#and i know if he ever crossed paths with my abuser. no chance. it's on sight.

[frecklystars]

Sierra Six canonically has c-ptsd and has a scene in the movie where he's triggered and having a flashback. The first time I saw that, I had to pause and process it... not only did I immediately feel safe when I saw him on screen for the first time, because he's such a protective person and his main weakness is his loyalty and devotion to his loved ones, but ALSO it comforts me knowing that he'd be so patient and understanding with me when I'm having my own flashbacks or panic attacks from my own abuse. He became a strong comfort character in less than 40 minutes, possibly a new record, I wasn't even done with the movie yet.

I literally paused the movie my first time watching it and NEEDED to write a self ship fic w/ him asap because I was so overwhelmed with how I just... I knew, I knew he would comfort me if I needed it. I knew he'd be here for me. I'm so certain of it. I wrote 30 pages in just a couple of hours and it was also the first time I wrote anything in over a year.

I still jolt awake from nightmares and I barely get 3 hours of sleep every night, sometimes no sleep at all. Insomnia is a part of ptsd and my sleep schedule was already a wreck before I had to deal w/ my abuser. And it feels SO comforting to know that when I wake up gasping, sweating, crying, Six is bursting through the door (or if he's asleep in the same room with me, he's immediately alert and scrambling to my side) and he's scooping me into his arms and he's immediately saying it's okay, it's okay. Keri, you're safe. I'm right here. His hands are scarred and calloused from years of fighting, but they're as gentle as his voice when he's holding me. His gaze is soft. He knows exactly how this feels. He knows grounding techniques. He guides me through breathing exercises. He has been through this same hell for decades. He knows. He gets it. He protects me when I'm awake and when I'm dreaming. I could not possibly be anywhere safer than in his arms

[zorobff]

how to disappear. (opla!zoro x fem!reader)

synopsis: joining luffy’s crew made you believe that you’d finally escaped your former pirate crew and nightmare of a captain for good. that is, until a certain butler starts looking a little too familiar. good thing zoro’s keeping a close eye on you.

warnings: opla spoilers (ep 3), some direct dialogue from opla, mentions of verbal/physical abuse, kuro is just a weirdo tbh, reader is called a bitch, protective zoro, for the sake of the story sham and buchie joined the black cat pirates after reader left

word count: 4.7k

“this guy is full of shit.”

you knock your shoulder into zoro’s wider one. “be nice. and so what if he is?” 

zoro gives you a pointed glare. “then we should turn around and look for someone who can actually help us find a ship.” 

“all business, as per usual,” you reply, with a purposefully dramatic sigh. “why can’t you have a little fun?” 

“what about this is supposed to be fun?” zoro spits out the word like it’s poisonous. “this is the blandest village i’ve ever seen.”

you scoff. “now you’re the one that’s full of shit. nothing’s ever bland with us and you know it.” 

the us in question was your newly formed pirate crew… if you and luffy could even be considered that. having left the ship you’d been on a few years ago, you were in search of a new crew. luffy was persistent and charming — when you’d crossed paths in shells town, it took little to no time for him to convince you to join his hunt for the one piece. zoro and nami, on the other hand, had yet to follow in your footsteps. 

“well, considering that we’ve only been traveling together for a day and a half and i’ve already escaped a marine base, defeated a marine captain, and fought a clown with devil fruit powers… i’d actually have to agree.” 

you can’t help but giggle at his sarcastic delivery. “be grateful, zoro. not many pirate crews are this fun to be on, trust me. oh wait, that’s right, you still haven’t officially joined—”

“tell me about your old pirate crew,” interjects zoro, your comment having piqued his interest. 

you notice that the playful atmosphere dissipates. “god, where do i even start?” 

zoro answers that for you. “why did you leave?”

“starting with the hard hitting questions, huh?” you joke, mostly to stall. you clear your throat before you answer. “well, it was different. nothing like what luffy has going on. he actually cares about his crew… and even those who aren’t technically on it.” 

at that, a smile tugs at the corner of zoro’s lips. even you crack a small grin. although as you continue speaking, it fades. 

