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#so of course his behavior is excused in his own perspective

liyawritesss · 9 months

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ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: College!Spider-Verse!Miles Morales

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would it be like to hold the heart of Brooklyn’s very own Spiderman? Is it an exhilarating tale for the ages, or do things crash and burn before the romance even begins?

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it

A/N: Think of this as a part 2 to my original college!miles morales headcanons. Very sweet and cute, with Miles being a dork even in his young adult years.

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed

As said previously in my general college!miles headcanons, I doubt that he’s that invested in dating and pursuing a love life while at school in jersey. So I feel like it’s likely he’ll meet his partner when he travels back home for vacations, weekend trips, etc, as its somewhere he feels more at ease to be himself.

I like the idea of Miles bumping into the attractive person at the Lenny’s Bodega he normally buys his Jamaican Beef Patties from, in a very cheesy and cliche situation where there’s only one left in stock when the both of you reach for it….and Miles being the gentleman he is, would let you have it (also bc there’s a massive fight happening outside and he’s got a suit up real quick, but you don’t question just how frantic he is when leaving the store)

After that Miles tries his hardest to see you again, making up the lamest excuses to head to the corner store. Mama Rio’s out of milk? He’s already bolting out the door. Catching up with dad while he’s on patrol and Jeff mentions he’s a tiny bit hungry? No problem Pops, I got it. And lord knows that boy do not need to go on that many ‘snack runs’ with how skinny and lanky he is, cuz he not gaining nothin’

Though at some point he does run into you again, and he’s able to engage a conversation by the fact that there’s more beef patties in stock so both of you guys can get one. It’s a cheesy joke but it works, cuz when you laugh a little it gives him a major confidence boost

Of course, Mama Rio peeps that somethings up with her son when he comes home with an extra pep in his step. But just because he’s an adult now doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have grounds to tease him. “Did you meet someone today? A girl? Or….. a guy?” She absolutely lives for seeing her son happy and giddy.

It starts just as casual texting, sending tiktoks back and forth and sending casual check-ins. Over time it evolves into meetups, hangouts, facetime calls. And originally Miles is just like “they’re attractive and cool asf” and is perfectly fine with a friendship. It’s been a long time since he’s had a genuine one (in reference to the events of ATSV), and more than anything, just wants someone he can be real with.

But even he can’t fight the realization that at some point throughout your friendship, his perspective of you shifted from platonic to romantic. Miles started to notice little things about you that would make his heart stall in his chest or his stomach flip around with butterflies. Noticing a new fragrance you’ve bought, or a change in your usual hair style, or being more in tune with your emotions than even you are.

So it begs to question; when would Miles say anything about his budding feelings? Well…he probably won’t say much of anything at first. If anything he tries to bury them because he doesn’t wanna ruin the one good friendship he’s been able to maintain since he was a teen. But his changes in behavior don’t go unnoticed by you, and for a while, the two of you walk this thin line of “will they-wont they” until you ultimately bring the conversation up

You go on a couple of dates, have a couple of conversations about what would be expected in a relationship with the both of you, and with your talks Miles slowly but surely begins to gather the courage he needs to be firm with his desires for you…which comes in the form of a kiss underneath the stars while stargazing on the rooftop of his brownstone building.

In the beginning, he’s still kind of skittish, he doesn’t wanna do anything wrong ruin what you two have, and there’s a lot of reassurance that goes into play during the first few months of you two dating (on both ends, really). But once he’s comfortable and you two are really set in…good luck tryna get rid of him

Clingy clingy clingy clingy clingy- loves cuddles, hugs, kisses- is definitely a “where my hug at” typa nigga, and will immediately get grumpy if you dont give him a greeting kiss. Always has a hand on you, whether it be on your back, in your hand, on your thigh- he just needs to physically feel you to ease his mind sometimes.

He draws portraits of you and leaves them in your bedroom or his to find. He also likes when you give him feedback and praise for his drawings because they make him feel really good about them. He always jokes about how you change your hair so much, it’s hard for him to nail down certain hair types and protective styles that you wear.

When he’s home for summer break, your parents can’t and will never stop you two from sneaking into each other’s rooms through the fire escape. They just expect to come into your rooms and find the two of you cuddled up together, with blankets lazily thrown over your bodies. But it also gives them plenty of pictures to blackmail the both of you with. (Jefferson is notorious for picking on his son for clinging onto you like how he used to cling onto Rio’s arm as a baby when he slept. Miles will never know peace in his own house.)

If you have your own apartment, Rio has to beg this boy to come home, and constantly makes jokes about him moving in with you since he spends so much time at your place anyway.

When he’s away at school, he calls you three times a day - one in the morning so that you two can wake up and get ready together, one in the afternoon when he’s in between classes and while you’re either in between classes or on lunch at your job, and once in the evening so you two can unwind and fall asleep together on the phone for the process to be repeated again.

He likes to speak random sentences in Spanish and watch your face contort in confusion. In the scenario that you don’t know or understand the language, you’ll ask him what he said, but he’s so difficult with it, he lets you beg until you ultimately give up, and whispers it in your ear while giving you a back hug. It turns out to be something cheesy as hell, but you love it either way.

If you do understand/know the language, you look at him like he’s grown two heads and question what it is he’s even saying, because in this scenario he’ll say the most random and out of pocket shit just to annoy you. Though you forgive him in the end because he honestly sounds so good when he’s speaking his mother’s tongue.

Dating Miles also means sharing him with Brooklyn, and subsequently New York in general, when it comes to his Spiderman duties. If you can hold him down even though he can’t guarantee being a constant presence for you, you’ll make him fall harder than he originally had. If you love him unconditionally, even if the nights where he comes to you, battered, bruised and exhausted; even when he has to cancel dates or disappear in the middle of a phone conversation; or there are certain things he can’t tell you because of his superhero occupation - the one thing Miles will always promise you is that he’ll come back to you every single time. And that's more than enough for the both of you.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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strangestcase · 1 year

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For the people that are going to do Dracula Daily this year:

One of the subplots that Dracula covers, and arguably the most important subplot, is one centered around a psychiatric patient confined to an asylum- it touches upon the way he sees the world, his relationship with his doctor, and how he relates to and perceives the villain VS the heroes, since for most of the plot he believes the villain to be good and strives to serve him.

Both the patient and the doctor characters (who are part of the main cast and very important to moving the plot foward in their own ways!) are portrayed as sympathetic victims to the main villain and mostly on the side of good, but in different ways, and, of course, the way they are written is informed by the beliefs of the time.

I won't spoil anything too important about it, just warn you that this subplot depicts Victorian Era ableism, which is... pretty extreme, and forms of medical abuse (specifically, psychiatric abuse) that still exist today!

This plotline involves:

-depictions of hallucinations, delusions, and irrational thinking

-medical malpractice: delusions being encouraged, patients being dehumanized, prolonged use of dangerous restraints

-unsanitary behavior (eating live animals)

-ableist attitudes from most of the hero characters

(other Dracula fans pls tell me if I've missed something)

What do I make of this? you ask. Well...

Do not excuse medical abuse, even if it's fictional. The doctor character is, for all his medical malpractice, depicted as a complex person that has some likeable traits and he undergoes a pretty sad arc relating to loss and trauma, like most of the heroes of this novel. This doesn't make him any less of an abuser, nor makes his patient any less of a victim!

Refrain from using ableist language or rethoric. The patient character, being written for a very old horror book, is often depicted as "unsettling" and his strange behavior is sometimes played for horror. This 1) doesn't make his situation any less deplorable 2) doesn't make him any less sympethetic and most importantly 3) doesnt give you a free pass to treat him as a scary horror monster. He's a victim of both the real monster of this story and the system he lives in.

Listen to psychotic fans. Research the history of Victorian asylums. Understand the historical context. Look at this subplot from a holistic perspective instead of treating it as a horror story within a horror story (although, it is a horror story, but not for the reasons some think it is!). Just don't be a dick to disabled people.

If any part of this subplot triggers or squicks you, you are not obligated to read it, just be aware that it exists and that it is important to avoid perpetuating ableist stereotypes, be they present in the original text or not. (Hell, you are not obligated to read any part of the book if you don't want to do so. Dracula Daily is supposed to be fun. Analyzing literature is supposed to be fun. Enjoying literature is supposed to be fun!)

For the love of God, don't get angry if some fans dislike the doctor character for what he's done and take the patients' side. This was an issue during the last Dracula Daily run. He's literally the victim in this relationship. I'm not saying you can't like or dislike either character but I have to reiterate: do not erase either character's contribution to the plot, do not demonize the patient character for being mentally ill in an "ugly" way and beliveing the villain is good, and don't woobiefy the doctor character because he said a funny thing once. Both are complex adult human beings so don't expect them to be caricatures.

Do not be afraid to call out ableist behavior from other fans, but also be careful to not overstep or talk over disabled fans, especially psychotic fans.

