by far one of the greenest flags i've ever seen in shows. Especially asian shows with men. But for quite a while i was wondering why Pat's character in the first episode gave very different vibes from the one he turned out to be eventually.

Of course he liked to help people but Pat in episode 1 is mostly picking fights for no reason and just exuding aggressive {alpha} male-ness (derogatory) and i just couldnt really put a finger on exactly how his transformation happened. How convincing it was that this was the same guy.

Pat and icy?? I just had to replay that part when i rewatched the episode for the second time cos the pat i loved was the very opposite of icy.

That's when I was reminded of Pat from high school. The younger, happy go lucky version of himself who had few disappointments in life being the spoilt golden son in a clearly patriarchal household. Despite being spoilt though, while he was still mischievous he wasn't really picking fights for no reason. He had left that in his childhood as had Pran.

High school Pat was thus a glimpse of the man he could turn into, the man he would turn into. That was until Pran moved away and Pat was suddenly all alone. He was still the popular guy, he still had people around, his family was there still hurrahing every small and big victory spoiling him left and right, he didn't have to move away, he no longer had to compare GPA's he was finally at peace, except that the peace came at the price of a loneliness so depressing and soul crushing it literally sucked the very Pat out of Pat.

The loneliness borne out of Pran's absence allowed a multitude of thoughts to fester in his mind. Idle mind is devil's workshop and whatnot. He began to be more man. Be more louder. Be so in your face nobody could ignore his existence. Loud enough that maybe it could drown out the deafening silence of his loneliness. And that's the Pat we meet in episode 1. The one who picks fights for the flimsiest of reasons and just can't control himself in one. And then? And then he sees Pran.

Memories flood back. Of times gone by. Childhood games and Guitar picks and writing songs.

Except it doesn't. Pat doesn't allow them to come back. There is no instant change in him. He tries to continue his old ways. Tries to fight.

Tries to keep it loud and all man. But alas how longer could he have stalled the change. How longer could he have pushed away the memories. Pran was back. His competing dimpled and fierce buddy-enemy was back. More importantly at that point the Pat who he was when Pran left was steadily knocking at the door to be let out. And Pat could choose to suppress him again. Or he could choose to be him again.

With Pa's advice and fate intervening and putting them in next door apartments, things begin to change. Pat suddenly finds himself wanting to be around Pran all the time. Trying to make up for all the lost time. For all the loneliness. And that's when we see Pat meeting his younger version.

A softer, kinder, more safe space puppy human than macho fighter.

Still Pat, but a better one. One who looked for solutions than to create problems. One who wanted to be friends more than fight. The one who wanted to and now once again suddenly got to be around Pran.

And so he does. He sheds his macho skin like that, he becomes the Pat that Pran fell in love with in the first place.

He becomes the Pat that Pran continues to fall deeper in love with.

He becomes the Pat that sacrifices his win for his boyfriend, sacrifices his need to be loud if that's what Pran wanted, the one that is lifted up by a simple phone call or the smallest note, the one who still fights but apologizes soon after.

The one who wakes up early to make breakfast for his boyfriend, the one who reaches inexplicable levels of happiness just by sniffing a shirt.

The one that ends up on that rooftop with Pran. Not the iconic rooftop kiss one. Of course that. But eventually the one on the house they will end up sharing together.

And thats how i believe Pat became the Pat we loved in episode 12. He was always in him. And when he longer suppressed that part of him, when Pran's return heralded his own revival, that was when that Pat could come out and breathe the fresh air and become the person he was always meant to be. The one with whom just being in his presence makes Pran feel like freedom was his. The one who both Pran and all of us fell in love with.

I made a much longer version of this but for Pran, do check it out if you'd like here

#pat napat jindapat #patpran #bad buddy #bad buddy meta #bad buddy series #pat appreciation post

202 notes · View notes

strawhbrrries · 10 months

Text

frank castle + jersey shore

There were many shows that Frank would continually deny his interest in, so much so one would think he just hated it and all the people that starred in it. However, like many of these shows, he would almost always end up behind the couch about twenty minutes later asking what was going on. Hunched over the back, maybe even eating something. But, like clockwork, he’d be there.

