#1) some mild performance issues

[realian]

Until Dawn came out almost ten years ago.

[turtletaubwrites]

Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1

Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 2679

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)

A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time. 

You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body. 

The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.

“Hello, how’s your day going?”

A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard. 

“I-I’m well thanks. How…”

“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.

‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’

How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?

‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’

I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.

‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’

I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!

You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously. 

This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate. 

But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone. 

Please fix me.

This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.

“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.

He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon. 

As long as he can fix me…

“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”

Hands. 

Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room. 

Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down. 

Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers. 

The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you. 

As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.

Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes. 

“May I look at your form, miss?”

‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”

Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table. 

He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking. 

“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”

“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”

His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen. 

But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately. 

“Why are you favoring that hip?”

“Oh, it…” 

Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.

“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before. 

“And your right knee?”

“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Did you sustain any injuries?”

“N-No. None that I can recall.”

His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.

Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.

“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”

His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.

“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”

“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”

He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.

“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”

“Did you used to have longer hair?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”

“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”

“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.” 

Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment. 

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”

“Okay.”

The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside. 

He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.

“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”

Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to. 

“Doctor?”

“You can take a seat.”

Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement. 

He stood, towering over you as he came close.

“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.

Those fingers…

His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you. 

“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders. 

The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.

“It has.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”

You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.

“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.

“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.

“I’m sorry, doc–”

“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”

His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Please, call me Law.”

He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him. 

“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”

“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”

He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.

“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good. 

“How does that feel, Y/N?”

“Fine.”

He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises. 

“How’s this?”

“Fine.”

He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay. 

“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”

“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.

“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”

“How’s this?”

“Still fine.”

“You can go further?”

“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did. 

“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”

“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit. 

“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”

He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.

“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”

Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.

“Yes, they do.”

His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax. 

“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”

“I…”

“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”

He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him. 

“Why are you–”

“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”

His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.

He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.

Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.

“Do they believe you?”

“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”

“How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright, last push.”

Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.

“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face. 

“No.”

He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.

“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”

“Can you fix it?”

Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions. 

“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”

“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”

You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”

A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.

That can never be fixed.

The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.

“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”

There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.

“I trust you, Doctor.”

“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

Part 2

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[marigoldendragon]

Thinking of how the Twst boys would go trying to take a bra off their partner for the first time. Mild spice

Riddle - He'd struggle. He's too emotionally constipated for intimacy at first.

Cater - Easy enough. Man was SMOTHERED by his sisters growing up. He'd be desensitised to all things feminine, it's just another piece of clothing to him.

Trey - It wouldn't be smooth sailing, but he'd just casually laugh at himself and continue what he was doing.

Ace - He'd be nervous but otherwise it'd go smoothly. He thanks his past self for learning all that slight of hand. Dexterity +1

Deuce - He'd be red faced and taking it so seriously. He'd blue screen once he finally gets it off and sees whats underneath.

Leona - Man's ripping that thing off with his teeth. R.I.P bra.

Ruggie - Mr pickpocket would have *zero* problems getting it off you. Dexterity +5

Jack - He'd struggle so much. Not only would his nerves get the better of him but his giant hands are not used to such delicate tasks.

Azul - Another one where his emotional state would impair his hand eye coordination. Don't laugh at him he'd never recover.

Jade - If he knew there was a possibility of such an event happening he would come prepared. Has no difficulties with the task.

Floyd - Man's ripping that thing off with his teeth 2.0. R.I.P another bra.

Kalim - He'd struggle with it, but you guys would have fun laughing about the situation anyway.

Jamil - He's probably helped Kalim get dressed in fancy clothes a lot. Dealt with plenty of fiddly buttons, clasps, toggles etc in the past. Smooth sailing for him.

Vil - Mr world famous model, actor, fashion expert? The most gender non conforming person in the whole school? (except for maybe Lilia). Not only would taking a bra off you be easy you'd probably leave with a better quality one than you came with. (He'd magically make it your size. Great sevens you've never had a bra ft so well)

Rook - He'd take forever with it. Not because of a skill issue, he'd just want to savour the moment.

Epel - Would have practiced/watched tutorials beforehand. Wants to be a smooth operator when the time comes. Be impressed by his manly skill.

Idia - Man would be having massive performance anxiety issues. Please be gentle with him. (He'd be bragging about his skills later online though)

I feel weird including Ortho in this. Skip!

Malleus - There's a possibility of him getting in his own head about having to deal with unknown 'human' clothing. Wouldn't be an issue though, he'd just magic it off you.

Silver - He's calm and steady. Even if he's got butterflies in his stomach he takes it slow and has no problems.

Sebek - Yet another emotionally constipated one who's head gets in the way of their hands. Takes him a minute. Probably blushes and averts his gaze like a scandalised housewife when he finally sees the tiddy.

Lilia - hahahaha Man has that thing off you before you even realise he's reached for the clasp. Dexterity +100

.... you know what I might include the staff this time. Although they're all adults who have presumably encountered bras before XD

Crowley - Mans won't shut up. Keeps droning on and you wonder if he's ever going to make his move only for you to discover your not wearing a bra anymore. When did he do that?

Crewel - If he's taking it off you it's likely just so he can put some other fancy lingerie back on you.

Vargas - Hands too big and muscular. Accidentally breaks it in the process. Another for the bra graveyard.

Trein - He's had a wife. Man knows what he's doing.

Sam - Quick and deft with it. This man FUCKS

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (Part 9)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

Dream silently steps into Hob’s bedroom and pulls the journal out of his coat. He throws a quick look at the man sleeping in his bed. Hob looks just like the last time Dream visited, if maybe his hair looks less…lubricated. He must have washed it prior to going to bed. Dream appreciates it, even if it has nothing to do with him how Hob performs his hygienical routines or keeps his hair. The now slightly wavy hair lying loose around Hob’s head makes him seem younger, more approachable.

Dream approaches, but not the bed, despite the urge to sit again at Hob’s side and look at his peaceful sleeping face for a while. He steps towards the desk instead. On the desk there is a piece of paper, a mere note really, but set out clearly as if for Dream to find. He leans closer and reads:

“Dear friend, I’d like to propose Victoria Park as our meeting place, if you are amenable. I’ve taken some time off from work and am at your disposal. Drop me a quick note when you have time to meet and I’ll be there, at the old drinking fountain. It's hard to miss, I'm sure you will find it without issue. Please note that the park closes at dusk, but if you’d like to meet at night then this old rover will find a way to be there anyway. ;-)”

Dream frowns at Hob's use of what Dream has learned is called the “smiley face”. Hob has used it twice before in his last journal entry and Dream has spent much too long pondering these modern pictograms and their possible hidden meaning. Do they only convey Hob's particular cheek, his happiness, or do they hide a mild threat, a real warning? Dream fears he is not well-versed enough in social and especially human interaction to decipher Hob's “smileys” correctly.

Delicately he picks up the paper and smoothes his fingers over it, contemplating for a moment. Then he puts it into his coat and pulls out the journal instead. Flipping it open to the latest entry, Dream puts the book on the desk and picks up the pen lying close by. He adds a few lines to his last entry and then carefully closes the book again. Casting a last, long glance at his friend, Dream carefully skims over Hob’s dreamscape. The man is dreaming of car rides and wide open fields, a dream of escape and freedom. Dream’s presence is not needed, a fact that calms him. He does not want to foster dependency in Hob in some way. Their last meetings in Hob’s dreams had Dream worried, but it seems that Hob has not yet bound himself to Dream too tightly. He will have to talk to Hob soon about a lot of things. He should try and mentally prepare himself for that.

“Sleep well, my friend,” he murmurs and then returns to the Dreaming. 

--

Dream steps out of the shadow of a tall beech close to where Hob has invited him to meet. He has dressed himself more appropriately to the times, aware of the fact that people will see him talking to Hob. Having taken inspiration from current young dreamers he is particularly fond of, Dream wears black leather trousers and boots, as well as a leather jacket with metal studs over a simple dark grey shirt that is too large and reveals his bony collarbones, but it hides his sickly thin ribs well enough. Dream has been pleased to note that his preferred style of hair - or rather the lack of care on his part for how unruly it looks - is in fact in fashion and he has therefore not changed his hair at all.

He looks around with interest. The park is spacious, trees and wide mowed meadows spreading out in all directions. Straight walkways lead towards a small building made of pink marble and granite Dream supposes must be the fountain. It has a distinct Gothic look to it and is indeed hard to miss, like Hob promised. The sun is low over the treetops and buildings and while there are a few pedestrians about, they are scattered and do not bother Dream. What bothers him is something else.

The light gleams off a surface of water surrounding the historic drinking fountain. The fountain sits in the middle of an octagon of flower beds and water basins. Dream freezes and stares at the way the water almost surrounds the place, fences it in like. 

Like a moat. 

He swallows hard and takes an involuntary step back.

“Boss? You alright?” comes a croak from above him. Matthew flutters down from one of the beech’s boughs and lands in front of Dream, cocking his head at him. “What’s the matter?”

Dream inhales sharply and tries to still his trembling hands. He closes his eyes for a moment and then says, “Matthew. Could you please inform Hob Gadling, the man waiting at the fountain…that I would rather meet him. Over here.”

Matthew eyes him worriedly. “Uh, sure boss. Be right back.”

Dream clenches his hands into fists and watches his raven fly over to the fountain, crossing the water and fences without issue. He curses himself internally for his cowardice. Yet he cannot will himself to take another step closer to the circle.

--

Hob arrives at the Burdett-Coutts Fountain way too early. Of course. How could he not, when his friend has not specified a time. Not exactly. He recalls his friend’s last letter, having read it over and over again after finding the journal back on his desk yesterday morning:

June 16th, 1989 Dear Hob,

I don't know how to tell you how much your reassurance means to me. The thought of losing you as a friend has troubled me more than I was willing to admit for a long time. I thank you for your offer of hospitality whenever I may need it. I intend to honour it and not abuse your trust, or your furniture.

You are not the first to tell me that I should "take a break". However, as the ruler of my realm there are a lot of things that none but me can do and so I do not have the option to delegate and take a prolonged holiday. My absence has been what has caused a lot of pain and damage in the first place. I am, however, tempted to take you up on your offer of meeting more often, as I find myself able to relax in your presence. I hope this will help me regain my equilibrium and calm with time.