During the Dracula Daily run, some blogs will warn about the entries in which this subplot takes place, and what triggers apply for each one of them. If you need those warnings, don't be afraid to reach out for them!

Happy reading!

#dracula daily #dracula #dracula daily 2023

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missmaywemeetagain · 3 months

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Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love,

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

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slickfordain · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝

Yandere behavior, Siyoon Baek x GN!reader, reader is based off of my personality and will have similar sceneries of what happened to me. (Also a little bit based off of my bff)

Truly, he thought he was in love with Jeongmin at first, trust me;; he did think deeply at it. But lately, it seems that Jeongmin has… Become into a person he doesn’t see her to be, anymore. At least, not the Jeongmin he once knew. Was this the first time he fell out of love? Hardly think so, but it was a possibility… What was he doing wrong? He promised himself to love the girl forever. Yet, every time that time passes by— Jeongmin always seemed to be pestering with that brunette haired boy. It was… Annoying.

But, that soon changed when he realized what he was missing. The soul and perspective Baek was looking for, was not Jeongmin… Jeongmin was not the person he was supposed to love. It was someone named [Name]… How foolish of Siyoon Baek to love someone else so foolishly, when his soulmate was you all along ever since Jeongmin’s “enemy” had accidentally introduced you to him.

Oh how interesting you were, indeed. Neglectful parents who pampers you and babies you like an eight year old, not letting you out of your house… Pink styled clothings— or just casually wearing black colored clothes. Either, you looked very comfortable either way. You even always wore shorts every now and then.

It was you who he was missing. He is supposed to love you no matter what shape you take. If you were Jeongmin, he will realize this and love you. If Jeongmin was you and tried taking him to herself;; she would fail. It’s you he’s after. Your perspective and soul, he wants all of it.

This is why he fell out of love with Jeongmin.

So, by the time of trying to stalk you whenever Jeongmin went off to school— he notices you work for the hotel and as a part time baker. Interesting enough, Siyoon likes what he sees, he adores that you work hard for money to buy enough food for yourself… It was truly fascinating that you could work so hard.

And almost everyday, he stalked you. Almost every hour, every week, every weekend. It ticked his hunger for you, something that has him feral for your poor precious soul. You weren’t too strong… He knew you were dumb, and someday, would end up poor. He couldn’t have that now could he? He hated how your parents even go so far off to tell you: “How are you going to live alone, if you can’t do things on your own?” That ticks him off.

And so, it happens that the two of you ended up meeting one another;; coincidentally on the same train that was supposed to head to your home place. You just finished work and earned money for yourself, so, you had to wait three days for it. That’s where Siyoon Baek took his shot;; as he had jumped onto the same train with you, smiling mischievously at the background, with blush covering his face.

“Hello, excuse me…” Siyoon Baek’s voice interrupted your thoughts, making you look up from your phone to stare at the white haired male with concern;; and slight paranoia. Did he need something from you? “Yes?” You mumbled softly out, making Siyoon’s heart ache even more so, now that you’ve responded to him. You finally… Acknowledged him. No Jeongmin in the way, no nothing… Not even that filthy brat of a girl he attacked a few weeks ago. With a plastered saint smile, the big boy sat next to you and of course— made sure you had enough space which you somewhat liked.

“Sorry, it’s just, I couldn’t help but recognize you~ You must be [Name] right? A friend of Jeongmin.” The male started, mischievously. You started blinking owlishly and thought about this for a while… Now that you got a closer look, this man was Jeongmin’s boyfriend. Ah right, how could you forget? Jeongmin has a very handsome boyfriend, who’s also very loyal… You couldn’t help but envy her… You’ve seen it all even inside the lobby room, where Siyoon Baek was talking with someone else next to Jeongmin. It was at the Cinema that day…

Perhaps, being too friendly with him wouldn’t be so bad. After all, you’d like to know how him and Jeongmin even got together in the first place, and how long they’ve stayed with one another. So, smiling, you decided to nod. “Yeah, that’s me, you’re Jeongmin’s boyfriend— Siy…oon… Beak?” You tried pronouncing, awkwardly fiddling with your phone in hand, with Siyoon Baek staring right down at you… And then suddenly… Turned away. Face covered halfway, only covering his jaw and mouth- nose even. “?? Siyoon?— Did I spell that wrong?” You blinked concerned, thinking that maybe you did… Oh no, what if he hated that?— Overthinking, you looked down as you tried finding different ways to spell the boy’s name.

Underneath that hidden half of the boy’s face although, was nothing more but an obsessed expression, a massive blush heating up his own face that it was overwhelming. His eyes saw stars, trying to compose himself from kissing you straight away. Oh good God, you’re just too cute. Way too cute, how the hell was he supposed to live with this? So genuine too…

“Uhh… Ba…yak? No. Ugh… Sayon? Is that even a name?—”

He even heard your rambling about trying to correct his name. One more and he’ll entirely lose his control when it comes to just trying to interact with you;; he seriously now had to take action. So, removing his hand immediately from his face, Baek took a deep breath before shutting you up. “Hahaha! No no silly, it’s Siyoon Baek! But I’m quite surprised, you got the first part of my name right at least~ How cute.” Siyoon smirked, eyes focusing on your shocked expression. “Oh shit so I did spell it wrong— forgive me man, I suck pretty much on figuring names out myself…” You awkwardly retorted before scratching your nape, looking down at your phone;; swiping up with a nervous tension growing in you.

You’re going to kill him if you kept acting this cute.

“Even Jeongmin told me you’re her boyfriend… But jeez I didn’t even remember the name spelling- or she didn’t tell me… Whatever— I’m still sorry Siyoon—” Freezing at your words, Siyoon realized you thought him and Jeongmin were still together. … Ah… Right. Jeongmin must not have told you, hasn’t she? This concerns Baek of why… Perhaps you easily feel bad? Who knew?

“Oh, ahaha, I see… You mustn’t have heard the news about me and Jeongmin…” Siyoon sighs as he stares off at the ceiling, legs crossing themselves together while his body leaned back. You eyed the boy, before paying back attention to your phone to text your online friend. “Hm… No. I don’t really pay attention to reality… Did something happen?” You didn’t even know why you proceeded talking anyway… Was it because Siyoon Baek was nice to you right now by just, starting a conversation? Probably.

“Oh? You don’t? Well, well. You better be careful! One day you might die from not hearing about what happened~” Siyoon laughs it off, making you chuckle slightly in return which caught him off… You… Weren’t mad? “Haha… Honestly I can see myself dying because of that stupid reason, you’re right. But what was with you and Jeongmin?” You proceeded to ask, not taking your eyes off of the phone yet;; not noticing a huge smile growing onto Siyoon’s face. If it were to be Jeongmin… He’d be called weird at first for asking such thing… But you, you didn’t seem to care whatsoever. Ah… You’re truly his partner.

“Well…” Sighing - Siyoon decided to cross his arms and slumping against the nearby pole that’s close to the seat. “Me and Jeongmin aren’t really officially dating. Was far as I know,” He trailed off with a chuckle, with your eyes now staring off at him shocked. They broke up? “We’re done for. Jeongmin honestly seems more interested in the other guy, than me.” He admittedly told, and with that… You were starting to think Siyoon Baek probably trusted you… Shit, how should you respond? I mean, you could’ve seen it coming since it’s bound to happen to many couples… But now he’s willingly telling you this…?

“… And you, [Name]…” You hummed in surprise when he said your name, before feeling your left hand being grabbed to the side onto his hand, smiling sinisterly at you that made you feel a slight shiver down your spine, yet, didn’t make an expression. What was this? “How about we… Go fake a date, to surprise Jeongmin and her new lover, ha?” Another deep chuckle escaped the man’s lips. “After all- we’ve coincidentally met because of your classmate… What was her name again? The blonde girl…” Siyoon hums, looking as if he’s genuinely thinking, when in reality, he’s trapping you in his love. If you agree to fake date with him, that means he can manipulate you into loving him more… He would give you anything.

…

Although, the next words were not what he completely expected from you.

“Oh? Fake date??…” You seemed rather nervous, tensing up even with blush covering your cheeks; feeling your chest beating slowly. “I mean sure, but I don’t see why we need to take revenge on Jeongmin… After all, she moved on didn’t she? Loosen up.” You pat the poor guy’s back, paying back attention to your phone once more. “I’ll fake date with you, to make you forget about her. Okay?”

…

Oh [Name], I don’t think you’ve realized how much you’ve made this man more in love with you. He was more desperate than before… How was this possible? Were you possibly existing to remove his stress? He couldn’t let you leave… No. There’s no way. You’re too good to be true… With a another sickening smile and a huge blush covering his face once again, Siyoon swore he had never felt so happy before.