Jersey shore he was the worst about, the absolute worst. He’d grumble and groan about how stupid reality tv is, get up to go do something else, and end up right behind the couch. Every. Single. Time

“Do you wanna watch this with me, Frankie?” You’d ask, putting on the show and watching his eyes roll as far back in his head as they can possibly go.

“No.” He rubbed the leg that was in his lap before tapping it twice and getting up from the couch, making sure to give you a few kisses before he left the room.

“Why not? You always end up watching it anyway!” You shouted after him, turning on the show and getting comfortable once again.

“I do not.” He yelled back, banging around in the kitchen before bringing your favorite snack to you and leaving yet again.

To his credit, he lasted longer than twenty minutes. You had been rewatching the episode where the girls write the note to Sam and the one before it, it would always remain one of your favorites. He came in to ask a question about ten minutes in, thirty minutes since you had started watching, and just never left. He did his usual hands braced against the back of the couch and staring as the girls went to use a computer.

“Why don’t they just tell her what happened instead of writing a note?” He asked, looking down as he waited patiently for a response.

“Technically they weren’t there when it happened, if i remember correctly but they wanted her to know.” You responded, patting the cushion next to you so he would just sit down and watch the damn show.

He sat, moved your legs back over his lap and rubbed them while you watched the show. It bothered you to no end that he always did this but you’d always appreciate him actually watching it with you, no matter how stubborn about it he was.

“Wait so why isn’t she mad at Ron? He’s the one motorboating other bitches.” He turned to you, you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to rationalize the situation.

“I’m not sure, Frankie. They were incredibly toxic, like the whole show.” You responded, giggling at his expression and turning back to the show.

“I’d never do that to you, even if I did I swear to god if you forgave me, I’d be the biggest piece of shit.”

#maddies fics #frank castle #jon bernthal #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #frank castle fluff #frank castle headcanons #frank castle imagine #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic #jon bernthal fluff #jon bernthal imagine #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal x you

170 notes · View notes

fanficsat12am · 2 years

Text

how the brothers react to playing with his hair headcanons | Leviathan, Satan & Asmodeus

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜 Lucifer & Mammon Beelzebub & Belphegor

Leviathan

The first time you did it, he was genuinely not prepared. Levi was in the middle of sewing his next cosplay when it happened. He was so engrossed in making sure every stitch was right that he failed to notice you leave the bathtub he calls a bed.

He's only reminded of your presence when he feels the tender touches of fingers brushing through his plum purple hair.

Your hand combed through his tousled mop with ease, despite him forgetting to brush it that morning.

To you, it was just a nice little gesture to show some affection. To him, it felt like a spell closely associated with those casted by sorceresses he sees in his anime, chanting charms meant to lure unsuspecting wanderers deep into the forest.

Despite Levi claiming that he cared little for the deed, his actions beg to differ. Instead of pulling away, he leaned deeper onto your hand with a blush and enjoyed the fond moment with you.

He wanted to get back in his bathtub and cuddle, but he wasn't willing to stop sewing.

Thus, the battle in his head met a compromise of multitasking instead.

He continued to sew while you continued to play with his hair.

He's become accustomed to it and likes to feel your touch no matter what he's doing, as long as you're alone of course.

Playing Bad Devil Slayer, watching new episodes of Ruri Chan, just hanging out in his room, you name it.

"Levi-chan, wanna rewatch TSL with me? I promise I'll play with your hair"

"S-sure if you want to. You don't have to do it b-but if that's your vibe, okay I guess"

such a blushing mess

Satan

It seemed that everything around him was going wrong that day. He had been snippy all morning and got irritated at even the smallest things. To be fair, being bombarded with tasks from the council and a pile of homeworks that can fill a whole shelf can make anyone pissed off.

You felt really bad for the demon and wanted to so badly help cease his inner turmoil. You knew that keeping his wrath in check was a hard task on its own. With all that’s been going on? You weren’t even sure how he was still in his normal form

So you decided to do what you do whenever he's in the middle of reading, play with his hair.