“on my old crew, we were dispensable. anytime something went wrong, our own captain would threaten to kill us. it was… scary, to be completely honest. there were so many times when i thought i’d die with that filthy crew. and i never wanted that. so as soon as we docked at shells town, i left.”  

zoro’s jaw clenches as imagines the things you’d seen and been subjected to. “this old captain of yours sounds like a real—”

“he was a nightmare,” you tell him. “he didn’t care that i was the only woman on board, he treated me just as horribly, if not worse.” 

zoro stops so suddenly that it takes you a second to realize he’s not walking alongside you.

“what do you mean by that.” the way zoro phrases the inquiry doesn’t even make it sound like a question. more like a demand. his narrowed eyes are fixed solely on you. holding his gaze feels… intense. 

you can’t help but glance away as you answer him. “he was just a bit of a creep.”

before zoro has the chance to try and extract more information out of you, a familiar voice calls both your names. you’re not really sure when you and zoro had fallen behind but from where you currently stand, the rest of your group looks miniature. or perhaps it’s just the massive size of the mansion behind them that makes luffy, nami, and usopp look pocket-sized in comparison. 

“why’d you stop walking?!” your captain shouts, hands pressed on each side of his mouth to amplify his voice. “get over here, we’re about to go in through the top secret entrance!” 

you vaguely make out usopp gesturing for luffy to keep his voice down. you’re sure that would warrant another comment from zoro about his reliability but he’s too busy staring at you with that expectant look in his eyes. 

“we better catch up,” you tell him, heading in the direction of the deluxe home. 

he allows you to dodge the subject and sighs, walking in long strides to catch up to you.  

“i’ve never seen a house this big before,” luffy admits, admiring the mansion along with the wellkept greenery surrounding it. 

“awesome, right?” usopp gloats, walking around like he owned the place. “kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime i want.” 

“wow.” you’re not sure if luffy was just going along with usopp’s act or if he really believed him. knowing the devil fruit user, it was more than likely the latter. “all this for just one person?”

“well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff,” usopp replies, leaning against the stone well that sat in the middle of the lawn.

“money really shows you who people truly are,” nami mutters, eyes scanning the property. “most people only care about themselves and what’s theirs.”

zoro is quick to throw the insult back at her. “sounds like someone i know.”

you roll your eyes at his comment, though you make no effort to disagree with him. nami was a little on the materialistic side. 

“and a small staff makes for easy pickings,” she continues, proving your point.

“we just got here and you’re already planning on robbing the place blind?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“at least a little blurry,” she smirks, following behind luffy and usopp who walk toward the entrance. 

you and zoro share a look. one that says disappointed but not surprised. 

going under a shrub shaped as an arch, you’re met with a beautiful pond. you admire the pink lilies that float at the top and the bushes that were intricately trimmed into the shape of various animals. even if the people that lived here were filthy rich, at least they had good decorative taste. 

“so if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?” luffy ponders.

usopp’s answer is nonchalant. “oh, i never use the front entrance. like i said, this is the vip entrance reserved for special guests.”

zoro scoffs. “this guy’s definitely–”

“don’t start,” you groan, cutting him off. 

abruptly, usopp freezes and spins around, attempting to usher your crew back. “you know what, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way–”

the sharp swoosh of a knife cutting through the air and burying itself in the ground between usopp’s feet cuts him off. from the direction the kitchen utensil was thrown stands a heavyset gentleman with his face wrinkled in anger. his demanding voice booms through the garden, “the hell are you doing here, usopp?” 

the dark-skinned boy fumbles over his word. “buchi, buddy, uh, kaya’s expecting me.”

“another one of your lies,” the man – seemingly named buchi – seethes, grabbing him by the collar. “you ain’t welcome here and you know it.”