“Of course, darling~”

It’s done omfg

#dreaming freedom #Siyoon Baek x reader #Siyoon Baek x you #dreaming freedom x reader #various x reader #various #yandere x reader

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caecilian-king · 5 months

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Ok. So, i read some more Wuthering Heights today and this one paragraph really struck me- like it got to me just as much as lines like ‘whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same’. But I don’t think this part is probably talked about as much, because its about 2 of the supporting characters and its not a poetic romance quote.

I’m talking about this paragraph, where Nelly Dean is walking outside and is reminded of her childhood:

“all at once a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. 'Poor Hindley!' I exclaimed, involuntarily.”

The reason this got to me so much is that this is exactly the way I’d been thinking about Heathcliff. ‘Sure, heathcliff’s a jerk!’ I’d think to myself, ‘but in the earlier chapters when he was a kid he was so cute and loved cathy so much! He was so unfairly treated!! He had moments where he laughed and played!!’ Not that i excused Heathcliff’s wrongful actions, but i sympathized with him, just a bit. Deep down i want him and cathy to have a happy ending, even though they’ve hurt and will hurt so many people.

(somehow, having many of heathcliff’s future actions spoiled for me by reading through the WH tag so often has not made the book any less enjoyable to me. This book is that good.)

Hindley, however….Up until this point I had always seen him as nothing more than a monster. We see very little of his childhood. We see him cry about his toy being broken, and then later we see him being racist towards-and then physically abusing- Heathcliff. After that, he’s a young adult/adult and is just consistently even worse to Heathcliff (and everyone else at Wuthering Heights) than he was before.

Nelly, unlike the readers, saw hindley’s whole childhood. She saw the moments when he was good, when he smiled and laughed. She saw ways that he was treated unfairly (his own father liking this new adopted son better than him and not hiding that bias at all).

Does this make hindley suddenly a good person? Of course not! But it really put into perspective for me how similar heathcliff and hindley are, and how i was biased way more towards one because I had seen his good side. Heathcliff and hindley are both incredibly violent, grumpy, abusive people who crave money and power. I’m sure I’ll continue to find similarities as I read more.

My three main takeaways from this paragraph are:

1) i think that hindley not only serves as a catalyst for heathcliff becoming a bad person, but also as heathcliff’s narrative foil. (Wikipedia says: ‘A foil usually either differs dramatically or is an extreme comparison that is made to contrast a difference between two things.’ I think this is a perfect description of how heathcliff and hindley work in the narrative- hindley is perhaps how we would view heathcliff if we hadn’t seen his childhood.)

2) i think this paragraph serves to remind the reader that everyone is a human who has at one point been innocent, and that this fact doesn’t excuse bad behavior, and that you should be careful about sympathizing with heathcliff so much that you begin to excuse his actions. I also think the fact that this paragraph comes so soon before isabella’s letter to nelly is incredibly important and intentional. That letter she writes about arriving at wuthering heights really highlights how bad of a person heathcliff is.

3) i am now slightly sympathetic towards hindley, and view him as a bit more of a complicated character than i took him for previously. I am also now a bit more conscious and critical of my sympathetic reading of Heathcliff up until this point.

All this being said- heathcliff is still (for lack of a better term) one of my blorbos. I am obsessed with his stupid edgy personality and his sarcastic comments and his over the top evil plans. I am ESPECIALLY obsessed with his relationship with cathy. I know it wouldn’t actually be romantic in real life but, man. I could write a whole ‘nother post about how much i love their relationship. I want to put him in a microwave and watch him spin around. the former-AP-english-student in me is aware that he is a terrible person but the silly drama-loving side of me cant help but just find all of his terrible actions sort of equal parts funny and badass (i feel like this will stay true even as he does some of the more horrifying things i’ve heard about later). silly side of me wants him and cathy to do whatever evil things they want and ride off into the sunset laughing maniacally together.

(JEEZ i did not think i would spend an hour writing like a full essay when i started this post. this is what adhd does to you, folks.)

#wuthering heights #wutheringposting #heathcliff #wuthering heights heathcliff #heathcliff wuthering heights #hindley earnshaw #nelly dean #emily bronte #my WH posts

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cienie-isengardu · 4 months

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I'm kinda weirded out that Bi-Han scars his brother and people act like him being a little mean to Tomas is his worst deed and he deserves to die for it or something. Bi-Han doesn't owe Tomas any love or respect. You don't have to like someone just because daddy said so.

I totally agree that hating Bi-Han for not liking or loving Tomas as a brother is pretty wild take on his character, because he did not ask for such a bond, the same as Tomas did not ask to be orphaned and adopted into Grandmaster’s family. Both were forced into a situation created by adults that apparently couldn’t act appropriately to the situation (e.g. killing Tomas’ mother and sister when the family accidentally trespassed on Lin Kuei territory and Grandmaster adopting Tomas out of shame / to save his honor rather than out of love/care for the boy).

What is even weirder to me, Kitana and Mileena had in previous timeline(s) bitter relationship yet I don’t see fandom to hate original/alternative MK9!Kitana for rejecting Mileena ("You are not my family... you are a monstrosity!") and looking down on her because of Tarkatan blood (“[Shang Tsung] has created horrid replicas of me crossbred with Tarkatan blood!”). People apparently can acknowledge that Kitana was thrown into “sisterhood” she did not ask and the creation of “twin sister” happened out of her control and knowledge while also understanding it was no Mileena’s fault for acting and looking the way she was because it was how she was specifically created. If fandom can accept and support Kitana’s choice of rejecting “sister” on the spot without any empathy to look at the situation from her perspective AND AT THE SAME TIME can feel sorry for Mileena, then the similar treatment should be given to Bi-Han and Tomas, as they were presumably children who adapted to the unfamiliar situation in their own ways. However the main difference between those two scenarios is that Mileena is the “psycho” (so Kitana is excused for not wanting her as a sister) while MK1!Smoke is the personality-wise castrated version of MK9!Tomas who for whatever reason is now the fandom’s Cinnamon Roll that never did anything wrong and anyone who doesn’t melt at the sight of this cutie IS BIG MEANIE, boo!

A character not loving fans’ favorite does not commit a crime however fandom wants to present it as unquestionable proof of said character’s evilness. Fictional or real life, people are allowed to not like each other as the definition of family will vary from culture to culture, and from one person to another - it does not however allow anyone to abuse other people, but that should go without saying.

Bi-Han said mean things to Tomas, and Kuai Liang for that matter. He in general treated others in a similar, cold fashion. But objectively speaking he did much more questionable things over the course of the story, yet people are fixated on Smoke’s feelings alone - and to be honest, I'm not even surprised anymore by that.

But you know what frustrates me the most about fandom’s perception of Bi-Han and Tomas relationship? The amount of fanwork presenting Bi-Han as always mean, always abusive to the poor poor little Tomas which is not just the best proof the fandom is set to demonize kid Bi-Han for his adult self’s choices. It is the whole implication that Grandmaster and the Mother and like everyone involved in raising the brothers, all the masters and teachers did not act to prevent it from happening nor cared to correct Bi-Han’s action. And the most sick thing about that? Children imitate the behavior of adults. Do people really think that kid Bi-Han started saying "Lin Kuei blood only" bullshit out of his mind just to spit in the pitiful orphan's face? Like, really?

Stupid beliefs like that come from somewhere and children are taught by their parents and adult people around what “values” and traditions they should respect and follow. We literally know just three Lin Kuei characters and the fact that only Kuai Liang and Tomas rejected Sub-Zero’s leadership while the clan followed their Grandmaster implies Bi-Han’s beliefs are accepted and shared by the clan. So maybe instead of being so set on demonizing kid!Bi-Han - who so far was only said to be “always cold” to Tomas what is not equal to being abusive and cruel on purpose - maybe it is time for fandom to examine previous Grandmaster and the whole clan’s beliefs that A) were passed to Bi-Han to mold him into man he is today and B) apparently fucked up Tomas’ childhood so much.

#mortal kombat #tomas vrbada #sub zero #bi han #my replies #do i sound bitter? good because i'm so tired of this weird new trend to present kid bi han as some sort of bastard #always tormenting poor tomas while everyone apparently don't give a shit maybe beside kuai liang #like do you really think that grandmaster's son in a clan set to turn children into warriors to serve earthrealms #would be spoiled instead of taught the warrior discipline from childhood like everyone else?#and it may be just me but when i hear someone is cold it means he does not want to bond with you not being an asshole with sadistic impulse #but sure let's blame a kid bi-han and not the way he was raised by adults WHO SHOULD make sure kid Tomas was safe in unfamiliar environment #sorry rant over

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nadiawritessomething · 1 month

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I think one of the biggest differences between my vision of Miles G and the general fandom is how I see him interacting with other people. Because, honestly, I don't think he would be... rude. At all. I mean, I'm not taking away from his Brooklyn slang or his experience in the criminal streets. I don't mean he doesn't have triggers that would make him loose himself and be rightfully pissed off because of it. Just like 1610 or any other traumatized person would do.