You have offered me more than would be advisable, Hob. Most would caution you not to offer me anything at all. I urge you to not lose your sense of self-preservation when offering me aid. There are things worse than death, dear friend, and I do not wish them upon you.

I look forward to meeting you soon,

Your friend.

Addendum:  Having now read your note, I hereby accept your invitation to Victoria Park. Let us meet there tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon. Hob had almost tripped over his own feet in joy on his way to the bathroom and then the kitchen, trying to go about his day as calmly as possible. He had failed spectacularly, knowing he would see his stranger the next day. He’d tried to distract himself, read the journal and all his friend’s entries several times; he’d gone shopping and tried to find something new to wear, something more relaxed than his current smart casual wardrobe of a newspaper editor. He’d thought about going to a hairdresser but had missed his window of opportunity after debating for too long if he should do it or not. Today he hadn’t wanted to go any longer, leaving his hair open and unstyled instead. When Hob had looked in the mirror this morning he had been content and left his hair as is. 

His excitement and the lack of work have made him restless all day and so he arrives at the park when one can barely call it afternoon. He has come prepared, though. He sits down on one of the fountain's steps and pulls out a book he's meant to finish for a while. The weather is nice and the park is still full of people strolling about, enjoying the June sun. Sunny days are rare enough in London, one has to get their sunlight when they can. Hob doesn't begrudge anyone their time out here but he still hopes there will be fewer people when his friend arrives. He doesn't want him to shy away again.

Hob sits and reads for at least an hour, periodically scanning the surrounding area for any sign of his stranger.

Will he tell him his name this time? His friend had hinted at his intention to do so in his last entry. Will his stranger finally not be a stranger anymore? What will he look like in the light of day? In sunlight? Hob has only ever seen him inside the tavern or...on a dark and rainy street, walking away from him.

Hob sighs and puts the book away, which he has not been properly paying attention to anyway, and pulls out the journal instead. He has taken it with him to-

He's not quite sure why he took it. He wanted to have his friend's words and proof of their appointment close by, he supposes.

An approaching shadow and the flapping of wings startles him. A raven - for no crow is as big as that - swoops over Hob's head and the fountain. Hob stares up, perplexed. It's been a while since he saw a proper raven, not since the last time he drove by the Tower.

The raven swings back towards him and lands in front of Hob's feet. Hob stares; the raven cocks his head.

"Are you Hob Gadling?" it says, with the voice of a sceptical American. Hob feels like his eyes will bug out of his head. A talking raven! That's a first even for him, in all his time on this earth. 

"I, er- yes?" Hob stutters and presses the journal protectively against his chest. The raven hops closer, and speaks again, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Is that a question? I asked you! You know who you are, right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm Hob Gadling, but-"

"The boss sends me. He can't meet you here," the raven interrupts him, and Hob freezes. Does this bird mean his stranger? Nevermind that it is talking, what did it say? He can't meet him? Why?!

Hob draws a shaky breath, feeling nauseous, and grips the journal tighter. 

"Wh-what do you mean, he can't meet me? Is something wrong? Is he hurt? Should I-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. He's fine," the raven caws and flaps its wings at Hob who has risen from the fountain steps and taken a wobbling step forward.

"He's fine, alright? He just told me to ask you to meet him over there," the raven points its beak in the direction of some of the nearby trees. Hob looks up and indeed, if he squints against the sun he thinks he can make out a black figure in the shade of a large beech. He feels the anxious knot in his stomach ease and heaves a deep breath.

"Oh..."

The raven looks at him strangely and hops a few times, shaking out its wings. 

"You okay with that?"

Hob nods distractedly, trying to make out more of his stranger in the shadows. The raven continues conversationally, "I think it's the circle, you know? The, uh, octagon, I guess? Maybe? He seems a bit on edge so be nice, yeah? This beak is sharp, so if you hurt him-"

Hob instantly looks down at the bird, frowning. "Why would I want to hurt him? I’d never, you got that, uh, raven? Do you have a name?"

"It's Matthew," the raven says with a comical bob of its head before taking to the air once more, "Nice to meet you. And that's good to hear. A friend of the boss is my friend and so on, right? Not that he has many of those, I recon."

Hob contemplates that for a moment as he packs away the journal before following the raven - Matthew - away from the fountain. 

"No. I guess not..."

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

Rolan's performance issues (Part 1)

I am so mean to my blorbo's. Anyways, Part 1 (this part) is why Rolan has performance anxiety in the bedroom during Part 2.

Inspired by this post/ video.

I color coded the dialog for Rolan, Cal, and Lia for easier reading.

Suggestive, angst, hurt no comfort (part 1 only), insecurities, self-loathing, attachment issues, abandonment issues.

● (Link to Part 2)

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Rolan and Tav's relationship had been getting more physical as of late. The thought of them going all the way had Rolan as excited as it did nervous.

One morning during breakfast Cal and Lia noticed a hickey that Rolan's pajama shirt didn't quite cover, and as his siblings they were legally obligated to tease him about it.

"Rolan, I thought that Astarion only fed from Tav." Lia said, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Not having had his morning cup of coffee yet, Rolan didn't respond— he just looked at Lia with a mix of genuine confusion and mild trepidation.

"Astarion!? It looks as though he were attacked by a very large leech!" Cal replied with a shit eating grin.

**Rolan's face**

"What?" He asked, his sleep addled mind only functional enough to shamble around like a zombie that needed caffeine instead of brains. His tail started to sway in annoyance— he knew they were teasing him, but he didn't know about what.

Taking pity on him, Cal tapped his pointer finger against his own neck in the spot where Tav had left a hickey on Rolan's neck.

"You've got a..." Cal said, trailing off at the end of the sentence to let Rolan figure it out himself.

Rolan's eyes suddenly widened, his cheeks flushed as his hand shot up to cover the incriminating mark on his neck.

Cal and Lia burst into laughter as they continued to poke fun at a very unamused Rolan.

"Are you sure that Tav isn't a vampire Rolan?" Lia questioned her brother with mirth.

"Could you two please be mature about this?" Rolan asked, despite already knowing that the answer would be—

"No!" Lia and Cal gleefully him answered at the same time.

Gods, he was horrified, they were never going to let this go. Rolan pinched his nasion between his thumb and pointer finger in a futile attempt to stave off a headache.

"Is the Master of the Tower planning on using some magic to impress Tav in the bedroom?" Lia asked while wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Do NOT bring my wizardry into your juvenile teasing, Lia." Rolan sternly warned.

"Yeah Lia, Rolan's magic isn't something that you should tease him about." Cal said to his sister, his voice and demeanor suddenly turning staid.

"It isn't?" Lia asked, surprised by Cal abruptly switching to Rolan's side.

"It isn't?" Rolan asked, surprised when Cal unexpectedly took his side. "I mean, you're right— it isn't. Thank you, Cal." He said with a pleased air of finality.

"Yeah well, I know it's a bit of a sensitive subject— with you having problems eh, performing your magic for someone who you've romantic feelings for." Cal said in comforting patronizing tone.

Rolan looked aghast as he asked "What in the hells are you talking about Cal? I've never had trouble perform-"

Cal cut Rolan off before he could finish his sentence. "Sarai, the bakers daughter."

Recognition dawned on Rolan's face. "I was fifteen, I was an inexperienced novice who barely understood magic!" He argued.

"Hahaha, oh yeah! I'd almost forgotten about that!" Lia cackled with delight.

"That was fourteen years ago!" Rolan reminded his impudent siblings.

"Her skin was the same shade of puke-green for almost a whole tenday, Rolan!" Cal reminded his flustered brother.

"Yeah, even the local healer didn't know that a miscast color spray could do that!" Lia added.

"I didn't have confidence in my magical abilities back then. I tried to cast a spell to impress her, and panicked when I couldn't! I got lucky that neither she nor I were injured!" Rolan said defensively.

"Oh you got lucky alright Rolan, just not in the way you were hoping you would." Lia jeered.

Before Rolan could respond, Cal added on to Lia's remark.

"He got lucky in another way on that day too, Lia! As had he not spectacularly failed in his attempt to seduce the fair maiden, he would've disappointed her by being unable to perform under pressure in the— I'd say bedroom, but storage room would be more realistic."

"I didn't know what I was doing! I was flying by the seat of my pants without any guidance..." Rolan said to his siblings, his vehemence waning as a horrible realization dawned upon him.

He stopped registering Cal and Lia's continuous taunts as his mind focused on a single, harrowing, thought: He is just as inexperienced now as he was then, all those years ago. Worse still, he was even more nervous now than he was as a hormonal teenager.

Up until now his lack of sexual and romantic experience hadn't been of any concern to him. He had his studies to focus on, he didn't have time for any "frivolous dalliances".

But now Rolan was pushing 30. He was in a romantic, soon to be sexual relationship. With a bard. A very attractive bard. Tav was honest about having had numerous lovers previous to him, and that hadn't much bothered the mage— until now.

Gods, he could hardly believe that Tav wanted to be in a serious relationship with him. Rolan knew what he was like; temperamental, orotund, and standoffish.

But Tav seemed to like him in spite of his flaws... maybe even because of them? No, He dared not to hope that such an absurd thought had any merit. Tav put up with his loathsome personality— lying to himself would only make it all the more painful when Tav eventually realizes that Rolan isn't worth the effort and abandons him.

Panic seized Rolan, he had to make sure that he didn't make a fool of himself when he and Tav eventually had sex. It had to be perfect. He had to be perfect, or Tav might see that Rolan didn't deserve to be loved.

"Rolan?" Cal gently called to his brother, both he and Lia having noticed how upset Rolan was.

They knew they went too far, that they hit a very sensitive nerve, because of Rolan's body language.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears, his body stiff and his muscles tightly clenched. His hands were balled into fists to hide that they were shaking.

Rolan's breathing was strained, his eyes were looking towards them but he wasn't seeing the world around him. His face was carefully schooled into a neutral and unaffected look.

HIs tail held low and rigid, unmoving except for its spade which was twitching as it did when Rolan was particularly distressed.