At first, he swatted your hand

"I don't have time for this, MC"

Too bad for him, you were persistent

After a few more tries, he finally succumbs and accepts his fate.

Satan was irked at first, wanting to just finish his work. After a while though, he closes his eyes and starts to melt onto your hand like wax near a flame. The moment reminded Satan of a human world fairytale he read, an image of a girl spinning straw to gold.

For a few minutes, all his worries were washed away.

Just like Lucifer, he finds comfort in your touch and immediately looks for you on rough days as well as just a past time while reading.

"Hey Love, long day today?"

" I'm teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff and your touch is the only thing keeping me from falling, Kitten "

Asmodeus

He was known as the brother who took pride in his looks the most in the land of Devildom. He always took extra care of his appearance from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

When the both of you started dating, he still had his guard up when it concerned his physical image.

So when he saw you even try to get your hand near his tuft of champagne hair, he instinctively dodged it. The crown on top of his head took him hours to do and he won’t allow someone to mess it up in just a few seconds.

He couldn’t blame you though. Who’d want to miss the chance to have a short glimpse of the treasured “Jewel of the Heavens”, who was brought down from the Celestial Realm to be seen by everyone, let alone be able to reach and touch him.

So one day, he decided to leave his hair be for once. Asmo didn’t do anything grand with his hair and let it flow naturally. He looked for you and luckily found you in your room, reading a book probably recommended by Satan. The demon laid his head down on your lap, took your hand, and placed it on the top of his head.

You were understandably confused by his actions, knowing how he felt about just the thought of his appearance being slightly disheveled. But, he insisted you play with his hair–so you did.

The moment was magical for the Avatar of Lust. Though he was the living embodiment of sexual desire, this was different. To him it was love. To him it was affection. To him it was a desire for his heart, not just his body. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it.

And more is what he got. The brothers now often find Asmo in your arms having his hair played with. He savors the feeling of your fingers grazing his scalp, his hair making it look as if you were brushing your hand along the fine grains of sand on a beach.

“Are you sure Your Majesty? I know you have an event coming up tonight”

“MC, you've got me all wrong. I’d sacrifice every party in Devildom just to get a sliver of your touch, Darling~~”

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the support in the last post🥰I hope you liked this one as well 💕I kinda got more in-depth with these ones hehe. More are coming soon so I hope you guys stay around for that ❗❗ Feel free to lemme know your thoughts and if you guys have any requests, my inbox is always open💌 See y'all next timeeee~~

3K notes · View notes

sillybayo · 4 days

Text

Bayo's Black Rose Arc Analysis

Some notes before I begin:

-This ramble/essay contains heavy discussions of CSA, general sexual themes, and incest. Also, keep in mind that the characters discussed here are 12-17. While I will be looking into how sex affects them mentally and such, I will not tolerate child sexualization here. I will block anyone who makes a single weird comment or make me uncomfortable. We'll be talking about this from a pure psychological standpoint.

-This is a thought dump rather than anything formal, so I won't be dropping episode titles or numbers. I'm also going purely off of memory, and things I said in group chats. So if things lack clarity, this is why.

-I'm not saying I "cracked the black rose arc code" or anything, this is purely my interpretation that I wish to share, due to not seeing many black rose analysis', and being displeased with what some people have said and concluded. I just want to put what I think out there for others to enjoy :3.

-To avoid being repetitive and cluttered, I'll be generally referring to any character who pulls swords out as "wielders", and any character who has had a sword pulled out of them as "sheaths". Any scene where this transpires will be called a "sheathing scene."

-Once again, due to the material of this analysis, I will be blocking anyone who sexualizes the characters in notes, or anyone who I see as creepy.

With that out of the way, let us begin :3!

So I was watching rgu video essays one day, and I stumbled across one about Miki. About halfway or late into the video, they begin talking about how Miki and Kozue had sex in the black rose arc, due to the way she touched him before the sheathing scene, and the way he turned beet red when Nanami asked how it felt for the sword to be taken out. And I thought it made sense at the time, as I was still new to utena, and I only watched it once. And the allegory is clearly there in other black rose sheathing scenes (besides with utenanthy), right?