It just doesn't mean in my mind that he would swear a lot or behave aggressively.

Given the environment in which he grew up for most of his life, none of this would have led to an unreasonable outburst of anger or disrespect.

Look, in ATSV, we have already seen how Rio (remember, his main and only parent) is quite sensitive and serious about the vocabulary her son uses. Take the same moment with "whatever," her reaction was quite strong, primarily because such vocabulary in response to an important speech was hardly something she would want to instill in her child. And, realizing that Miles G will clearly receive even more advice and instruction from her in his later years than his 1610 counterpart, I don't think the strong guidance on his own behavior in social circles would have disappeared quickly even in the worst of worlds. That's why I hc him being more polite that 1610 from time to time — Rio's lessons seems quite strong and unbeatable.

And also about Aaron - as much as people like to hold him up as an example of a "bad influence" on his nephew, he is NOT a bad person. Seriously, the worst thing he did to Miles in the first movie was probably that "hey" trick. Yes, his work as the Prowler wasn't nice or morally right, but we were made to understand that he never meant Miles any harm.

(Did you see the deleted scene from ITSV where Aaron almost literally tells Jeffernos that he doesn't want Miles to end up "like him"?) He would be just about the last person on the list of people who would teach a child to smoke or swear violently, let's be honest.

(I'm not American and I'm not from Brooklyn, so I wouldn't mind if someone corrected me on that part).

However, as a person who knows the belligerent and disturbing atmosphere in my city, it seems to me that you should be cautious rather than angry here. Except for the Prowler, of course: Miles has a little more freedom here and a literal need to be fast and scary, so he deserves a little Spanish swearing in the face of a conventional Octavius.

But if you take, for example, a normal civilian going out and shopping, I don't think that in a world full of crime, Miles G will be looking for a fight. In such cases, you always have to look and know what to say, and who it is better not to approach at all, because the person, for example, may have a gun. Of course, if someone openly insults or threatens him, he can defend himself easily, but in other cases, you need to be even more polite and quiet than usual. His goal is to buy the damn milk and leave, so if he has to say "excuse me, please" to some man at the checkout, nothing terrible will happen. If you ask me, this kind of communication with silent strangers is probably the first thing that comes to mind, but it depends on your perspective.

And the last thing is that he is a child - no 15-year-old teenager with a desire to help his family and psychological isolation will drink alcohol or be angry with all the people in the world. Thank you.

#don't even get me started of how he doesn't want Rio to worry abt him so probably would follow her advises like his life depends on it #DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON PPL HEADCANONING HIM USING SLURS FOR WOMEN OR BEING MYSOGINISTIC?#he was raised by a SINGLE mother If there's a group of ppl he is especially polite with it's women and children #(the group of ppl he wouldn't especially polite with? Man police workers/hj)#don't even get me STARTED on how Aaron probably rethought some of his habits and quirks when starting to take care of Miles and Rio #cause he didn't want his nephew so pick up some parts of him that he didn't like #DON'T EVEN-#across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales #miles 42 #prowler miles #miles g morales #earth 42 miles #spiderverse #aaron davis #jefferson morales #rio morales #rio morales 42 #character analysis

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violynt-skies · 2 years

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Why Leo didn’t truly step into the leader role until the Krang Invasion:

(this is gonna be a bit of a longer post but i’ve just got so much to say on this so plz bare w me for it. i shall include a TLDR at the end tho bc ik i have a tendency to ramble.)

okay so from the beginning of the movie it is clear the Leo hasn’t really taken his leader position super seriously, even after two years we can still see the group seeming to follow Ralph’s lead the majority of the time, with Leo going off plan and doing what he wants.

But i believe that the real reason leo took the role of leader so leniently and didn’t really change his behavior regarding it till the Krang invasion occurred is most likely due to a crippling fear of failure.

Because if he pretends to not care and turn everything into a joke there will always be the excuse that he was never really trying and that’s was why he was a bad leader if anyone ever tried to questioned it

BUT. if he were ever to actually try and really attempt to step into his role, it would mean that if he ever failed at any point during that time, then it would truly mean that he was a bad leader. And Leo wanted to avoid that conclusion at all costs.

His coping mechanism has always been humor, an attempt to cover up true feelings and take away from the seriousness of a situation bc it lessens the impact of any high emotions going on at that time.

It’s the same way procrastination works for so many people. In the way that people will put off doing the work because they’re afraid of failing even after putting in effort. Procrastination is an excuse for doing badly and hurts less than if you actually gave it your all and still failed. His humor and casualness is an excuse for his lackluster behavior as leader.

Leo has been shown on few separate occasions of his insecurities regarding his placement and role in the team, and with the leader role having been pushed on him, the reality of those insecurities becoming true became closer than ever before and he wanted to avoid that at all cost.

Even during the movie when Raph is lecturing him we can see how Leo takes criticism. He deflects all the time and never wants to come to terms with it because he doesn’t want to face his own faults, but he’s also shown to clearly be listening and you can tell the words are sinking in he just doesn’t want to accept them.

And this behavior continues because till that point things have turned out fine for Leo. The way he ran things has always “gotten results.” And it wasn’t until those methods actually resulted in real consequences (Raph getting kidnapped) where he has to become more serious and enforces his position as leader because he can’t afford to be lenient about it anymore, especially with Raph out of commission.

In terms of procrastination, the Krang Invasion was essentially his deadline and the point where he was finally needed to put in the effort.

However at this time he hasn’t reevaluate his behavior or the way he does things because he hasn’t been proven that his methods don’t work well for a team yet, and bc he was dealing with the distress from losing Raph his recklessness worsened.

This is until his brothers get trapped under the subway and he gets the wake up call he needs. And it’s soul crushing because this was a moment in time where he HAD been attempting to be a leader and he ended up failing. He finally had to face his own faults as a leader but this moment was so needed for him in order to improve.

And he does! He learns from his mistakes and takes the time to listen to his team and we can see his true potential shine through as he learns how to rely on his family and how to lead them.

And everything really kicks into high gear once on the Krangs ship as we see him understanding Ralph’s perspective while fighting him and watching his brothers struggle under the Krang as he gives his genuine apology and big motivation speech.

This is the final endpoint where we finally get to see him in action really step up as leader

of course the situation got worse before it gets better (insert entire last 30 minutes of the movie) and god that self-sacrifice scene was just heart-breaking and he’s going to be traumatized for life but that’s a post for another time

TLDR: Leo took his position as leader so casually because of the fear that if he ever actually attempted to lead he would end up failing, however in being lenient about it there would always be the excuse that he was never really trying and that would be the reason for any kind of failure that came his way. It was easier to brush off this reason than the other. However the Krang Invasion was a huge wake up call where he was needed to actually put in the effort and learn how to be a true leader, which he does eventually learn to be and succeed at it.

have some loving family shots cuz we deserve them <3

#i could probably go on and on abt this but it’s a bit long now so maybe later lmAo #i love this show sm tho #this is probably why he’s my fav tbh.#the ability to relate is too high istg #that and i’m such a fan of angst ahA #if the grammar is rough forgive me i wrote this all in like one sitting on my phone pF #this show has ruined me #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt season 3 #save rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rise leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey

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rainbow-starlight · 4 months

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time for EVEN MORE CHARACTER ANALYSIS 🎉

(this time, with enneagrams!)

So, I love a good personality test, as I know many Tumblr users do. I’m particularly fond of Enneagram, because I feel like it gives a lot more insight into someone compared to, say, MBTI.

So, of course, I sat down and took the test twice: Once for canon Sun, once for canon Moon. A lot (and I do mean a lot) of this is based on speculation, so if you disagree, please let me know why!

I mostly did this because, y’know, there isn’t a lot of characterization for these two, and I wanted to see if I could gain any new knowledge from this. (Which, yep, it absolutely worked.) Hopefully this can be useful for anyone who wants more perspective on writing these two in a more day-to-day sort of setting. It’s almost all speculation, but I found it really interesting.

So, drumroll please… 🥁🥁🥁

Sun is a 2w1, and Moon is a 8w7!

Pretty different from what I found for them online (Sun as a 7w6, Moon as a 1w2). Thoughts on what these mean under the cut.

Most of my information comes from here! Some paraphrasing, some direct quotes. I won’t be directly citing everything because this isn’t an essay.

Sunny

The biggest and most interesting takeaway from Enneagram, to me, is the core hopes and fears.

Sun’s primary hope is to feel loved, and his secondary hope is to be good, have integrity, and be balanced.

Sun’s primary fear is of being unwanted and unworthy of being loved. His secondary fear of being corrupt, evil, or defective.

This is really interesting to think about in the context of the virus. He’s scared of being left behind, maybe doesn’t even understand why Moon is acting the way that he is and is terrified something’s just wrong with them. This could even apply in regards to being moved from the stage to the daycare, in a way.