"Hey, Rolan. We didn't mean it, we were just teasing." Lia said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

"Are you two quite finished?" Rolan asked, his voice clipped.

"...Yes, but Rolan we-" Cal replied before Rolan interrupted him.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me I have a store to open and research to complete." Rolan said as he quickly strode away, his "breakfast" of black coffee left untouched and forgotten.

"Rolan!" Lia called after him, but she paused when Cal placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Forcing him to talk is only going to make things worse, Lia." Cal sagely counseled.

"Shit. You're right." Lia replied as she sat down and placed her head in her hands. "We went to far."

"We went way to far." Cal agreed, and told Lia "We need to apologize and make it up to him."

Lia lifted her head to look dejectedly at Cal. "Apologizing we can do, but how in the world would we make it up to him?" Lia asked.

But Cal did not respond, for he did not have an answer.

Elsewhere in the tower Rolan was trying to get ready for the day. But his dammed hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough for him to put his hair in its normal style.

"Zurgan!" Rolan cursed, hurling his hairbrush across his room in frustration. Letting out a heavy sigh as he heard a loud cracking noise.

"Oh wonderful job Rolan. You broke it." He said to himself, disappointment and self-disgust welling up inside him.

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and decided to send his simulacrum to man the register of Sorcerers Sundries today— he was in no mood to content with any ignorant, rude, customers.

Part 2

[crash-and-cure]

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

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

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

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

Words count: 12k

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

Part 1  Part 2   Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis this isn’t about me.”

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

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

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

“How ‘bout your daddy?”

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

“You two close?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But he’s family.”

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

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

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

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

“What ‘bout you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What does your relationship with your daddy look like”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In what regard?”

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

“Ain’t they the same thing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll fall asleep faster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is… Is he being serious right now? 

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

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

And there it is, you think snarkily. 

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

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

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

“Three days.” He says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nor do you think you want to forget.

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis?”

“Yeah baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you on about?”

“You’re unhappy,” he accuses. 

“I am not,” you lie.

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

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

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

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

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

Your continued silence speaks volumes. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” you answer looking away in shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t show up for his scheduled session.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that?!

I can’t believe it!

Why is he here?

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

Tags

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

[loremaster]

BOBA AU - CHAPTER 1 EXTRAS

I had actually drawn a few more things than could fit within the 30-image-per-post limit. Here are the ones that didn't make the cut, with commentary!

(tw: mild animal abuse, n*zi mention, suggestive themes)

Zilch's animal companions. I named Carmina Burana and Tortellini, Gucci and Bosch were named by my friends - though Bosch was supposed to be called Hieronymus, it just didn't fit on the nametag lol

I wanted to illustrate some examples of Zilch casually mistreating/neglecting the animals but this was as far as I got. I don't think he would be a full on animal abuser, just... the type of person who likes having a bunch of pets to show off but doesn't really think about properly caring for them. He likes the aesthetics of animals much more than the logistics.

This was gonna be the chapter cover and I forgot. Oops.

This was just practice drawing the church characters from their sprites.

Zilch: I must say, it's an unexpected pleasure to run into another kindred spirit around here. I'm Zilch~

This scene was actually cut deliberately. I drew it before I decided exactly what the Nun's issue with Zilch would be and then once I did, I felt like it didn't fit anymore. Zilch is still excited to see someone else with ears and tail like him, but in the final version, he's a lot more derisive about it.

I imagine the Nun is, like, an actual animal-human hybrid whereas Zilch is a furry with a wallet that can afford bioengineered bodymods. (One day, my friends... one day...)

Zilch being flippant and Halara being dismissive/tsundere. Couldn't really find a place to put it but I still like the drawing - even if I did accidentally give Zilch human ears.

By the way, you might notice Zilch hasn't been wearing his cap. There are two reasons. One is to show off that his ears aren't actually connected to it. If I had the time to go back and redraw the prologue with him wearing it - so Halara's "holy fuck" reaction makes more sense here - I would. (Not really worth trying to fix though, not until the rest of the story is done.)

But the other reason is that upon looking closer at Zilch's original design, I thought it was a little too evocative of Nazi imagery and wasn't really comfortable with it. It's not really the same style of hat, sure, but combined with the swastikas in his eyes??? yeah no way is that not intentional. (I redesigned his eye symbols to be catlike slit pupils instead.)

I get he (or, the hitman, I guess) is supposed to be a villain, and a minor one, in the original game... but here I'm gonna flesh him out a bit more. So I guess in that sense the removal of the hat symbolizes his growth as a character beyond his terrible awful fascist upbringing lol (more on that in the Gumshoe Gabs soon)

If I were making this an actual game it would be fun to have Yuma get a fun little added gameplay element of using Zilch's Forte like he does with Halara's. He gets some little animal friends!!!

I imagined Zilch would ask to be carried, but Halara won't do it without getting paid an exorbitant amount. And then Zilch forks over the cash on the spot. Yuma screams internally. If he had that the whole time why were they even trying to negotiate over the coat???!? Why does he still have his own debt to pay if Zilch could just cover the whole thing up front????

Halara has to pretend not to be enthusiastic about this opportunity.

Shinigami is... there, I guess.

Martina my wife driving around her little parasite of a boyfriend. Ms Electro please call me

Was originally gonna have Seth say that out loud but then I remembered he doesn't want to lose his job. (It's okay, he loses it anyway.)

(Also yes this is pre-Vivia-DLC.)

And then the mystery is solved!

Zilch feels indebted to Halara for saving him from the Nail Man, and wants to follow their example, turn it around, treat his animals better... his act of goodwill here is extremely performative, though. But, hey, everyone's gotta start somewhere!

Ultimately I cut this scene after coming up with the cat bed idea. (Was very tempted to have Halara cruelly taking the coat from the boy, but just decided to skip it instead.)

So Zilch kinda idolizes Halara now... which is fine... but then the morning after he really lets his simp flag fly.

Congrats on your furry boyfriend, I guess?????

A doodle from the margins of this comic way back when.... which finally has a place to belong! \o/

Zilch's fursona. His "zursona," if you will.

Thanks again for reading! I love everyone's comments in the tags and I'm so glad you all like my version of Zilch especially. Excited to develop him some more in future chapters >:)

[oftenderweapons]

Natural Connection | KNJ | Ch.6

A Small Town Swoons

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Plum)

Wordcount: 6.6k

Genre: stragers to lovers, fluff, mild angst; ranger/trainer!Namjoon, Chef!reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon has some skeletons in his closet. Plums helps him bury them in a way that makes him feel almost reborn.

Warnings: discussion of mature topics: sex, emotional abuse. A painful trip down memory lane, burnout, anxiety. Also heavy flirting, making out and loads of raunchy jokes. Mentions of depression, therapy and feeling out of chances to restart

A/N: I’m posting this in some sort of a rush while barely keeping my eyes open,it’s not edited or reviewed, I just want it out there for you to read 💜 I’ll review it in the morning and add links. Love ya 💖✨🥺

Here is my Masterlist, enjoy!

Navi: Part 1 – Part 2 — Part 3 – Part 4 - Part 5

“Lone wolf. That's not a cute way to spend the night.” Jackson's words were just mildly teasing. He was mostly compassionate as he sat beside Namjoon at the counter of the bar. “What's given you the blues?” 

Namjoon shook his head and took a sip of beer. He had never been much of a drinker, and he regretted not being able to hold his liquor properly, because tonight really called for some hard spirits. “Nothing really.” 

“It's her, isn't it? Your Tinkerbell lady.” 

Namjoon grumbled and groaned, letting his head fall to his wrists, current laying crossed on top of the counter. 

“Hey, dude, we thought we'd lost you,” said Christopher as he approached the other two men at the bar. “Oh. I see,” he said as he made himself comfortable on Namjoon's other side. “We all have a vague idea of what happened the other day when you followed her to the bathroom,” Christopher hinted, then rubbed Namjoon's shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?” 

He shook his head, than took a large sip of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put down the glass, quite loudly too. 

“I did something, but I don't know what. And today she said she needed a day off. And now I'm wondering if I did something wrong, whether it's my fault she cancelled on today, whether I made her uncomfortable and am now ruining her holiday — something she hadn't had in a very long time.”

“Namjoon—” 

“Maybe I'm not as good a friend with benefit as I thought’d been. Maybe I'm not an easy hot-girl-summer kind of thing. Maybe I suck in bed—” 

“Not unlikely,” muttered Jackson, at which both Namjoon and Christopher snapped in his direction, as if throwing daggers with their gazes. 

“Oh, come on, there's a possibility to it, you've been out of the market for a long while!” 

Christopher grabbed the tray of shots and started making his way to the table where the other guys were hanging out, while Jackson convinced Namjoon to join them. 

“Dude, we've found a way to make this party less about you!” Jackson hollered at Jaebeom, currently wearing a cute set of antlers and a sash that spelled “This dancing queen is getting married”. Very cute, and Namjoon appreciated the Mamma Mia reference. 

“Namjoon is having issues with Plum.” 

He rolled his eyes at your nickname being used by them. They always called you Tinkerbell anyways, why the sudden change? That was his own nickname for you, because of your cute, round face, and soft soft lineaments. And then also because of the taste of sun-dried plums in your mouth that time he kissed you in the pond, after that first, wondrous fuck. Maybe he hadn't satisfied you. Maybe his performance in the bathroom hadn't been as stellar. Maybe you'd already grown bored of him. 

“They're not issues,” Namjoon mumbled, vaguely grumpy. 

“Well, what are they, then? You fucked her and she's ghosting you?” Wooyoung asked bluntly. 

“Woo, no need to use that kind of language,” Christopher reprimanded. “Still, could that be the reason? She's maybe… Embarrassed about something that occurred the other day in the…” 

“You did it in the restroom!?” Mingi exclaimed. 

“A bit louder, Mingi, I think the guy in the corner over there didn't hear it clearly,” said Jaebeom with an eyeroll. 

“It was strange when we parted, yes, but… I guess there would have been other uhm… uncomfortable moments before. She would have bailed after the— uhm— the restroom. Not today? Why today? Why let so much time pass by?” 