“i know nothing of the sort,” usopp retorts, keeping his cool even when he was practically being lifted off the ground by his shirt. “i’m here to give kaya an extra special gift.”

before buchi can get another word out, a feminine voice calls out for your companion. coming down the steps is a frail looking girl in a pink dress. on her arm is a man dressed in a crisp suit, presumably the butler usopp had mentioned earlier. though, from where you stand you can’t see either of their faces too clearly. 

“what a wonderful surprise,” she exclaims, breathlessly. 

“kaya!” usopp exclaims, returning her enthusiasm. buchi has no choice but to let him go, begrudgingly. usopp makes sure to shoot him a smug look before walking towards the young girl. “happy birthday.” 

the butler clears his throat, not afraid to intrude on their special moment. “usopp, we’ve discussed this before. you mustn’t show up unannounced.” 

“nonsense, klahadore.” kaya smiles warmly. “have you come to tell me another story? i do love hearing about your adventures.” 

“i’ll do you one better,” usopp smirks with such confidence that even you’re left wondering what kind of surprise he has up his sleeve. “i brought some of my crew!” he gestures back towards the four of you, proudly. 

your excitement vanishes. “oh. the surprise is… us.”

“well, that’s boring,” luffy agrees, just as disappointed as you are. 

kaya, on the other hand, is none the wiser. “it’s so nice to meet you. you must all stay for dinner.” 

klahadore lowers his voice. “miss kaya, it is a bit last minute. i’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests.”

“please,” begs kaya, softly. “it’s my birthday. can’t be too much trouble can it?” 

giving in, klahadore purses his lips. “anything for you, miss kaya.” 

luffy claps his hands together. “alright! when do we eat?” 

“you don’t. not dressed like that, at least.” the butler directs himself to a staff member with teal colored hair. “sham, kindly show usopp and his friends to the guest suites. you will bathe and change before dinner.”

she follows his orders and leads the way. luffy, usopp, nami, and zoro trail behind her and you go to do the same. however, all it takes is a quick glance to stop you dead in your tracks. usually, you weren’t one to stare but klahadore’s face. that stare. so dark and depraved. 

“yes, miss?” he asks, holding your gaze. “can i help you?” 

“n-no, i…” your throat goes dry as you attempt to recover smoothly. “i just wanted to, um, thank you for being so hospitable.” 

his lips curve upwards into a sinister grin. “the pleasure’s all mine.” as if to confirm your worst fear, klahadore uses his palm to readjust his glasses. his beady eyes gauge your reaction closely.

the familiar gesture sends chills down your spine. appearance-wise, he had changed drastically but his aura was still just as menacing as you remember it. he was still the corrupt pirate captain you used to serve under. you feel like a weak and helpless subordinate all over again.

“klahadore!” giggles kaya. “you’re smiling! that’s certainly a rarity.”

he hums. “i’ve simply come to the realization that having guests once in a while can truly be a delight.”

his sickeningly sweet tone makes your stomach turn. just the fact that you were standing in front of him – captain kuro – again after all these years was nauseating in itself. last you’d heard he had died at the hands of captain morgan. how was this even possible? then again, he wasn’t dubbed kuro of a hundred plans for no reason. he always had a trick or two up his sleeve. you assumed this was no different. 

“hey, you comin’?”

you turn around to see zoro waiting for you. he meets your gaze for a moment. the softness of his eyes is a stark contrast to kuro’s. it’s a breath of fresh air. he then shifts his attention to your former captain and you swear his eyes darken. 

“yeah, sorry,” you mumble, trying not to look shaken as you walk up the steps. 

zoro follows behind you, this time closer than before.

“why would anybody even need this many clothes?”

“it’s not about need with these people, luffy. it’s about want,” nami spits, thumbing through the various fabrics on the wall. 

“at least she’s rich and nice,” luffy replies, innocently.

nami rolls her eyes. “yeah, letting us stay for dinner must be her idea of charity work.” 

“what are we even supposed to wear?” luffy continues, uninterested in nami’s criticism of the rich. 

“anything you want. when are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?” 

you step out from behind the changing board where you’d swapped out your old tee and cargo skirt for an elegant satin dress. it was a stunning shade of olive green and frilly lace decorated the edges. not to mention, it hugged your curves in all the right ways.

nami’s eyes widen. “see, she’s got the right idea. you look amazing.” 

you smile, bashfully. “honestly, i feel amazing.”