His main motivations are to express his feelings for others and be needed and appreciated. His secondary motivations are to improve everything and be beyond criticism so nobody can say anything bad about him.

When going through a period of stress, Sun would become more like Moon’s worst traits. He’d be more proud, egocentric, confrontational, aggressive, dominating, vengeful, and demanding of obedience. If he were in danger during this period of time, he’d likely become destructive in his attempts to get out of it, even if that’s not the best way to handle it. He’d also likely become depressed, moody, irrational, hopeless, and ashamed of himself, more prone to self-destruction. He’d probably chase away people who try to help him and self-isolate.

I think that can definitely be seen in the ruin part of HW2 with Sun’s voice lines to the player, as well as how harsh he is on the player during arts & crafts.

When going through a period of growth, Sun would be creative, self-aware, introspective, gentle, compassionate, excitable, spontaneous, cheerful, and productive. He’d be able to be vulnerable yet emotionally strong, grateful for what he has, and excited about just existing. Very much like fanon Sun, honestly.

An unhealthy Sun would likely be manipulative, inflexible, self-serving, and domineering, able to excuse and rationalize his behavior because he sees himself as a victim. He’d likely be obsessive about others’ imperfections and wrongdoings, perhaps to the point of cruelty. He’d be prone to nervous breakdowns.

An average Sun (closest to what we’ve seen so far) would be people-pleasing, orderly, abrasive, overbearing, impatient, self-sacrificial, and codependent. Full of approval and flattery for others. He’d likely hover and mettle in others’ business and scold others for anything done not to his exact specifications.

A healthy Sun (unheard of so far in the games lmao) would be unselfish, compassionate, caring, hopeful, warm-hearted, forgiving, encouraging, and appreciative. He’d actually take care of himself, too.

To help Sun grow into that healthy category, here’s some stuff that would help…

Addressing his own needs before others’.

Not expecting appreciation for the good things he does.

Asking people what they need from him instead of just assuming and trying to help, and accepting that sometimes people don’t want his help without assuming that they dislike him or are rejecting him.

Not trying to call attention to his own hard work.

Learning to recognize the affection and good wishes of others, even if those things take a different shape than he’s familiar with.

Learning to relax and take time for himself, without feeling like this will lead to chaos and disaster.

Not expecting others to change immediately when he explains something, because what’s obvious to him isn’t always obvious to others and people just don’t typically change right away.

Not getting worked up about others’ (or his own) shortcomings, because frustrated with others gets him nowhere and harsh self-criticism just makes him feel worse.

Getting in touch with his own feelings and needs.

Moon

Now, this one was definitely harder. We get so little characterization for him. And yet…

Moon’s primary hope is to protect himself and be in control of his own life and destiny. His secondary hope is to be satisfied and content, and have his needs fulfilled.

Moon’s primary fear is of being harmed or controlled by others, and his secondary fear is of being deprived and in pain.

This is really telling compared to Sun’s. Moon isn’t scared of some sort of fundamental flaw within himself. He also cares much less about what others think of him, and just wants to be happy and safe.

His main motivations are self-reliance, to prove his strength, and to be important and in control of his environment and situation. His secondary motivations are to maintain his freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out, to keep himself excited and occupied, and to avoid pain.

I feel like this definitely tracks. He’s a gremlin that makes a hobby out of bothering the staff by pretending to be a boogeyman. That’s not “security” work (sorry, Moon).

When going through a period of stress, Moon becomes secretive, fearful, perfectionistic, and critical. He’d be reclusive and out of touch with reality, obsessed with yet frightened by his violent thoughts, and incredibly self-destructive. He’d judge others harshly while rationalizing his own actions and wouldn’t hesitate to punish others to get rid of perceived ‘wrongdoers’.

This aligns pretty well with what we’ve seen of Moon with the virus.

When going through a period of growth, Moon picks up some of Sun’s best traits. He becomes open-hearted, caring, focused, compassionate, encouraging, nurturing, loving, perceptive, curious, independent, innovative, and whimsical.

We haven’t really had a chance to see anything like this with Moon, but it feels closer to popular fanon perceptions as well.

An unhealthy Moon would be ruthless and violent. He’d be reckless about his own safety and straight-up murderous. He’d be impulsive and never know when to stop or when he’s taking things too far, and eventually run out of energy or get too broken-down and just give up on himself.

An average Moon would be self-sufficient, hardworking, hyperactive, self-centered, and proud. He wouldn’t pay much attention to his own emotional needs. He’d be combative and intimidating to get his way, and not shy away from threats to get obedience. He’d always be doing things to avoid boredom and have a larger-than-life persona just for the fun of it.

A healthy Moon (at long last…) would be brave, confident, resourceful, decisive, cheerful, passionate, and assertive. He’d actually be very extroverted and easily excited, which goes against a lot of popular headcanons for him, but then again this is the guy whose entire characterization is one long performance of hide-and-seek/tag with the monster under your bed. I feel like it makes sense that he’d be more social when the threat of his worst fears coming true isn’t looming over his head.

How would Moon reach that healthy category?

Recognizing that he’s at his best when he does things like take charge or help people through a crisis. He needs to use some self-restraint and try to inspire others to do what he wants instead of just forcing them.

Learning to let others have their way sometimes, and recognizing that doing this usually won’t mean sacrificing his power or his real needs.

Recognizing that the world is not against him and letting in the affection that’s available.

Accepting that he depends on others and not alienating them.

Not overvaluing being feared/obeyed, and recognizing that those things are not a stand-in for love.

Learning to be less impulsive.

Learning to listen to others, as well as learning to be comfortable without constant stimulation.

Accepting that he doesn’t have to have everything immediately.

Choosing quality over quantity in experiences.

Making sure that what he wants will really be good for him in the long run.

What do these types mean for their relationship and how they’d interact with each other?

They’re more alike than they initially appear!

Both are action-oriented and want to have a personal impact on their environment.

Both can be sentimental and deeply feeling, with a soft side that isn’t as apparent.

Both can play the roles of provider, protector, caretaker, and nurturer while avoiding or even denying their own needs.

Both tend to overwork themselves and be the ‘strong one’ in relationships, although Sun’s type is more likely to be the power behind the throne whereas Moon’s type is more likely to be the one on the throne, which I found really interesting.

Both are passionate, generous, and have good people skills.

Both are strong-willed and like taking on responsibility, as long as they choose it themselves.

Both easily play the roles that the other needs and wants. They see each other’s best qualities and can be the other’s strongest supporter and admirer. They also have clearly-defined roles, so they tend to not get in each other’s way. They make powerful allies who complement each other’s strengths, particularly the good effects they have on others.

However, they have very different values: Sun’s type is more person-oriented, and Moon’s type is more practical. Sun’s type also tends to be more indirect, whereas Moon’s type tends to be more direct. Sun’s type is much more likely to get attached to people and see things from their point of view, whereas Moon’s type does not.

When they’re not doing so good, they may be prone to arguments over whose views are correct: Moon’s confrontational attitude and tendency to shut others out, or Sun’s possessive and self-sacrificial behaviors. Sun’s type is more likely to get caught in a codependent relationship with Moon’s, becoming an apologist and enabler for his bad behavior.

The breakdown in mutual communication/respect/trust would involve Moon seeing Sun as insincere and manipulative, and Sun seeing Moon as cruel and domineering. They’d both become more controlling and harsh with each other, both prone to paranoia and fear of betrayal.

I feel like that’s kind of where we’re at in the games. Sun chooses not to outright warn people about Moon a lot of the time, and they both try to gain total control of their shared body and shut the other out.

AAAAND… DONE!

I hope this was at least an interesting read for you guys, and offered a new perspective on these characters! I recommend checking out the link for further insights into the personality types, because I tried to just limit it to character motivations and interactions and that alone has been ridiculously long.

hey, sunnie, why’d you do this?

neurodivergency. next question.

#fnaf sun #sun fnaf #fnaf moon #moon fnaf #daycare attendant sun #daycare attendant #daycare attendant moon #fnaf dca #dca moon #dca sun #dca fandom #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf hw2 #fnaf help wanted 2 #fnaf headcanons #fnaf hcs

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mayhem-neverending · 3 months

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The Big Bad Wolf

Part 14.5

Word Count: 1,286

Warnings: None

Note: This is just a lil thing. You can skip over it completely, it doesn't actually have an effect on the story. I just thought it was kind of fun to see a different perspective.

Hikaru and Kakashi stared at each other across the small kitchen table. Kakashi had picked him up from his great grandma’s house a couple hours ago, which ended up being perfect, because it gave him an excuse to escape the Elders. He hadn’t been intent on telling them he sent Obito with you, but the old bags were pushy and intrusive by nature and just had to know all the details.

So, they spent the afternoon taking turns berating him while he made non-committal noises in response, scanning over documents that needed signing. He hadn’t started out being rude, but he did tune them out around the third time they repeated themselves.

They weren’t pleased with any bit of the situation, to say the least.