Namjoon had always been an overthinker. He'd managed to control his tendencies through meditation and therapy, but once an overthinker, always an overthinker. Sure, you can put a damper on it, but it would be like putting a hyena in a clown costume: at the end of the day, it would still be a hyena. 

And he was struggling to find the words. He did not have the lingo for this. He did not have the nerves for this. He had not been mentally, emotionally engineered for this. 

“I know I fucked up. I'm sure I fucked up. I don't know where or how but—” 

“When I met my wife, I was a mess.” Jaebeom ran a hand through his hair and gave a weak chuckle. “I couldn't do without her. I spent weeks, months pining.” 

“It's your future wife, JB,” Jackson clarified.

“Fuck off, we're getting married, she's already my wife in my mind. One could argue she’s always been,” he snapped, a certain possessiveness taking over. “Anyways, I was saying, before this cold hearted snake interrupted—” 

“You were messing around, I made a move so you could feel the bitter bite of jealousy and realise you were wasting your time and your energies!” 

“As always, thank you for the lesson, but you didn't need to shove your tongue down her throat!” Jaebeom hissed at Jackson, then rolled his eyes. “Again, I was a mess. And I didn't know it, but she was a mess too. We only managed to fix it when we dragged our heads out of the sand and finally stated what we wanted.”

“Which, again, is something we told you to do cause you were a lowly little coward,” Christopher muttered. 

“Okay, whatever, just do what these two tell you to do,” Jaebeom said, exhausted, rubbing his face and picking up a glass shot. “Cheers to my wife, or whatever.”

“Poor woman,” Jackson whispered, which earned him a stormy look from the husband-to-be. “Anyways, what’s holding you back from going there and telling her what you want?”

“The fact that maybe I don’t even know what I want?” Namjoon but back, not without some exasperation. 

“What do you mean?” Christoper’s question was direct, firm. 

“I was… I haven’t been all that… active, lately.”

“By lately he means in the past eight years.” Everybody but Jackson turned to Namjoon, eyes wide, mouth gaping, the picture of disbelief. 

“What the fuck.” Wooyoung’s face was ashen before he shook his head lightly, “And why, for the love of holy smokes, did you punish yourself so?”

Namjoon stared at a glass shot, which Jackson noticed. He grabbed one shot for himself, one for his friend, then handed it over. 

Namjoon stared at it, but Jackson was already clinking their glasses together. “For the incredible woman who brought you back to life.”

“Life is fucking terrifying,” Namjoon whispered, anxiety bleeding out of him. But Jackson was tipping the glass over, the burning tang of tequila dribbling down his throat. 

“It really is, but you loved doing her, or you wouldn’t have done that twice.”

Namjoon’s brain promptly produced a supercut of every naked inch of your body, every curve, every movement, every flop of your hair, every gasp of your mouth, every droplet of moisture that your bodies shared in those moments. He recalled the feel of your breasts in his palms, the pressure of your behind as you ground against his groin. 

“Twice?” Mingi inquired, interested. 

“I’m not going to elaborate on that.”

Christopher respected the boundary, seeing Namjoon’s pained and tired expression. “What do you want from her?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I’ve got no idea. She’s leaving in a couple days. I mean, she’s lovely. But I’m not sure there’s enough time or space to build something more.”

“But you want more?”

“I do, eventually. But I thought it would happen with someone a bit more… Rooted. Here.” He was destroyed, Jackson could tell. Namjoon’s hair was all over the place with the way he’d tortured it with his hands. “But then she happened.”

“And it changed things, right?” Jaebeom asked. 

Namjoon stared at his feet. “The sex is so good. Just so, insanely, otherworldly, unbelievably good.”

“Let’s also say your terms of comparison were scarce,” Jackson added, teasing.

Namjoon smirked, then stared at Jackson for a long, loaded instant. “Both things can be true.” Then, he shrugged, toying with his fingers, smiling at himself. 

“He’s smitten,” Jaebeom said to no one in particular. 

“I guess I am,” he finally admitted. “Maybe it’s because the sex is good. That tends to alter your perception. I also think she’s attractive, and her energy is incredible. She’s also guarded, somehow, and delicate. It really makes me want to stand tall for her.”

“Knight in shining armour,” Wooyoung said with just a pinch of sarcasm in his tone.

“Which she doesn’t need,” Namjoon commented, puffing out his chest. “She’s just… She’s tough, but I just want her to know she doesn’t need to be when she’s around me. That’s what I like, I guess. And she’s unstoppable. She’s not the kind that would lie to you or put on an act to save her ass. She takes what she wants and she weathers the consequences of her own actions. And she’s a leader, she’s got backbone, she works great in a team, people see her, see how competent and hard-working she is, and they respect her for it.”

“Dude, you really are smitten.”

Namjoon grabbed another shot, and the other men quickly joined him. “To life-changing women,” said Jaebeom. 

Namjoon could happily toast to that. 

There… Just… there. 

So close. The lights were insulting his eyes, but his vision was clear. Oh so clear. 

The alcohol had made his eyes glossy and sensitive. And there. There, your door. 

He brought himself to climb the steps, then knock at the door. 

He wondered whether you were in bed. Maybe in the shower, maybe you were already asleep. Maybe you were… like that one time… 

His ears strained, searching for signs of you. 

He knocked again. He could call your phone, right? Did he have your number?

He could— 

The door opened before him, and you were standing there, an oversized white shirt covering your body all the way down to your knees. The fabric was thin and the chill night air was making your breasts peak. The sight of Namjoon right in front of you didn’t help at all. 

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless, and surprised too. 

“Hi.” The greeting was sharp, a little rushed. “I really would like to kiss you right now. Is that okay with you?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then nodded. 

He was upon you before you could even register him, or parse your agreement. His breath had the lightest taste of liquor, and his mouth was hot, as hot as his hands now cupping your face, gathering your face up close to his own. If he could have swallowed you, he would have. He dove for you and you soared for him and you met in between, perfectly, gentle but sure at first, and then it spiraled. 

This is what Icarus must have felt as he reached for the sun, you think, because you feel like burning and flying and falling. But isn't flying something like falling without ever hitting the ground? 

That's how you feel. 

Gravity isn't working where you and Namjoon kiss. It's not working as he wraps and links and loops his limbs through yours, legs and arms and wrists and ankles like ivy. Your thighs are around his waist, and he's holding you up by your hips, then your ass. 

“I'm coming in,” he says and you nod against his lips, waiting for him to come inside you, and you grind against him. Instead he chuckled against your throat, catching the double entendre. “I meant I'm entering your apartment.” 

You purred, heat warming your cheeks, but you were not sure whether it was embarrassment or pleasure. “But you could get inside me next.” 

“There's stuff I need to tell you,” he whispered close to your ear. 

“Can you tell me while you're inside me?” 

Namjoon's laugh was bright and glorious, perfectly rough and warm, the most tasteful combination of a scratch and a caress. “Plum, you're insatiable.” 

You looked at him with surprise, and just a pinch of innocence too. “I— Am I?” 

He closed the door with his foot, still holding you up in the entryway. “It's positively surprising. And very lovely.” 

You nodded to yourself in slow understanding. “Lovely…” you mused. “I never thought I would become something like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Insatiable. Obsessed. Weak and dependent.” 

“You're absolutely not weak. And maybe it's not too bad to depend on someone every now and then.” His nose traced the column of your neck. “And it feels nice, knowing that you're a bit hung up.” 

You cant your hips just right against his, which causes you both to moan, your frown disappearing. “‘A bit hung up’ doesn't even cover half of it, trust me.” 

Your short nails bite the nape of his neck and he gasps a little, his hips giving the lightest stroke.

“I'm a bit of all of that too,” Namjoon confesses. “Insatiable. And obsessed. And… And weak.” He shakes his head, then hides his face against the slope of your neck. “I…” 

You smiled as he lost his words again, his mouth focusing on sucking at your throat. 

Your chuckle came out lightheaded and euphoric. It stopped entirely as he fixed his grip on your hips, lifting you higher up with a little bounce, and then lowering you again, against his crotch. 

You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on anything but the burning need at your core. 

He nibbled at your collarbone, then whispered, “Fuck, you're so wet.” There was tension in his voice, conflict. “But I've gotta tell you all of that.” 

“We can do this, and then talk,” you suggested again, your voice coming out barely patient, and strained. Oh, and imploring too. 

He shook his head, then put you down. “Talk first, then I'll do anything you want, Plum.” 

You pouted, which almost broke his resolve, but he caressed your cheek and your frown disappeared like a spring cloud. 

“First, I just want to make sure you didn't stay in today because you were avoiding me.” His eyes betrayed a sliver of insecurity before he looked away, staring at the floor. 

You’re caught off guard by his statement, and you’re not sure how to reply. Did he really think—? “Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, hooking your pointer finger beneath his chin and bringing his eyes to yours. “No, Namjoon. Sure, I’ve been…” You searched for the right word for a couple seconds, “Confused. By some of the things I felt yesterday. But I am not avoiding you at all. I just needed to be off today, and rest. And maybe think about some stuff, but none of it had to do with you,” you stated, reassuringly and firmly, then reconsidered, a coy warmth creeping to your cheeks. “Well, maybe it had the tiniest bit something to do with you. But not in a bad way. Actually in a very good, very mature, very grown-up way.”

Namjoon almost startled at your statement, his head jerking back slightly. “Oh. Wow. Okay.” 

“Oh goodness, you thought I was avoiding you?” You asked him, a smile spreading all over your face. “Really!?” 

“No,” he said, the vowel stretching, his intonation absolutely hesitant, absolutely doubtful, and very, very embarrassed. 

You threw your arms around him, gluing your body to his. “Oh god. Joon, no.” You laid a couple kisses on his chest, then added, “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” he stated. “Still, I was absolutely sure you weren’t avoiding me. So this statement is totally unnecessary and it doesn’t calm my nerves at all, because they were already one hundred percent calm.”

You roll your eyes and place your forehead and nose in a way that aligns perfectly with the valley between his pectorals. “Good, now can you calm my own? Historically, someone telling you ‘I need to tell you something’ doesn’t end in a nice way.” The nervous chuckle you emit then is a clear testament to how much he has become to you. How much you have elaborated in the last hours, corroborating your decisions. 

This is not going to be forever, you think, but I wouldn’t mind if it lasted a bit more. 