But then I thought about it more when I rewatched the juriori black rose episode a year or so later, and caught Juri blushing when Nanami asked her the same question. And...wait. Because doesn't all of the black rose sheathing scenes look..uncomfortable? The sheath cries in pain as the sword comes out of their chest, and Wakaba even forced it out of Saionji. And this weirded me out, because why would a show thats so clearly against rape of any kind go on to write something like this? Why did Miki and Juri blush about something that was so forceful? And even if they were under a mind controlled like state, why would they write the wielders to be rapists? With the way rgu writes sex and rape, it didn't seem right, y'know?

So a few months later, when I decided to continue my rewatch and reached the Wakaba black rose arc episode, thats when I truly started to think about it more. And thats when I reached a conclusion: Miki and Juri are more influenced by Touga and Saionji than they realize. And by extension, they're all influenced by Akio.

You see, Touga and Saionji clearly view Anthy as someone to be sexualized. Shes their wife, who would fulfill their every request. Even though they might not know Anthys and Akios relationship, and/or how the latter treats her, this is an undeniable shared mindset.

Even though the boys and Utena uses Anthy as a sheath in the exact same ways on the outside, you know that when its with Touga and Saionji, its sexualized. They own her. When Touga demands Anthy to kiss his sword, it feels so off that Utena couldn't bare to watch. You could argue that its because it would hurt Anthys lips, but in later episodes its clear that it isn't the issue, as Utena uses the same powerup but in a more supportive fashion rather than sexual. So whats up with that?

I say; in (most of) the wielders view, the sword is like a penis.

I know, a very silly thing to say. But I don't mean exactly. And I, of course, don't mean literally.

Do you know that scene from the scream movie, where the two guys are stabbing each other, begging for it and all? It definitely has sexual undertones, because of the mood set by the characters, and heres where I'm getting at; the idea of a long pointed object being thrusted in you.

What I think is that Anthy is so sexualized by the student council, that the idea of a simple sword being pulled out of her 14 year old south asian brown girl chest, is arousing.

So when each of the student council members become sheaths themselves, of course they think that its one of the most sexually intimate things to experience. And its so stupid, right? Its just a sword. a SWORD.

And I shouldn't be referring to the student council so generally, because Nanami is the only one who sees through this. As far as I remember, she wasn't weird in the slightest when she was Tsuwabukis sheath. And even in the apocalypse arc, shes uncomfortable when Touga kisses her, and disturbed when walking in on Akio and Anthy (but then again I haven't rewatched that episode yet, so I could be wrong). She purely meant to ask how the sword felt, with no sexual intent. Miki and Juri were just pure idiots on that part.

So then, wait, if the sword pulling in the black rose arc wasn't a metaphor for rape, then what is it?

Well, I argue that it black rose wielders follow the same mindset as some sexual assaulters when they're under the effects of Mikages reverse therapy, in a way. Its the strong feeling of thinking the sheath owes the wielder something, and that the wielder deserves it no matter what they say.

Another reference to a different piece of media, but remember when its revealed that Pearl continued to fuse with Garnet for her own personal wants, which crossed Garnets boundaries? People interpreted that scene as Pearl raping Garnet, when....no. What? Of course she isn't. Its just the general idea of your wishes being disrespected, and boundaries ignored. Do you see where I'm going with this?

The black rose wielders see something in the sheaths that they want for themselves, whether it be their love, their attention, or some secret third thing. So with nothing but entitlement and desperation in their heart, they force the sword out of their hearts, where their desires lie.

But, wait. How about other scenes with swords? Like when Anthy is Utenas sheath, and when Anthy has a thousand swords stabbed into her? Do swords still represent desire?

Well, yes! Very easily. Utena fights for the pure sake of love and friendship. She fights Saionji when hes cruel to Wakaba, and she swears to protect Anthy with all her heart. She duels with the strongest ounce of care in her soul. Thats the desire to keep her loved ones happy.