Hikaru sipped on the juice Kakashi had bought him on their short trip to the grocery store, eyes never breaking contact. The way Hikaru seemed to read into Kakashi’s soul was absolutely unnerving. It had him wondering if this is what people had been subject to when he himself was a toddler.

The silence stretched throughout their meal. Kakashi had picked up Ichiraku on their way back to his apartment, how could he not when he ran into Naruto around dinner time? He ordered a handful of things for the little boy - none of which he touched. He had asked your grandma what Hikaru liked to eat, but she just shrugged her shoulders and told him she didn’t really know before ushering him out the door.

Kakashi fidgeted in his wooden chair and his fingers tapped an off-beat rhythm against the tabletop. He hardly touched his own food; the reality of him taking care of a child for the weekend fully setting in and making him queasy. He knew he could handle it, but he feared messing up - especially when it was your child.

He crossed and uncrossed his ankles under the table, listening to Hikaru gulp down his apple juice when he suddenly had an idea. He wove his hands in the air, turning his body to the side. In a puff of smoke, Pakkun appeared with his usual grumpy expression.

“What can I do for ya, Boss?” His deep voice broke the silence.

“Dog?” Hikaru asked, pointing to Pakkun.

“Uh, whose kid?” Pakkun raised a brow.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you see..”

Hikaru climbed down from his chair in a flash and came over to inspect Pakkun’s little face. Pakkun sniffed the air and shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Nevermind the question, this is Y/n’s kid… nice to meet ya, kiddo,”

Kakashi’s brows shot up. “How do you-?”

“Boss, the kid has her scent all over him. Smells like you do every Monday - y’know, when you call me over here and you’ve got that dumb look in your eye,”

Kakashi spluttered a little at the accusation, a deep crimson staining his ivory cheeks that he was grateful were partially covered by his mask. The dog only rolled his eyes again, holding in a scoff at his behavior.

“You gonna tell me why you got the kid?” He asked while Hikaru roughly petted him between the shoulder blades.

Kakashi gave him a quick rundown of the situation; the grumpy dog taking Hikaru’s clumsy affections in stride. At the end, Pakkun sighed out. Of course Kakashi would put himself in the position to take a child he had little clue of how to care for.

Pakkun agreed to stay and help for the evening, and Kakashi nearly collapsed in relief. He wanted to do well with this task, just like anything else he did, but this specific one held extra weight. He needed to impress you and get in the good graces of your son, who was now side-eyeing him from his spot on the floor.

Hikaru and Pakkun ran around his apartment for an hour or so while Kakashi cleaned dishes, made the bed and got a bath ready. He had borrowed the bed set right from your bed when he had gone to retrieve things for Hikaru. He remembered reading somewhere that little kids were a lot like pups, and smelling their mom would soothe them. Your grandma had also informed Kakashi that he shouldn’t waste his time getting Hikaru to sleep by himself. He wasn’t the type of kid who slept easily in new places, and would keep him up all night trying to crawl in bed with him. So, what better way to keep him happy? Kakashi thought to himself.

Once the water was just the right temperature, Kakashi went out into the living room and corralled Hikaru, who was jumping on couch cushions and cackling at Pakkun, who was trying his darndest not to get stepped on.

Kakashi smiled to himself before flashing Pakkun an apologetic look. “Hikaru! Are you ready for a bath?”

Hikaru stopped jumping and looked Kakashi dead in the eye before stating a taunting, “No,”

He started jumping again, but Kakashi was quick to swipe him up. He carried him to the bathroom where the child didn’t put up a fight about getting undressed. He gladly got into the warm bath and played with the soapy bubbles filling the tub.

“I’m heading out, Boss,” Pakkun called from the bathroom doorway.

“Ah, already?”

“I think you’ve got it handled from here,”

Kakashi smiled gratefully beneath his mask, his eyes turning to crescent moons for a moment. “Thanks, Pakkun. You did a great job,”

He left Kakashi and Hikaru alone with a poof. Kakashi smacked a hand on his thigh. “Welp, just the two of us, now, huh?”

Hikaru looked up at him mid bubble-bite. In response, he splashed water up at Kakashi, who received the brunt of it on his mask. It seeped through and had him pulling it down to wipe his sleeve across his face. He shook his head and raised a brow at Hikaru.

“Do you do that to your mom?” He asked in a stern tone.

Hikaru stared at his now bare face. He pointed up to Kakashi’s mouth and his little face suddenly broke into a bright smile.

“Yeah!” He shouted enthusiastically, still pointing at where his mask had resided.

Kakashi was taken aback at the first smile pointed at him all evening. It took him a second before he realized -

“Was- did you not like me because of my mask?”

He started to pull it back up to test his theory, and was met with immediate opposition. Hikaru yelled, “No!”

Well, he figured as long as he kept the mask off, things would be a lot smoother sailing from this point forward. He smiled and Hikaru mirrored his expression, his little eyes wide with excitement.

After an extended bath where Kakashi got himself soaked to the elbows from playing, he bundled Hikaru in a towel and plopped him on his queen sized bed. He dressed Hikaru and changed into his own pajamas before switching his bedside lamp on and the overhead off.

The two boys crawled under the soft covers. He couldn’t help but inhale deeply at the scent of you mixed with detergent. His sense of smell was incredible, and having the mask off left him without his usual needed barrier. He supposed, as he inhaled again, that this was also an excuse for him to smell your scent without being a real creep.

Kakashi rolled over and grabbed Icha Icha off of his bedside table. “I forgot to grab your bedtime books; you think your mom would kill me if I read you a little of this? Nothing too raunchy, of course,”

Hikaru shook his head of brown curls with an ornery grin. “Nooooo,”

Kakashi grinned. “Alright, let’s see…”

Part XV

#naruto #x reader #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #au #obito lives au

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 1 year

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I appreciate the reminder to be compassionate. I’ve seen the decline in my own compassion and empathy lately and it’s had me rather blue lately. Don’t ever lose that. Seeing Eclipse’s origin confirmed my theory as to why he’s hurting the way he is. Yes, he needs to answer for what hurt he has caused. I’m angry at him. However you reminded me to unclench my fist and open out my hand to offer, metaphorically.

I think Eclipse needs his own space, his own room, his own niche that he can call home. As his and only his. He needs to be shown unwavering gentleness and compassion while not being invalidated for what hurts he has endured. Earth did a good job at giving him a heart to heart. I love that she gave him, of her own choosing and will, the reminder that his thoughts and feelings and reasonings matter. His actions and decisions are a whole new level to unpack. But I feel like she planted a seed, ever so gently, without being overbearing.

-chin hands- What is your take on this perspective, if you don’t mind me picking at your brain a little?

Eclipse hasn't really "had" anything to himself. He's always been part of something. Part of Moon, trapped in Sun, trapped in BloodMoon, trapped in a Computer, forced himself into Solar Flare's body. He's never had anything of his own, which I think adds to the tragedy.

But of course this doesn't excuse his actions and behavior, but it helps me understand a little. And I am not saying everyone needs to give him compassion. I just do because it's who I am, I'm an empathetic person so it just comes naturally.

In regards to Earth, I do like to think she can or will make some sort of impact on Eclipse, whether he realizes it or not.

#tsams #sun and moon show #tsams eclipse

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justastarholder · 7 months

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Here’s an analysis-type thing of Afton’s character because I don’t know where else to put it-

Afton may be a grieving father who’s had a lot of trauma to deal with over the years, but it’s just so difficult to feel bad for him. Sure, most of his actions could’ve been made on impulse without thinking about the consequences, but he is still the main antagonist (for now, anyways). He’s still manipulating the sun god and making the lives of many a nightmare. It’s truly almost impossible to justify his actions because he may have been swallowed by grief, but he still did all of those horrible things.

I know this isn’t really asking a question, but I’m seeing so many people who feel bad for him and, as much as I try to, I just can’t see their perspectives of him. Now, don’t get me wrong, he has still gone through a lot for so many years without the knowledge of how to properly deal with it, but his actions are still his own.

No amount of trauma, in my opinion, can change that. I don’t know, maybe I should just send in normal asks instead of over-analyzing characters /hj

Also, here’s some fan art as well of what it may have been like for Afton to deal with the loss of two of his children (this is, of course, an understatement, I’m sure it was much worse)

Hello!

First of all! Whoa, this art is so neat :0

Okay now your ramble:

You're right. Afton experienced a lot of grief, but that doesn't excuse or justify his behavior. I'm sure everyone probably knows that in the back of their mind.

You can sympathize with someone's hurt while still condemning their actions, though. And I'm pretty sure that's what most of these people are doing.

The reason I chose to share the motivations of Afton wasn't to excuse all the stuff he did and make him a more likable character. I chose to do so because it gives deeper insight into why he is the way he is.

Is Afton redeemable?

Personally, I think not. He's a crusty dusty man that really needs to take a nap (forever).