Namjoon caressed your head, kissing the crown of it. “It’s nothing big, really. Just a tiny bit of backstory that I think you should know. It sorts of explains some parts of me that could be complicated to other people. Parts I would like you to know about.”

Summertime must be approaching, or maybe the heating came on: anyways you’re feeling hotter and hotter, and you’re pretty sure it’s a flock of tropical birds that is currently storming your stomach. 

“Okay.”

”Let’s get comfy, shall we?”

You agree, then lead him through the room. It’s not the first time he sees it, after all he did sleep here with you a couple nights ago, before he left at dawn for some reason, leaving you on the verge of insanity with desire and doubt both.

He sits at the edge of the bed and you stand before him, ready to climb astride him, except he shakes his head and smiles mischievously. “No way this is happening,” he teased, then slid slightly to his right, avoiding your other leg, letting you sit at his side rather than on top of him. “You’re too dangerous sitting on my lap, Plum.”

He says it in a way that makes it sound like a compliment, and you grin, eyeing him seductively. “Thank you.”

You both turn to each other, and he starts talking. “It’s been a while since I did this, you know. Being… Being intimate with someone.”

You nodded. “You mentioned something about a relationship you used to be in.”

He grabbed your hand, toying with your fingers, looking away, as if retracting within himself. “I’ve had one very long relationship. From fifteen, all the way to twenty years old circa.”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. “Wow.” 

“We were extremely close friends at first, then we sort of merged into the relationship until… I guess we just became too different to ever truly be one.”

You nodded encouragingly. 

“Her mom and mine were colleagues when we moved here. I was five or six.” His eyes connected to yours. “I was shy and she was very outgoing. We became friends. Or rather, she befriended me. I was one of those puffy, awkward kids, sort of a nerd too.”

He shrugged and blushed, his eyes gleaming. “In middle school she suddenly changed. She had one of those incredible glow ups. I guess puberty hit her like — I don’t know — suddenly she looked like Aphrodite’s favourite child. She was… She was like a goddess. Being attracted to her was inevitable. I liked her as a person, because she was my first friend here, and because I felt comfortable around her, and she didn’t make fun of me like other people, she didn’t act like I was weird and weak and chubby and awkward. And even though she became so beautiful, and so popular too, she was still kind to me, and treated me like a person.” Namjoon slumped, his stance turning self-protective.  

“Once we hit high school, she’d learned how to use the body genetics had gifted her. She filled it with confidence, and it rewarded her in return. Her attitude and her looks were the kind that spells trouble for a hormonal teenage boy. But despite that, I still cherished her the most as a friend, and the fact that she continued protecting me in front of popular kids making fun of me was really meaningful. I admired her for how she stood up in front of mean kids. She had the kind of influence that could make other kids respect me, or at least tolerate me.”

You held his hand fondly. “I get it.”

His eyes met yours with gratitude, and a pinch of hesitation. 

“And then I turned fifteen.”

You lick your lips, tip your head to the side and observe the smirk on his face. “In about three months, I grew taller than all the kids in my class, and though I wasn’t bulky like the football athletes, I played basketball with a friend of mine, and that kept me pretty fit, plus there was all the trekking and some climbing, and the canoeing too. I was also quite smart, and for some reason, some girls liked that. When we got back to school after summer break, I caught this girl’s eye. We were chatting, and things were getting personal and I ended up confiding in my friend, Aria.” His eyebrow quirked. “She didn’t take it well.”

You frowned, then waited for him to continue. 

“She gave me the silent treatment for three days straight. Meanwhile I was getting closer and closer to the other girl. One day I was talking to her by the lockers, and next thing I know, Aria is gripping my hand, gluing her body to my arm, and kissing my cheek. ‘Hi boyfriend,’ she said.” He shook his head. “The other girl didn’t take it well. She thought I was playing her.” He rubbed the hand across his face. “It took me years to make up for that.” He shook off the feeling, then continued, “By the end of the week, the entire school knew Aria and I were a thing. The week after that, we were making out pretty much anywhere, anytime. I guess it took us about a month before things got extremely serious, and Aria got on birth control because her mother was terrified at the thought of her getting pregnant, and teenage moms were so common back then, and she knew Aria was not really the religious type. She also had the kind of body that gets hyper sexualised because of pornography, you know. Of course any teenage boy would want to see it naked as soon as possible. And eventually do things with. Or have things done by. You get what I mean,” he concluded. 

You nodded. “Did you?” 

He laughed. “I was terrified. I wouldn’t have known where to start with it. And sure, I watched as much porn as any other dude my age, but it’s not like I was eager to reenact it in real life. It felt complicated, and loud, and dirty. So damn dirty.” He frowned and smiled at the same time. “It didn’t feel right.”

You study his face, the slight repulsion he seems to radiate from his body. 

“Then one night we were watching a movie — which actually means we were making out in my bed — and we were so damn close, and of course my body went haywire and… Let’s say she realised I was pretty interesting down there.”

You furrow your brow, trying to understand what he’s implying. “You mean…?” 

“She’d never felt me up, and that night she realised I was big.” The words didn’t come out with arrogance, but with a dry matter-of-factness. 

Your eyes widen suddenly, and he laughs a little, the sound deep and warm, and it sends tingles down your spine. “Oh.”

“That’s about what I said, too.” He smirked, blushing wildly. “Luckily I managed to hold her back that night, because I truly wasn’t ready, and I really wanted to get things right. So I bought condoms online, because I was too ashamed to buy them in person, and I kind of panicked for three days straight because I was terrified my mom or my dad would find out and get mad or make fun of me or whatever. And I did some research on… You know. The kind of stuff you have to erase from your browsing history.”

You chuckle, nodding. Hearing all of this is somehow fascinating. Knowing he was so clumsy, so embarrassed, and yet so committed to making it as safe and right and good as possible. It’s endearing somehow. Not only is he a good man now, but he was a good boy too, and it makes him shine even brighter to your eyes, this commitment to goodness.

“Still, I was not ready, emotionally. But she was impatient, and in the end I said, ‘screw it’ and I gave in. We were sixteen, we were two days into winter break, and this friend of mine has this little cottage by a small lake. He’d left me the keys to the cottage. We went there, and we had sex. I was terrified I was going to hurt her, because I’d read about first time sex being painful and all the fuss about hymens et cetera. But it went surprisingly well. I came in about fifteen seconds.”

You both laugh. “I guess I got lucky.”

He eyes you significantly. “You’ve got no idea how much.” 

“And then?” 

“And then we spend the entirety of winter break doing stuff.” He shrugs. “I could have done without, sometimes, but she was always trying to start trouble. And I wasn’t too strong about telling her no. But let’s be clear, it’s not like she was abusive or something, I was happy to have sex with her. I liked it a lot, and she had my consent, always, before doing things. But at the same time, I knew I was losing some of my connection with her. There was less talking, less quality time, less… We were having sex all the time. We didn’t watch movies, we didn’t read books, we didn’t hang out or you know, the stuff you actually share with someone. All we had was each other’s body and our own. There’s only so much a brain can feed off that. But we weathered it. And she was possessive, so it’s not like I had the chance of finding that with someone else. And the sex made me feel so lucky, knowing that I had someone who loved me so fiercely, someone so out of my league — it all made me feel like I should be grateful and I would be an idiot complaining, or looking for anything else, or trying to change the situation in any way.”

That’s when the pain starts to blossom in your chest. “So you start neglecting your emotional needs.” 

Namjoon nods slowly. “That. Precisely.” His eyes focus on your hands again, trying to avoid your face because he knows his expression might show too much now. “But we’re seventeen by this point. The sex starts to slow down, and we get some of the friendship back. I get a lot less awkward around eighteen, and my resumé is one of the brightest in my class. I’m in the debate team, and I’m in national competitions for writers. I write poetry, and short stories too; I win some prizes, I get published in a paper, then in a review.” 

“That’s impressive.” 

“I’m starting to live my dream life. I get selected in a summer programme for young writers. Aria is very proud of me. I get better at sex too, in the meanwhile.” He gives a boyish shrug. “I start planning my life with her at my side. By the time high school ends, I’ve managed to get a bit less awkward too, and Aria has fixed my haircut and my wardrobe. She gets selected by a university in California for a volleyball scholarship. It scares the shit out of me, but she accepts. She’s convinced we can make it long distance. I get into some niche writing academy on the east coast. 

It’s winter break when we see each other again.We’re all partying by the lake, me and her and some of our friends. We’re all so damn drunk, damn, I couldn’t even count the fingers of my hands. We’re all sitting by the fire when she leans against me and says, ‘You know why I’m sure we’re gonna make it?’ And I smile because I think she’s going to say something cheesy, something about the ring I bought with the money I made from the first short story I actually sold.”

You smile so bright at that, at his success, at such a huge milestone for someone who made writing his path, his vocation — and then it clicks.

Cuisine is your calling, you’ve always known, and that’s one of the first things you tell people when you introduce yourself. If he’s never mentioned writing then it means it never came true. Horror creeps in. 

“She said, ‘we’re gonna make it because I’ve fucked about twenty or so other people, but you still love me. And you’re the fucking best’.” He stops, snickers, and there’s so much self-loathing in the way he moves, the way he breathes. “I went stone cold sober in a millisecond. I asked her to repeat, to make sure I understood correctly. I laughed it off, excused myself to the bathroom, and cried my fucking eyes out. Threw up about three times or eight, then locked myself in a room. The following morning, I left before dawn, returned to my college with my mom. Returned the ring. And broke up with Aria through a text. Changed number. I detached myself from the entire world, disappeared for about a year, except for the people that truly mattered. I finished my programme in record time, mostly because Yoongi needed me back here, and well… I mostly finished school because I had to, but I never went back to writing. It’s like I’d been emptied, and to this day I’m not sure words will ever truly fill me again. I’m not sure they will ever spill from me again, or that I’ll find a way to make them flow like I used to.”

This is so wrong. You end up saying the words out loud. 

“I haven’t dated anyone since then. And I haven’t had sex with someone since the summer before I turned twenty.” 

“That’s seven years, isn’t it?” You ask, making sure you remember his age correctly. 

“It is.”