“you look the same to me,” your captain shrugs.

nami shoots him a death glare but you intervene before she can scold him.

“way to keep me humble, luffy.”

“no problem!” 

at that exact moment, a freshly showered zoro arrives donning a silk robe. he eyes the multitude of garments that cover every inch of the room, not particularly impressed. 

“there you are. don’t you think she looks nice?” nami asks him, gesturing towards you. she doesn’t notice how you shrink under zoro’s gaze. neither does he, as his eyes take their time raking over you, from top to bottom.

he hums. “suits you.” with that, he sets off towards a chair in the corner of the room.  

“seriously?” sighs nami, exasperated. “are you two physically unable to give compliments or something?” 

“hey, doesn’t that butler seem familiar to you guys?” zoro asks, promptly ignoring nami’s complaint. 

his question causes your breath to hitch. you’d pushed the kuro problem to the back of your mind while you were in search of a suitable dinner outfit. you figured that as long as your crew was by your side, he wouldn’t dare try anything. and even if he did… well, you’d seen what had happened to axe-hand morgan and buggy. 

“yeah, i think he was at the last dinner party i attended,” nami replies sarcastically, taking a handful of dresses behind the changing board. 

as he takes a seat, zoro grumbles, “i swear i’ve seen him before.” 

“where?” you can’t help but ask, fiddling with the lace on the neckline of your dress. 

“so far, i’ve got two suspicions. a wanted poster or funky bar on mirrorball island. you ever been?”

you know zoro’s teasing you, judging by the grin on his face. after all, funky bar was known to get insanely rowdy; never would he imagine finding someone as gentle as you there. but what he didn’t know is that it happened to be one of kuro’s favorite bars. per his request, you and the rest of the black cat pirates frequented it often, so he was more than likely right about having seen kuro there. he’d probably even seen you in passing, once or twice. thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of that.

the thought of zoro knowing about your past forms a knot in the pit of your stomach. would he think less of you for having joined such a ruthless crew at one point in your life? what if it put a strain on the friendship you’d worked so hard to form? 

“i’ve, uh, heard of it,” you decide to reply, pushing down your worries for the time being. 

he tilts his head slightly, thinking out loud. “then again, i have seen a lot of wanted posters and bars in my time as a pirate hunter.”

you feel a grin creep onto your face. “probably more bars than posters, huh?”

zoro mirrors your smile. “shut up.”

by the time dinner rolls around, the entire crew is doing what they do best. 

luffy is stuffing his face, nami is attempting to swindle one of the staff, zoro is hanging by the drinks, and you’re hanging by zoro. 

“hey zoro, you gotta try this!” luffy calls through a mouthful of food.

“i’ve got all i need right here,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his champagne flute. 

“you know, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you choke down something that isn’t alcohol,” you comment, watching the way he downs the glass in one go. 

dryly, he replies, “that’s because i haven’t.”

“very on brand.”

“ladies and gentlemen,” calls out that voice from the top of the stairs. “may i present… miss kaya.”

arm in arm, kuro and kaya walk down the steps, all eyes on the birthday girl and her stunning gown. well, except you. your eyes never leave the so-called butler by her side. your jaw clenches when he has the audacity to meet your gaze and hold it. shameless bastard. 

once they reach the bottom, merry leads kaya to the guests while kuro takes his post at the bottom of the stairs… right next to the drink table. before you can think about steering yourself and zoro away, kuro speaks.

“forgive me if i am speaking out of line, madam, but i must inform you. you look positively radiant,” he purrs, soaking in your appearance. he looks ready to pounce.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling. good to know he’s the same pervert he used to be.

looking between you both and sensing your discomfort, zoro steps in. “and you look familiar.” 

kuro’s head stiffly turns to face him, eyes peeling away from you. “highly doubtful, sir.” 

“funky bar? mirror ball island?” 