Anyway! Thank you for your thoughts <3

#star holder au #starholderanswers

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theidiotabides · 1 year

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Don't mind me, just turning my lurking TLT blog into a full-time Animorphs meta factory since nobody I know personally has the 25-years-later brainrot I'm currently suffering.

Here's a parallel that fucks me up about Marco, specifically as it relates to his dynamic with Jake:

From Edriss, in Visser:

But I kept seeing a billowing white sail above me; feeling salt spray on my face, stinging my eyes; my hand on the tiller, the pressure of it against my palm; the sense that the boat itself was alive, endowed with life by the need of sky and sea to create some sort of union. Eva’s husband, my second husband, so to speak, was there, lying back, feet propped, a drink in one hand, a book he wasn’t reading in the other hand. And Marco, of course, climbing dangerously in the rigging, playing superhero.

From Jake, in #1 The Invasion:

So anyway, we crossed the road and headed into the abandoned construction site. ... Originally it was supposed to be this new shopping center. Now it was just all these half-finished buildings looking like a ghost town. There were huge piles of rusted steel beams; pyramids of giant concrete pipes; little mountains of dirt; deep pits that had filled up with black, muddy water; and a creaking, rusted construction crane that I had climbed once while Marco stayed below and told me I was being an idiot. (#1: The Invasion)

This is such a stark difference in behavior from Marco, and the whole arc happens before canon even starts, and I feel like it doesn't come up enough in discussions about him? Like, Edriss thinks of Marco as being too sweet & trusting to survive, and the books highlight the shift from that to his ruthless cynicism as a central tragedy of his character, and that is definitely a major part of the Marco equation. But there's also something in the shift from "fearlessly climbing in the rigging" to "calling your best friend an idiot for climbing a crane." Once upon a time, Marco was a fearless adventure-seeker. Then, too young, he learned what it really meant for somebody to die, and it destroyed that part of him.

My personal headcanon is that baby Marco was the kind of kid who could create adventure from wholecloth and regularly picked fights with bullies and probably also teachers on idealistic moral grounds, his miniscule size be damned (specifically, I like to imagine that he was very into the concept of knights and chivalry, although the superhero metaphor is more obvious). Following from this, I think the early years of his friendship with Jake were largely characterized by Marco ringleading and Jake backing him up. Marco was the one driving their adventures, picking their fights, and espousing their philosophical duty, while Jake followed in his wake, delighted to have such a dynamic person to orbit around, priding himself on his role as bodyguard. So their natural dynamic - the one that their friendship was built on, before losing Eva fundamentally changed who Marco is - was the opposite of what we see in the books.

Because Jake isn't a born leader. He doesn't actually want to be in charge. He doesn't have strong personal convictions or goals; he doesn't like making decisions; he's not comfortable weilding power (while Marco does and is). This is why Jake spends so much of the series looking for any excuse at all to abdicate, often calling for group votes or explicitly putting the burden of major decisions on individual teammates (especially Marco - "your mom; your call"). Ironically, this is part of what makes him a good leader: He can see everybody's perspective, he's willing to cede power and trust in expertise not his own, and his entire identity is a meditation on other people's values, helping him find middle grounds that nobody else can see because they're too set on their own paths.

Left to his own devices, though, Jake prefers to find people who he feels good about and then devote himself to them, adopting their worldviews wholesale so that he never has to wrestle with his own. In short, Jake wants a boss. And before the Animorphs, before Cassie, Jake had two people filling that slot: Tom and Marco. And Tom is his brother, so that's a default setting. Marco is the one he chose for himself. Marco's sense for adventure, his idealism, his willingness to pick a fight for a good cause - these are the things that made Jake choose him as a personal North star.

But then Marco lost his mom, and with her went his sense of the world as a just or safe place. Before, he thought of injustice as something temporary that you could defeat with a clever ruse or a brandished sword, and he believed that evil would always inevitably bend before a sufficiently determined good guy. Basically, he believed in the version of the world that exists in superhero stories: Sure, bad things happen, but you'll win in the end so long as you're in the right and you're clever about it.

For a long time, I made up stories about how my mom had survived. Maybe on a desert island or something. But I’m a realistic person, I guess. After a while I accepted it. (#5: The Predator)

No clever plan could bring Eva back, no matter how many stories he told himself about it, and accepting that meant accepting that anybody - including him - could just... die. Gone forever, for no reason at all. And even if they didn't die, they could disappear from him emotionally, like his father was actively in the process of doing, and no amount of fighting on his part could stop that, either. With Eva's death, Marco's world morphed into a senseless place full of random horrors, and Marco himself went from glory-seeking idealist to terrified realist. He's not telling himself superhero stories anymore; he sees them for the lies that they are.

And then Jake - a kid who specifically chose Marco largely because of Marco's idealism and sense of adventure - has to grapple with Marco's abandonment of those things, but with none of the personal emotional context attached. What does it mean to be eleven years old and watch your fearless leader suffer a complete crumbling of his worldview? And what does it mean for you, personally, when you've built your entire identity around following him, but he doesn't want to lead anymore?

I think it says a lot about Jake that he didn't abandon Marco. He easily could have found another optimistic, adventure-seeking person to follow instead, and indeed I think that's what Marco expected him to do. Afterall, if Marco's dad can more or less abandon him, it logically follows that Jake will probably do it, too. I think Marco's snark is largely a coping and deflection tactic, but on some level it's also an attempt to justify his continued role as Jake's best friend. He knows Jake picked him for the superhero-worshipping kid he used to be, and the only parts of that person he still has any connection to are his humor and his smarts. So he leans into constant clownery to reassure himself that he's still giving Jake the friend that he wants, and therefore Jake won't leave him. It gives him a sense of safety: As long as I'm smart and funny, Jake will have my back.

Jake’s my best friend. But he’s my best friend because I’m me, you know? Because I’m funny and smart and I’d back him up anytime, any place. I mean, what am I supposed to do? I’m me, Marco, not some touchy-feely, share-your-feelings-with-the-group kind of person. I don’t share feelings, I make people laugh. (#15 The Escape)

But of course Marco is never in danger of losing Jake at all, because Jake is an absolute loyalist where his people are concerned. You have to fuck up pretty bad for Jake to turn his back on you once you're in his inner circle. So Jake never even considered finding a new best friend; the job belongs to Marco, fullstop. Instead, he started trying to fill the void left by Marco's personality collapse himself, mirroring the traits that Marco used to have back to him, maybe in hope of sparking that part of Marco back to life. Jake idolizes superheroes. He intervenes with bullies. He flaunts danger to climb the construction crane.

But Marco can no longer see the crane as an adventure. He sees it as a death trap that could kill Jake at any second, and he doesn't feel safe until Jake is back on the ground, and he's angry that Jake can't understand that, so he insults him. Both because Marco can't express any feeling straightforwardly so his fear has to come out sideways, but also because Jake is a mirror of who Marco used to be, and on some level Marco hates that naive little kid just because he doesn't get to be him anymore.

By the time we meet them in canon, Marco and Jake are two years into this new dynamic. Jake is occupying the leadership role full time while still modeling himself after the way Marco used to occupy it (with a dash of Tom, because little brother syndrome), occasionally succeeding at drawing out bits of the old Marco in the form of harebrained schemes. Meanwhile, Marco is intensely aware that he is no longer the person Jake wants him to be, and he vascilates wildly between regret/fear (because he might lose Jake if he can't retain some scrap of that person) and contempt (because that version of him was a naive child who believed in superheroes instead of death, like an idiot), and both of these come out in his treatment of Jake. They love each other absolutely, but there is also a disconnect that they don't know how to talk about.

And then the universe is like, lol, let's give these two boys with a specifically superhero-flavored interpersonal power struggle actual superpowers, plus a team to lead in a mandate to save the world.

It's also worth noting that in #50, when Jake has fully given up and is actively trying to abdicate all responsibility for leadership, he tells Cassie that he's only leader because Marco said he was:

“Marco can be in charge,” he said helplessly. Again he pulled his hand away. This time I let him go. “He’s smarter than I am. Or Tobias. Or Ax. Or you. Rachel. Anyone. Anyone but me. You know why I was in charge in the first place, Cassie? Because once upon a time, a long time ago, Marco said I was.” “Jake, that’s not the whole truth …” “Well, now my term of office is over,” he continued bitterly. “So how about for once you guys figure things out and tell me what to do.” (#50 The Ultimate)

But Marco didn't say he was, at least not until after that consensus had already been reached by the others (at least, I can't find it in the pages of the early books - somebody please point me to the passage if it does exist!). If anybody, it was Tobias who waved the fearless leader wand over Jake. But Jake remembers it being Marco, because Jake's whole life is colored by Marco's abdication of leadership in their interpersonal relationship. Everybody else sees Jake as being in charge (and most of them put Rachel second in line), but Jake sees himself as a placeholder for Marco, ready to step aside just as soon as Marco tells him to. But Marco never will.