You whistle, impressed. “That’s… She really mess you up.” 

“I just changed lifestyle. No sex, no smoking, no heavy drinking. Just me, my plants, nature, my job. I love it. It fulfills me.” 

“And no writing? You don’t miss it?” 

He shrugs, and it looks like he’s trying very hard to act like he doesn’t care. But he so blatantly does care. “You can’t miss something you’ve never had.” 

“I think you had it, though. And I think it will come back for you.”

He sighs. “I won’t hold my breath.”

You shake your head. 

“She’s engaged to one of my high school classmates now.” His laugh is bitter. “He proposed last Christmas. Getting married this summer.”

You hesitate around his fingers. Is he still hung up on her?

His eyes meet yours. “And I get mad because I think a part of me still thinks it was supposed to be me. And I hate that part of me. I also hate the part of me that is still hurt over what she did. The part of me that remembers all that sex, and wonders whether it was ever real.” He bites his lip, and he looks mad, truly. “All of this means, I’ve been hurt before, ____, and that messes with my head sometimes. The day I met you, I was attracted to you almost instantly, and that made me trust myself less around you, and it made me doubt you too. I was terrified at how much I wanted you, and the way my body reacted to yours. The way I dreamt of you. And knowing you wanted me too— It terrified me and electrified me at the same time. You’ve been the first woman I’ve wanted, really wanted, in years. And I’m sorry if I’ve seemed hot and cold, but I don’t know what to do with myself. You’ve been nothing but transparent with me, and I know this thing with me and you can hardly go anywhere—”

You go impossibly still next to him and he notices, also in the way your fingers get rigid and seem to retract from his touch. 

“This is all to say, I really want to thank you for being so honest with me so far. And I’m sorry for any weird behaviour I’ve had. It’s just that her betrayal messed with me more than I’d like to admit. And I don’t like people getting too close, but I couldn’t help it with you, and I’m not too happy with the idea that this is temporary.”

You try to align your thoughts correctly, trying to make them make sense. “What do you mean?” 

Namjoon inches closer. “With what?” 

“You’re not okay with this being temporary?” You paraphrase. 

Namjoon grips both your hands, then gets even closer. “You’re here on holiday, we’ve known each other for days, and I’m scared that again it’s just sex pulling me to you. Just some infatuation. I mean, you can’t start having feelings for someone in days. Or maybe you can, maybe I do feel something for you, just the roughest draft of a feeling, but it’s okay if you don’t. I’ve always been pretty sensitive and impressionable, especially with emotions.” He stares at you, really does, like he’s trying to read your mind. “I don’t know whether there’s solid evidence that this could be something more than a holiday fling. I just think it’s precious that I found you, that I got to feel this with you. I’m grateful for it, were it to end, or were it to turn into something deeper, something more structured, more lasting.” 

“Namjoon,” you whisper. Silence hoovers heavily on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I… I exaggerated. I’m too much. Too fast.” He inched away from you, closing off, already hating himself for scaring you off. 

“No,” you murmur kindly, stretching to reach his face, pulling him back closer. “I want you. Want this. Letting go will hurt, but as you said, I’m grateful too for this. This will be bittersweet, but it can teach us something.” Does it make sense, wanting to let go of everything for three very excellent fucks? This must be the sex. It must be the very excellent sex. The orgasms, and the hormones, and the dopamine, and all the stress you’ve been collecting like star stickers from your working at the restaurant. Maybe the long overdue hours of sleep and fucking you need to catch up on. 

You can’t be thinking this while sober, go figure talking about it. “I’m considering making some changes in my life. Maybe this could be the beginning of something different.” 

“It feels unsafe that both of us are truly considering this.” Namjoon speaks like he’s pulling back, except his body is caving in, molding to yours. “If you don’t pull back, I’ll go all in.” 

“You know when we finished yesterday,” and then you add, cheeks hot with shame “in the restroom.”

He hums, his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, and you refuse to resist it. “I remember some bits of it, yes.” His leg slots deliciously between yours, and you follow his lead, purring at the pressure, delicious pressure where your core throbs. 

“It felt like you were taking care of me, for a second. At the pond in the woods too. You’re so caring, and it would be so easy to let myself lean in, get attached. It terrifies me. Because this is supposed to be just a fling, right?” 

“Except we could let it mean more. Invest more in this.” Your bodies are already doing that. Your brains too, because neither of you might be showing their cards, but you both are calculating how much adjusting would need to be done in order for this to work, doing the math of meeting halfway and spending one weekend here, one weekend there, and what’s a two hours drive when you can finally start using your paid leave days, the amount of which has turned insurmountable at this point. 

“Is it worth it? Or are we just high on hormones?” You wonder, but words are starting to come difficult on you, especially with the way his hand is tracing your spine under your shirt. 

“See, that’s what I was wondering too.” Namjoon has pinned your hands above your head, and you’re on your back now, his body strong above you, his heartbeat loud, his chest glued to yours, and his thigh firm between your core, hot and pulsing and wet. “So maybe we should sweat some of these hormones off and see if we still think about this once we’re a little more… sober.”

You nod, as if stunned and hypnotised at the same time. 

“Plum, tell me what you need,” he whispered. 

“Inside. I want you inside.” You lowered your hands to his shorts, undoing the ribbon there. “I never thought I’d be a sucker for being filled to the brim. But you, you…” you shake your head, frustration all over your face. “Clenching around you, squeezing you… I could come from that alone. I wake up from dreams of what we did in the woods. We do it here. We do it in the shower. We do it by the pool. By the lake. In the woods, again, and against the wall. I think about sex with you all the time.”

Namjoon slips two fingers in his mouth as you talk, wetting them, but also using his spit to roughly, rudimentarily get rid of some bacteria. 

He slides his fingers inside you effortlessly and you gasp, then grind on him immediately. He grins like a madman at your reaction and feels himself growing harder too. 

“Does sex with me make you feel dirty, like it did with her?” You ask him, the previous conversation making its comeback on your mind.

”Oh, Plum. Sex with you is the holiest thing I’ve ever done. Sex with her felt like a sin, but this? You said sex to you was like a naked handshake. You can’t go to hell for something like that. But for this? Plum, I’d go to hell for this, and still, I’d choose this on any fucking lifetime I get.”

You slam your lips to his, and there’s nothing kind, nothing polite, nothing romantic about it. Yet, it’s the most romantic kiss you’ve ever had. It’s frantic, and desperate and needy, and his fingers scissor inside you, stretching you as best and as quick as they can. He can’t wait to be inside you either. 

“That was poetry,” you tell him. “You just spoke in poetry. We had naked handshakes. Now we get this. We get naked poetry.” He sucks at your neck and you bloom even more open for him. “I’m going to make such good love to you that you won’t help writing fucking cheesy pop ballads about it.”

He laughed against you, the sound so beautiful you swore your heart could glow golden with joy. 

“Alright, bet.”

Navi: (comìng soon)

[kirk-spock-fics]

All Time Fandom Favourites

Looking for popular spirk fics? Here are some fandom classics:

a sequence that you never learned by annataylor ★

explicit TW: implied childhood sexual abuse aos, kirk/spock kid fic, fake marriage, getting together, first time words: 64,624 'When Jim gets it in his head to adopt an eight year old Vulcan, Spock presents a logical solution to the issue of Jim's humanity: marriage to a Vulcan citizen.'

Sha Ka Ree by ThereBeWhalesHere ★

explicit tos, kirk/spock, au canon divergence slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, falling in love words: 180,505 'The year is 2258. Jim Kirk is a Lieutenant on the U.S.S. Farragut, Spock the science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. When the ships come together for a priority landing party, these two strangers find themselves fighting against the odds for a chance at life in an alien world, and the only way they'll make it through is by relying on each other.'

Warm Thoughts by lettered ★

teen tos, kirk/spock mind melds, hurt/comfort, episode: amok time words: 22,296 'Kirk contracts a condition that makes him feel perpetually cold. Spock has to perform mind melds to convince Kirk he’s warm.'

Bitter Dregs by kinklock ★

explicit tos, kirk/spock angst with a happy ending, mind melds, episode: plato's stepchildren 'When they had first met, Jim had known not to touch his hand.'

this is what happens when you save earth, apparently by WerewolvesAreReal ★

teen tos, kirk/spock, post-canon getting together, fluff, humour, post-five year mission, starfleet academy words: 5,454 '“So, why haven't you settled down with some lucky lady yet?” the interviewer asks. Maybe it's the blinding set-lights, or the fact that he hasn't slept in thirty-five hours. But for some reason Kirk blurts, “Honestly, they all end up getting jealous of Spock.”'

You Could Call It Love by lurikko ★

mature tos, kirk/spock, post-canon getting together, fake/pretend marriage, slow burn, unresolved sexual tension words: 45,791 'If marrying Spock is what it’s going to take to get them both back on Enterprise for another five-year mission, then Jim Kirk damn well is going to marry Spock.'

Spice by eimeo ★

explicit tos, tos movies, kirk/spock, kirk/others post-series, TMP, post-TMP, slow burn, realllly slow burn, angst with a happy ending, getting together, getting back together, mutual pining words: 276,553 'It’s a question of biology. Vulcan biology. The problem with falling in love with a member of an insanely private species is that it just might take you the best part of a five year mission to work out that the feelings are requited. And then you might discover that he’s already decided that the two of you can never be together. And what are you supposed to do if he won’t tell you why?'

An Excercise In Setting Oneself On Fire by alestairwrites ★

teen tos, kirk/spock fluff, getting together, accidental ashayam, misunderstandings words: 5,017 '“Ashayam, I must disagree.” There’s silence for a moment, and it takes Spock less than a second to realise the mistake he’s made. He allows himself a single moment to close his eyes, before opening them to face his fate.'

Unspoken by williamspockspeare ★

teen CW: mild descriptions of violence tos, kirk/spock t'hy'la, tarsus iv, drunkeness, fluff, angst with a happy ending, 5+1 '“If even in dreams, Jim lacked the courage to say the words, when would he ever say it?” Or 5 times Jim Kirk stopped himself from saying I love you + 1 time he didn’t.'