What about when Anthy what continuously impaled? Well, that was the villages desire to get to the prince. And it was Akios desire to finally revolutionize the world after so long.

I may be missing a few scenes, but this is the general idea, and I hope I got the idea across. Thats the end of my little ramble :3. As an acespec hypersexual, I already spend a lot of time deconstructing the truth behind sexual things and feelings. So this was fun to think about. I hope y'all liked this, and understood it most importantly. Toodleeess

28 notes · View notes

gaybananabread · 16 days

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Perfection is Relative ˖ ݁݁ 𖥔.

~Soooo I’m in my rewatch-comfort-shows era, and Helluva Boss is next. I can’t wait for the newest episode, so I’m trying to get the insanity out with this. For anyone who happens to read this, I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Moxxie

Ler: Millie

Summary: Moxxie is second-guessing himself and stressing out about his appearance. Millie notices and decides to lovingly remind her husband what the word “perfect” truly means in this life.

Warnings: spoilers for Helluva Boss and fluffy couple romance (few kisses)! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

Moxxie had always had confidence issues. Be it moral dilemmas, other’s perceptions or just general life itself, he would second-guess himself and shy away. However, there was one thing he could always trust himself to nail: his presentations.

Whenever Blitz had a performance-based job, Moxxie put his best hoof forward and found a rare spark of assurance and self-confidence. His outfits were on point, any makeup was flawless, and he got into the metaphorical zone. Nobody could ruin that for him, or so he thought.

At the summer camp, Moxxie had spent a good few hours designing his persona and the look of it. He was actually pretty proud of it. That was, until those teenage girls and everyone else at the camp insulted his appearance and disregarded his existence.

Millie and him had already discussed how it made him feel, and while he was incredibly happy for and proud of his wife, he couldn’t get those thoughts out of his head. It bled into his everyday planning, making him critique every little detail about himself. Like that morning, where he’d spent half an hour adjusting his bowtie position.

“Maybe a bit lower to point the focus…” Moxxie mumbled to himself, loosening his bowtie once again. He’d left the bedroom door open, too focused on the mirror to notice. He didn’t even notice as his wife peeked in, nor he did he catch her small, knowing sigh.

“Honey…what’re you doing?” Millie came up behind him, resting her hands on his waist. She’d noticed his extra self-consciousness lately, but she hoped it was something he’d work out. It was apparently deeper than that, though, so she was at the ready with support and a - hopefully - helpful conversation.

“Adjusting my bow. It’s not really symmetrical, and I want it to send a certain message about me.” His words were a bit rushed, giving his wife a peek into the swirling storm of his mind. She wasn’t happy with what she saw.

“You really don’t need to worry, Mox. You look amazin’ already.” Millie gently grabbed his chin, turned him and kissed him. He sighed at the affection, pulling away after a second. Moxxie felt bad about kissing her; he wasn’t good enough yet. Millie deserved the world, and he couldn’t help but feel inadequate.

“If you say so, Mills. Just let me fix up a few more things.” Moxxie tugged at his collar, adjusting the bow and tugging his hair into place.

Now, Millie could’ve just left her husband to finish getting ready. However, doing so would’ve meant letting him think he needed any of the extra glitz and ritz he was putting forth. He was handsome and wonderful enough as-is; she was determined to get that through to him.

With a suppressed smirk, the female imp grabbed his chin once again, her tail snaking around his waist. Moxxie was oblivious to her true plot, just suspecting she wanted attention. “Millie, just gimme one seco- EEP!”

He cut himself off with a squeak as Millie’s claws skittered across his neck. Down below, the pointy tip of her tail was dragging along his side. The smirk was no longer suppressed, her adorable tooth gap showing in the playful grin.

“Mihihillie! Whahat are youhu dohohohoing?!” Moxxie squirmed and wriggled, trying to slip away from his wife. Millie wrapped her free arm around his waist, securing him while adding more wiggling fingers to his stomach.