Anyway, that's my headcanon about what those two lines mean for the Marco/Jake dynamic.

#marco animorphs #marco and jake #animorphs meta #animorphs #what I'm saying is that Jake Berenson is a sub #he's a bratty sub too #Marco come and get your boy #also something something Jake fell for Cassie because she embodies all the sweetness and idealism that he misses in Marco #I ship jakemarco but in postcanon because they gotta defuse their not-it power struggle over who's in charge first #and an ongoing war effort is not conducive to constructive conversations about interpersonal hierarchical command structures #jake berenson

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dailykafka · 1 year

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I would be very interested in hearing your thoughts on Hermann Kafka. I've noticed a notion of people excusing him or brushing over his shitty job at parenting. Brod, in one interview, basically said that Hermann loved Kafka and Franz just took everything personally. Right now I'm reading S. Friedländer's book on Kafka, and he too has this habbit of defending Hermann. That it was all with good intention and such irritations are unavoidable in father-son relationship. I'm aware that Kafka's letter to his father must be taken with a grain of salt. However, it doesn't change the fact it was coming from the truth.

In short, I would love to hear whatever you have to say about Kafka's father. From whatever perspective or POV.

Thank you for your answer.

Thank you for this ask! I could write a very long answer for this but i'll try to be brief. For a moment let's imagine we are not talking about these two but just "a father" and "a child". Throughout his diaries and then in his letter to his father, "a child" is very vocal (not just in his personal writings) about the distress that his father causes him. Whatever the situation is, no child ever wants to talk this way about their parent, no child accuses their parent of bad parenting if there are no grounds for that.

As you said, many have noted that Hermann wasn't really that abusive and that Franz was just emotional (how cold and dismissive that sounds is apparent in our time when parent-child relationships have (more or less) softened). But I think that when a child is so vocal about their parent's behavior, then that parent should reflect on their actions and try to meet the child's emotional needs (that is literally one of the most important jobs of a parent) and when one does not do so, for whatever reason, then it's clear that they are not a good parent.

Franz was a very sensitive person while his father was more cold and stiff. But that does not mean the conflict between them was unavoidable. Yes, sometimes Franz was a bit unreasonable, a bit more upset at his father's actions than other people might have been but so what? A parent should still be kind to his child (enough for him not to have nightmares of you beating him, eating him, leaving him alone in the cold, etc) and that parent should understand how to interact with a more sensitive child. Also Franz wasn't the only 'problem child', his sister also didn't have good relationship with Hermann (if I remember correctly it was even more severe with her than with Franz).

I think the reason why some people say that Hermann wasn't that abusive is because Franz lived more or less easy life - he lived with his parents, had stable job and had time for his writing. But that is material support and not emotional, which is just as important for a child. Hermann did give Franz roof over his head and the luxury of good life but he rarely encouraged him or told him that he was proud of Franz. Hermann neglected Franz (and his sisters) emotionally and when a child is so sensitive of course he internalizes it more intensely.

Overall, I think Hermann was a difficult man and Franz was difficult in his own way but Hermann was the parent and it was his job to manage their relationship in a way that wouldn't scar his child for life.

#anyways i tried to be concise but here we are #hermann knew damn well he was making franz nervous but didn't care enough (didn't have emotional capacity) to fix that #asks

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mbti-notes · 1 year

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Anon wrote: Hi! First of all i want to thank to you for being a real and honest people. Nowadays, like all areas psychology has some popular social media personas which doesn't feel sincere and most importantly real. But your approach is admirable.

I'm an intj, 24, female. I'm not even sure asking such questions to you would be a good idea. But i thought "why not" so please excuse me if i'm wasting your time. It's a classical childhood trauma which it doesn't heal. I got bullied about my physical appearance several times when i was a child. I called ugly mostly and even a girl from my class told me that i should've work twice cause i'm ugly. Now it's all passed but the feeling it's still there.

Actually my real problem's about what's gonna happen if i have a relationship because no matter what i don't feel beautiful. Sometimes some of my friends or a guy who is trying to hit me calls me beautiful and thinks like that. But i feel like if i would accept that everyone would laugh at me. Everyone's lying cause i am ugly. That's the truth. Of course this isn't a healthy though i know but i can't get rid of that feeling no matter what i did. If i would turn into a super model nothing would change inside me so this proves that my thought's aren't healthy and something's wrong.

I only ask because I'm afraid if i would love someone in the future i couldn't have a healthy relationship. This really bothers me. Thanks for even my question was useless to ask to you and stole your precious time.

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

1) I think you've made a great point about social media personas. The self-help business is big business because it speaks to people's deepest suffering. Unfortunately, it is easier to manipulate and exploit vulnerable people, so there are lots of charlatans out there looking to take advantage. That's why I avoid social media and always prefer to learn from the recognized experts in a field.

Nowadays, we are all flooded with so much information, so it's more important than ever to be careful about who you listen to and whether you're getting the right information, especially when it's about your psychological health and well-being. An important part of nurturing a healthy spirit is feeding it a healthy "diet" that promotes personal growth, which means avoiding people who would feed you false or biased information.

2) Bullying is defined as forceful behavior that serves the purpose of dominating or intimidating people. The experience of repetitive bullying is a recognized form of psychological trauma because it damages your sense of dignity, making you believe your existence is insignificant. A bully's greatest success is when you learn to bully yourself with their words. They don't even have to be present anymore because you're doing all their work for them through voluntarily putting yourself down and punching out your own spirit.

When you experience trauma as a child, you don't have the intellectual capacity to make sense of it, so it's as though your mind gets stuck in that period of time. As a result of not being able to move forward in psychological development, childhood victims of bullying are much more likely to suffer mental health issues like depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem as adults. They don't know how to escape the perspective of victim, often feeling fearful, helpless, powerless, or hopeless.

Children have the wonderful qualities of being open, sincere, and trusting because they need to learn about the world quickly. Thus, they easily believe everything they are told. But every coin has two sides. Being trusting makes them more susceptible to manipulation by irresponsible actors. You're 24 and still believe what you were told about your physical attractiveness as a child. As an adult, you should now have the intellectual capacity to think more critically about your beliefs and values. And you should be able to develop the independence of mind to choose beliefs and values that are more aligned with the truth.

You now see there is something wrong in your thinking because you've realized it didn't originate from you. Good. Are you capable of changing your thinking? INTJs tend to be intellectual creatures, so perhaps you should start by doing a careful examination and analysis of the concept of beauty, to counter the beliefs your bullies instilled in you. E.g. What is beauty and how is it defined? What is the true purpose of labeling things "beautiful" or "ugly"? Who gets to define what is beautiful, and why? What are your beliefs about beauty and where did they come from? Do you need to change your beliefs to be better aligned with the truth? How would changing your beliefs also change your attitude and behavior?

3) Changing your ideas about beauty can help you be more rational in your judgments about it. However, this doesn't erase your memories of the past. Memories plague us because of their painful emotional content. When the emotional trauma is too intense, it is advisable to work in a safe environment with a therapist to guide you.

You shouldn't want to get rid of your memories because those experiences are necessary for your personal identity and psychological growth. You can learn to look upon past experiences differently, from a bigger perspective. Big picture thinking should come naturally to Ni doms. By making better sense of what happened and putting those experiences in the right perspective, you can eventually come to weaken or neutralize the negative emotions.

Imagine that you were walking down the street and you saw someone yelling at a small child, calling them "ugly" and all sorts of vulgar names. The child is crying quietly but cannot get away. Would your first instinct be to join the bully in berating the child? Or would you feel a strong desire to protect the child from harm? If you have any humanity, you would not hesitate to conclude that treating the child this way is morally wrong and should be stopped as soon as possible. If you had the capacity to stop the bully and speak to the child, what would you say to them? How would you help them?

Now, imagine that the child is you. Do you believe that you deserved the bullying? Do you believe that your bully cared about you and was telling the truth about you, or were they just trying to destroy your dignity and dominate you for their own purposes?

To put traumatic childhood experiences in the right perspective, you have to be able to transcend the perspective of the innocent child and adopt the vantage point of a wiser adult. Instead of looking upon the situation through the eyes of the helpless victim you were then, you can now look upon it as someone with the power to help and stop the victimization. Look upon that child with empathy and compassion, and you may start to see how beautiful the child actually is and how much they deserve to be loved after what they've been through.

Being granted the strengths of Te-Fi, healthy TJs are generally fearless and formidable people. They don't fear making mistakes, because they are confident in their ability to recover and learn from them. They don't succumb to control, because they form their own beliefs and do what they want. They don't need to be told what is right, because they follow their own moral code. They don't wait around for a hero, because they know how to be their own hero. This power already lies within you, but you have to change your perspective on yourself in order to release it.

#intj #auxiliary te #bullying #trauma #abuse #self compassion #physical appearance #beauty #ask

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