Desert Rose by Borealisblue ★

mature tos, kirk/spock, au spock didn't join starfleet slow burn, soulmates, bonding, mutual pining, vulcan culture, vulcan kisses, mind melds, first kiss, falling in love, slash words: 135,649 'The Captain of the USS Enterprise is sent to Vulcan on behalf of the Federation to assist in the discovery of some ancient ruins. The ruins' very existence may be a threat to Vulcanian Society because they hint at a mythical bond long ago lost. But before their select team is able to seek them out, they must first study up on the old culture within the ancient libraries of ShiKahr city, accompanied under the supervision and tutelage of a professor from the local Vulcan Science Academy, a Mr. Spock.'

[asteria7fics]

Can we have some of your personal style headcanons?

Why yes, dear anon, you absolutely can!

I'll only share SFW ones here, but if you're interested in NSFW ones please let me know d(･∀･○)

This also contains some mild spoilers for the fic I'm currently working on - NOT The Song of Broflovski. If you'd rather go into that totally blind, then maybe skip this answer. Otherwise, read on!

Alright, so let's start from the beginning. I personally write Kyle as figuring out his feelings first, while Stan acts on them first. Neither one is stoked on the idea of coming out (Stan for Randy-trauma related reasons, Kyle for Cartman-trauma related ones) so they don't publicly come out/start actually dating until late high school when they know they're about to skip town and move away to college.

That doesn't stop them from messing around of course, but I'll save that info for a NSFW drop. (¬‿¬)

I also really like the idea of their relationship not changing massively even after they've become an official couple. They still fight, they still do a lot of the same activities together, and they never really adopt any pet names outside of still calling one another 'dude' all the damn time. Just two straight dudes in love, honestly.

Kyle is Stan's #1 defender, and will go to war with douchebags in the comments of Stan's social media posts (hard headcanon him as still being a musician/leaning really hard into his passion for music. Crimson Dawn is definitely still a thing in the Asteriaverse). You dare to talk shit about Stanley Marsh on the internet?? In front of God and everyone?? Baby you're getting doxed. Bye.

He also just unironically loves the music Stan makes, with Crimson Dawn and otherwise. Like, shitty phone recording from a performance as his ringtone kinda love. I think Kyle would have pretty eclectic music taste in general, but I like the idea of them bonding over the kind of stuff Stan would want to make.

I like to think Stan is more of a bad/freeing influence on Kyle. My Kyle has a little bit of a stick up his ass, especially as he gets older and there's more pressure on him to excel in school. Stan really becomes the person that wraps him up in a blanket after a long day of studying, passes him a drink and puts on Monty Python so they both can just relax and have fun together.

And they're absolutely the guys at the party standing in the corner by the drinks, cracking jokes to one another while they watch everyone else make complete asses of themselves. Just in their own little world, until they get properly drunk and end up making out in a bathroom or some shit. Just messy bitches.

They simultaneously communicate extremely well and absolutely horribly. They have the kind of connection where one look says it all, but when it comes down to deeper issues and arguments they're both trash at communicating their feelings. Kyle gets too heated and just starts RANTING while Stan can barely articulate a singular feeling. Eventually Stan figures out that he kinda just has to let Kyle get his shit off his chest and eventually he'll calm down enough to help Stan sort out his feelings too, but those first couple years? Rough haha no smooth sailing for my boys I'm afraid.

Alright, I'm gonna stop here because I could probably sit here and talk about these losers all day. These are pretty surface level, both because I don't want to spoil too much and because I'm always forming new headcanons for them! Really specific ones usually come to me in the moment while I'm writing, so I'll definitely come up with more before this next project is finished!

Thank you very much for the ask!! ( ´⌣`ʃƪ)

[albusthefakepitbull]

just scrolling your blog a bit and stumbled across a post asking about Sensitive Tummy Foods. i work at a training kennel so trialing tummy issues has been much of my life so i was going to pitch a bunch of stuff i've seen work in my experience, but for me the first thing i think of if a dog is consistently having runny shits is phasing out chicken-based foods. mild allergies to chicken can be pretty common, and so can beef allergies ngl. you mentioned using nulo, and we actually tried a pair of standard poodles in our guide dog program on nulo because they had a round of giardia as puppies and their stomachs have been fried ever since, and on nulo one of the boys managed to shit UP a wall, so don't worry lol you're not the only one with adverse experiences on that kibble lol

1. we had a lot of success with inukshuk. it's expensive so it's not the only option i'll throw at you, but it's a performance kibble with a higher calorie density and i've seen a lot of dogs do well on it. my personal dog is on inukshuk marine 16 because his gastrointestinal system does horrible things when in contact with chicken, it's probably the best kibble i've given him. if you have an inukshuk distributor in your area the price can halve though so i'd shop around and see if anyone has The Goods

2. pumpkin is a classic belly calming potion, if it's just mildish diarrhea you might have some success just adding a tablespoon of pumpkin puree to meals. propectalin is also a useful supplement for tummy issues and my life would be unlivable without it, it's expensive which sucks but it lasts a while. vets actually prescribe propectalin for dogs with IBS which is so funny to me like you can get it cheaper than prescription of amazon this is like doggie pepto bismol. in my experience propectalin has worked better as a probiotic than fortiflora does, but fortiflora does have a marked effect, and is a good compromise for price. we also used probios, which is definitely effective particularly for dogs with highly explosive stomach issues resistant to everything else; it's a probiotic designed originally for livestock with some combinations blended specifically for dogs. the people hocking goats' milk are dumb though lol. goats' milk does not help in most cases, it can increase inflammation in the GI tract which is the last thing you want for a Shitter On The Loose

NOTE: if you find your boy has issues with beef, DO NOT give propectalin, it has beef in it. you will have a bad day. learn from my mistakes

3. one thing to play with are organ meats. sometimes diarrhea isn't always Belly Inflammation but an imbalance of nutrition, and sometimes an easy fix is picking up some chicken hearts or dried sheep liver and playing a bit. i won't wade into raw food discourse here, but as a warning, if you do take this advice in the direction of purchasing raw items, just know that most dogs have slightly looser stools on a raw diet compared to a kibble only diet, so if you do transition and you're like wtf? that's a pretty normal thing

and random only somewhat related doggie supplement advice i'm pitching just because it's cool: B12 is more effective as a calming supplement than CBD or melatonin. i kinda think most calming supplements are total bullshit but B12 is effective ime not because it provides an innate calming effect but because it addresses a nutritional issue that leads to that effect. as a human i personally start seeing the hat man if i forget to address a particular nutrient so i understand, puppies.

anyway i hope some of this helps your poor teenage mal and his belly troubles! wishing u and ur pups the best and i hope my phd in dog shit can be of assistance to you

i’m saving this for future use thank you for all the info :)

[aranarumei]

hi kiri What’s the deal with a3’s timeloop day. you shouldn’t be surprised that I am asking this. okay I love you bye

ok this is actually a pretty simple answer! but i got rambly so here's a readmore.

A3! (which stands for Act! Addict! Actors! <- don’t ask me why it’s this. idk) is a gacha game where you play as the manager, Izumi Tachibana (I’m doing first name, last name here) and you work to revive a dying theater company called Mankai. there’s 3 Acts, each with like, 4 big stories in them. and a bunchhhh of shorter event storiess which imo are crucial to experience. The first 2 acts, along with the interceding events, have been completely localized, and were run on the now-defunct English server. There is, however, an archive—if at any point in time you are ever interested, feel free to shoot me a message. And I’m serious. Even if it’s like two years later. It’s been like almost 3 years since I started going thru a3 and I haven’t even finished act 2. I’m slow

Anyways, Act 1 deals with establishing the company—in its former glory, there used to be four troupes that rotated by season. Izumi’s dad also used to run it, and he disappeared. So that’s why there’s four big stories each act: it’s one per season. In Act 1, each story deals with gathering the members for each season troupe together, and then pulling off their first play. And it also deals with like, the issues all the characters are facing. It is like, within the yumejoshi genre so there’s definitely that vibe of like. wow look at all these pretty boys who are kind of into me!? but I think it’s pretty mild on that point and like. something I enjoy is that I can see Izumi as like. an actual Character as opposed to just a self-insert. Which is nice. but the real selling point for me is that there’s a lot of like, found family and rich character dynamics within the cast. It is even homosexual sometimes.

One thing I find really interesting about a3 is that I think it has really strong character writing and development. And it’s really good at establishing different “moods” across each troupe, which works well in creating dynamics and also because each troupe specializes in something different. So spring is like, the “classic” troupe—they tend to do lots of reinterpretations of classic works, though that’s not exclusively their thing… but anyways. they do like. nice fantastical stories in my opinion. Summer does comedy, autumn does action, and winter does drama. and winter HAS drama.

Now up until winter there’s been some wackiness in a3 but it’s been like, pretty grounded in how it’s played out. and then winter rolls around and. see the issue with winter is that unlike some of the younger members they’re all composed of adults. so they’re bad at talking about their feelings, because instead of just shouting things out loud they will just shut down and like. Leave. I love this about them and I think it’s such a good writing choice.

Enter Tasuku Takato and Tsumugi Tsukioka. Tasuku and Tsumugi used to be like, the best of friends. they acted together and followed their passions together. and then they both auditioned for the God Troupe together, which is this prestigious famous troupe (it’s also evil.) and while tasuku got in and became one of the lead actors, tsumugi failed his audition. This left a deep scar on Tsumugi, who ended up kind of running away from acting as a vocation all together. now, Tasuku quit the God troupe because they were engaging in some shady stuff, and ended up joining Mankai along with Tsumugi, who coincidentally was inspired to try acting again. tsumugi’s been elected the leader of winter troupe, and therefore the person who’s meant to take the lead role in their first play. Tasuku is constantly snapping at him whenever he’s unconfident, and it’s just not great vibes. To top it all off, they’ve been issued a challenge by the God troupe, where they’ll both perform and the audience has to vote on which play they like better. Tsumugi is not really confident he can stand up to them for obvious reasons. Tasuku gets mad at him about it. Tsumugi runs into this weird doll, and the next day, they wake up in a time loop.