“Gettin’ you outta your head, Mox. You got too much judgmental crud about yourself up there.” Millie placed a fluttery kiss behind his ear, making him squeak once again. Her fingers were still going at it, dragging the pointed claws along his belly and neck while her tail teased his side.

Moxxie instinctively folded like a lawn chair, his giggles squeaky and scratchy. His wife’s arm was the only thing keeping him from dropping to the floor.

“Mihihills! I cahahan’t- KYAAhahaha!” The sharpshooter kicked his hooves, each impact making a small clack against their wooden floor. Millie couldn’t help but coo at this.

“Aww, there we go, sugar~” She purred, chuckling against the warm skin of his neck. His careful bowtie placement was all messy now, skewed and crooked from Millie’s evil affection. She was hoping to get him all nice and messy before she stopped. He needed to see how amazing he was at his least dolled-up.

While his giggles were certainly music to her ears, she was looking for something with a bit more gusto. Millie wanted to really make him laugh.

Quickly spinning her husband around, she pushed him down onto their bed and grabbed his thighs. Moxxie’s eyes went as wide as saucers, but before he could say a word, her claws were wiggling into his sensitive skin.

“NAHAHAHO! MIHIHILIHIE PLEHEHEASE!” Moxxie’s precious giggles quickly rocketed up to loud, screeching cackles as Millie targeted his worst spot. He thrashed on the bed, ruining his hair and untucking his shirt in the process. She was quick to take advantage of that, slipping her tail underneath the fabric to tease his stomach once again.

“O-OHOHO MY SAHAHATAN!” Small tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes, his cheeks stained a deeper, purple-ish red. The blush was adorable to Millie, though his tears showed she had gone far enough. She stilled her fingers, kissing his smiling lips.

“Ihihihi… oho cruhuhums…” Moxxie took a few deep, giggly breaths as he tried to regain his composure. That attack had come out of nowhere, but he didn’t exactly hate it. “Whahat was thahat for?”

“I already told ya, hon. You’re bein’ too hard on yourself.” Millie rolled off him, lying down beside her husband. He sighed, shaking his head.

“I juhust…I dunno, Millie. It’s just not enough. I need to be perfect.” She brushed a bit of his unruly hair back in place, humming. “I think you look pretty damn perfect right now, Mox. You’re only perfect when you’re you.”

Moxxie felt himself tear up at that. Millie was just…so herself. He thought she was perfect, so…maybe she was right. Leaning forward, he kissed her lovingly, his tail wrapping around hers.

Millie smiled into the soft embrace, cupping his face with one hand as the other held him close. He was so adorable just then: rosy cheeks, loving eyes, messy hair and love-drunk eyes. She could gaze at him for eternity and never tire of his most natural beauty.

“Uhum…what were we getting ready for again?” Moxxie asked as he pulled away, finally remembering that they had planned on going somewhere. It did kind of spoil the moment, but he genuinely couldn't remember.

“Well, I think…Blitz called us in? Somethin’ about a pop-up client.” Millie sighed, knowing that their boss was probably ready to kill them for not being there yet. She didn't regret a damn thing, of course; Moxxie was more important than work.

“Shit…you wanna get ready together?” Moxxie shrugged, offering the small moment. Millie looked him over one last time, taking in her perfectly amazing mess of a husband before nodding.

“Sounds good, Mox. But no spendin’ forever on silly things, got it?” She booped his nose for emphasis, wiggling a few sneaky fingers on his side. Moxxie giggled and jerked away, playfully glaring at her.

“Gohot it,” he agreed, sticking his tongue out with a smirk. Millie rolled her eyes before hopping off the bed as well, joining him by the mirror.

Moxxie looked into the reflective glass, seeing himself in near complete disarray. But, with Millie’s smiling figure by his side, loving every bit of him unconditionally, he couldn't help but like what he saw just that much more.

#hb tickle #lee!moxxie #ler!millie #ticklish!moxxie #sfw tickling community #tickle #tickle fic #helluva boss tickle #hb moxxie #hb millie #helluva boss #tickle fluff #fluff fic

46 notes · View notes