See, the thing is, they’re on such a tight deadline for the play, and winter is So Bad at talking about their feelings, that magic is real now. this is somewhat of an oversimplification, but it’s funny to say it like this. Anyways, there are like, seven mysteries in Mankai (have I mentioned they all dorm together! they all do! Each of them has a roommate and they all live in a big dorm that’s connected to their own theater and stage. It’s part of why they’re in such big debt and trouble at the beginning—its really hard to maintain those facilities) and one of them is about this doll that will put you in a time loop unless you become friends. essentially. And this is what happens… eventually they end up talking to each other for real due to the time loop, and each affirms just how much they respect the acting of the other. later on when Tsumugi slips back into being unconfident tasuku is able to resolve his past mistakes, because part of why he was so angry at Tsumugi was also because he was angry at himself for like. not reaching out. And telling him how much he loved him and his acting. Because their styles are very different—tasuku is loud and commanding, and Tsumugi is a more understated and subtle.

A3 is also very very cool in that parts of its plays mirror real life? so like. this play, sympathy for an angel, has two leads: Michael (Tsumugi) and Raphael (Tasuku). In it, Michael becomes interested in this woman on a list of people who are about to die, and ends up visiting the human world. He writes letters to her. His friend, Raphael, warns him against this, saying that he’s foolish for going so far for someone he can’t even meet. And each time he steps into the human world, his own soul gets weaker, and his wings begin to wither. Still, he persists against objections. Eventually, the woman recovers, gets a fiancé, and he returns to heaven. Thinking he’ll just wish for her happiness even with his unrequited love, he looks at the list and finds out that despite recovering, she’s still on the close to death list. Despite the danger to himself, he descends into the human world, and takes her place in a car accident. As he’s dying, his soul about to be obliterated because he’s been in the human world too often, Raphael descends and holds him in his arms. Michael says that he’s happy he got to do something for the person he loves, and he’s happy to be held by his best friend. Raphael says that though he’d called Michael the fool, it was him that truly was one: because he stood by, unable to protect both the person he loves and his best friend. Because he was in love with Michael the whole time of course. And then Michael dies in his arms. Now this makes me weepy as does the accompanying character song but what I really love most about it is like. Raphael’s regrets in that he didn’t protect Michael kind of directly mirror Tasuku’s own regrets in being unable to help Tsumugi when he was going through a tough time? only Tsumugi isn’t dead and so Tasuku has an actual chance to fix things, which is sweet.

It should be mentioned that one guy in the spring troupe WRITES all of these plays which is deeply funny to me bc it means that 1) he is probably gay and doesn’t know this and 2) he has precognitive abilities regarding the inner psyche of all of his castmates. and that’s a3 timeloop day. some of these a3 characters have me by the throat btw I just get beamed visions of them chatting and introspecting like constantly. I definitely haven’t explained everything but I think this is enough?

[eelfuneral]

Hey I just want you to know I appreciate you. Can you tell me some more things you love about Tech?

Thank you so much, and same to you!

Some great things about Tech are:

1. His enthusiasm for learning and knowledge. He’s always curious, even in situations where you think he wouldn’t have time to be inquisitive. His mind is always working and absorbing.

2. Though he is smart and can come off as arrogant to some (mostly because his social skills aren’t great), he’s a genuinely very caring person who knows what his values are and sticks with them. This man would do anything for his family and hates fascism.

3. He’s a really physically skilled character and it’s so much fun to watch him in action. Even though he seems to slip and stumble a bit more than other people due to what is likely mild gross motor issues, he can still perform some wild physical feats like flipping as he jumps down from a ledge or rolling with loaded blasters in both hands.

4. He sees the world differently because his brain is wired differently, and instead of wishing that he had a “normal brain”, he uses it to his advantage. Tech takes in every possible detail at once and sees patterns that others don’t. He’s saved himself and others numerous times by trusting in his observations.

5. Tech is unapologetically himself, and he feels no need to alter who he is to be palatable to others. Tech is Tech, and you are always going to get Tech when you interact with him.

I could go on and on because Tech is my Special Boy, but I’ll stop it here so you won’t be here reading this answer all morning!

[thewarmestplacetohide]

Dread by the Decade: Dracula's Daughter

👻 You can support me on Ko-Fi! ❤️

★★★

Plot: After her father's death, Dracula's daughter seeks to undo her vampiric curse and rejoin society.

Review: Though there are issues with the story and pacing, an interesting early portrayal of a conflicted vampire and queer subtext make this worth a watch.

Source Material: "Carmilla" by Sheridan Le Fanu Sequel to: Dracula (1931) Year: 1936 Genre: Vampires, Gothic Country: United States Language: English Runtime: 1 hour 9 minutes

Director: Lambert Hillyer Writer: Garrett Fort Cinematographer: George Robinson Editor: Milton Carruth Composer: Heinz Roemheld Cast: Gloria Holden, Otto Kruger, Marguerite Churchill, Edward Van Sloan, Irving Pichel, Gilbert Emergy

------

Story: 2.5/5 - Messy. Its recapping is awkward and climax rushed. It also devotes too much time to inessential comedic relief. Still, Marya is a tragic character, and Jeffrey and Janet's relationship is fun.

Performances: 3.5/5 - Holden, echoing some of Lugosi's mannerisms, is the standout as a vampire combating loneliness. Also, Kruger and Churchill play off each other well.

Cinematography: 3.5/5 - Not as gothic and distinct as its predecessor, but still features some striking shots.

Editing: 3/5 - A few really good uses of dissolves.

Music: 2.5/5 - Generic.

Sets: 3/5 - Proficiently dressed and realistic if a bit generic.

Costumes, Hair, & Make-Up: 3/5

Trigger Warnings:

Mild violence

[bumblebeeloved]

so i've dealt with a significant amount of pain.

periods meant i was throwing up, calling out of school/work two days a month minimum, cramps going up my back and down my legs. i would take 800 mg of ibuprofen every 4 hours before i realized how bad of an idea that was for several days.

i'm also hypermobile. to the point that i have dislocated a shoulder a couple times now, sprained ankles, rolled ankles, hamstring strains, calf strains, tendonitis in my hands and knees.

i'm 33 and only just now realized that i live a near constant low level amount of pain. but i don't know how to classify it. between the injuries and the period and the baby i had last year and the subsequent recovery, i just view pain as a constant. i don't realize it's there until i can't ignore it and have to take medication due to not being able to move normally. and i've only just though to bring this up to my doctor. when she asked where on the scale i was, i had no idea how to answer. even with the little faces they have on the charts now.

i just... don't know. so i had to ask damn chat gpt to put it into terms i could understand. give me examples for each number. because apparently my pain scale is vastly different from others.

so now i'm putting it here. both as a reminder to myself, and to help anyone else who has an issue with this and doesn't realize it.

The Pain Scale

0 - No Pain

Description: You feel no discomfort or pain at all.

1 - Very Mild Pain

Description: Pain is barely noticeable. It's an annoyance but doesn't really bother you.

Example: A light scratch or the sensation of having a mild bruise.

2 - Mild Pain

Description: Pain is noticeable but easily ignored. You can still perform all activities without much thought to the pain.

Example: Minor headache or the discomfort from a small cut.

3 - Moderate Pain

Description: Pain is noticeable and distracting but you can still perform most activities. It's more annoying than limiting.

Example: Mildly sore muscles after a workout or the start of a migraine.

4 - Moderate to Severe Pain

Description: Pain is noticeable and harder to ignore, but you can still manage to perform daily activities with some effort.

Example: Moderate migraine, minor sprain, or a minor toothache.

5 - Severe Pain

Description: Pain is quite noticeable and cannot be ignored for long. It affects your ability to perform some activities.

Example: A bad headache, significant toothache, or sprained ankle.

6 - More Severe Pain

Description: Pain is difficult to ignore and significantly impacts your ability to perform daily activities.

Example: Bad migraine, severe back pain, or a very sore throat.

7 - Very Severe Pain

Description: Pain is so intense that it makes it difficult to concentrate or perform most activities.

Example: Intense migraine, severe sprain, or post-surgical pain.

8 - Intense Pain

Description: Pain is so severe that it limits your ability to do almost anything. It is hard to speak, think, or perform basic tasks.

Example: The pain from a broken bone, kidney stone, or severe dental abscess.

9 - Excruciating Pain

Description: Pain is unbearable. You are unable to perform any activities and may feel desperate for relief.

Example: Pain from a serious injury like a fracture, gallbladder attack, or post-surgical recovery without proper pain management.

10 - Unimaginable Pain

Description: Pain is so intense that you may pass out from it. This level of pain is usually reserved for the worst pain you have ever felt or could imagine.

Example: Childbirth without pain relief, major trauma, or severe burns.

[joemama666]

JOE MAMA (WOLF) POSTS AGAIN AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS REAL?1?!11?1? 😱😱😱😱😱😱

*proceeds to disappear again*

Here's Orchestra! Sans ; The Remake.

Basic info about him

Name : Sans

Alias : Orchestra

Alignment : neutral good

Comes from the AU : Operatale

Backstory : same as when I first posted about him, underground was discovered by a town of humans who were more friendly (at least most of them??-) to humans and decide to let them live up the surface. as long as the monsters helped with things, and in then in turn the humans would shield them from the rest of humanity. It was hard work but the monsters were happy to be back up.

Personality :

Orchestra, he's a pretty confident guy who's just about straightforward in anything, dudes either seen conducting a band or playing in one.

Some extra things about him

His age : 20s (early 20s for the most of it)

Date of birth : 8/18 (which is the same as my birthday yayay my OC and I share the same birth because I'm lazy to think of a better day woohoo! 😍💅

Likes : music, being in control (he has slight control issues lol), chocolate (chocolate lovers unite 😤👊), neat and orderly things, performing for humans and monsters

Dislikes : disorderly things (if it's really bad like bro's not gonna care if he sees a single shirt on the floor in your house or something ☠️), not being in control

Random things

He has mild zoophobia (with feral animals, if he sees some talking animal he's just *slightly* uncomfortable)

He is shorter than the original sans (but like slightly, probably like a few inches or something 🧍‍♀️🤷‍♀️)

His eye magic is light blue and purple, which represent patience and perseverance, something he both has (most of the time-)

The end I think. 😅

I also plan on remaking Spray Paint and Johnny soon, as well as draw other crack ship children I come up with.

Hope you enjoy :3 !