“funky bar?” kuro repeats, disgusted. “well, i can assure you i’ve never patronized that type of establishment.” 

while it was amusing to see your highly esteemed former captain lie through his teeth, the tension between him and zoro was unbearable. 

“well then.” zoro continues with his little interrogation. “ever been on a wanted poster?”

you cringe at his bluntness. sometimes it seemed like he had less of a filter than luffy.

kuro puts on a scandalized face at the question. “sir! such an accusation is highly offensive.” tugging on his collar, he goes to remove himself from zoro’s probing. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to help prepare the dinner table.” 

he leaves, en route to the dining room. zoro’s eyes follow his figure until he disappears, squinting as he racks his brain for any further recollection of this suspicious butler. 

you sigh. if zoro was going to continue being so relentless, you were sure the night would end in bloodshed and uncovered secrets. 

“keep this coming,” zoro demands, handing the empty wine bottle to sham. she takes it with a glare. 

“would it kill you to say please?” you ask, slicing the slab of fish on your plate into smaller pieces.

“the service here is shitty. why should i have to be polite?” 

you scowl. “remind me to never have dinner with you again.”

zoro turns to you with that cocky grin of his. “what if i asked nicely?” 

his quip makes your heart flutter but you manage to keep your composure. “you can try your luck.” 

before he can respond, usopp speaks up. “luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to kaya about?” 

luffy gesticulates enthusiastically with his fork. “oh, yes! usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard.” 

“well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard and merry’s been running the business since they… passed. but all that’s about to change. tonight, at midnight, i will become the sole owner.” she smiles somberly. 

“well, that’s great,” luffy says, raising his drink at her. “because we want to buy a ship from you.” 

“ah, i see. usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.” 

“nope, not sailors. we’re pirates!”

you’re certain at least three people at the table choke on their food, yourself included. 

“this ought to be good,” zoro mumbles behind his glass.

you’re too busy coughing into your napkin to chastise him for finding this entertaining.

“pirates?” kaya repeats, unsure of how to react. 

“yup! we haven’t sailed together for very long but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe! for a hand!” luffy holds up a fist, presumably to impersonate axe-hand morgan.

“sounds a lot like your adventures, usopp,” kaya says, turning to the brunette.

all he can do is laugh dryly. “yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.” 

“and we’re just getting started!” luffy continues, climbing up onto the table.

“someone put me out of my misery,” you mumble, looking down at your plate to ignore the secondhand embarrassment.

a tap on your shoulder answers your plea.

turning around, you find yourself face to face with kuro once again. “madam, a word please?”

“might i ask what for?” zoro cuts in before you can so much as think of a response.

kuro offers him the most forced grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “i’m afraid that is between the lady and i.”

the swordsman turns to you, scanning your face for any ounce of discomfort. “you okay with that?”

you inhale, figuring it was finally time for you to confront the darkest part of your past. it was silly to assume you would be able to ignore him throughout your entire stay here. besides, you were sure zoro, just like the rest of your crew, would be on standby if kuro got brave enough to try anything. “sure. just… keep an eye out.”

zoro understands completely. truthfully, you didn’t even need to ask – he always looked after you. “got it.”

you push yourself out of your seat and smooth out your dress. you allow kuro to lead you to the doorway – he was smart enough to know that was the farthest you’d let him take you. 

“what do you want, klahadore?” you seethe, folding your arms.

he arches a brow. “why must you call me that? it’s ridiculous.” 

you tilt your head with faux innocence. “oh? is that not your name? must have misheard.”

he gives you an irritated look, dark eyes drilling into you.

“i remember that look,” you mutter, your memory serving you well. “it’s the same one you’d give me before you’d threaten to slice me to bits with your claws.”

kuro has the audacity to chuckle dryly. “but i never did, did i? although there were certainly times times where i should’ve.”

“what you should be is dead,” you hiss bitterly. “when i heard the news, i knew it was too good to be true.”

“you wound me, kitten,” he drawls, reaching up to fix his glasses. 

the condescending nickname makes your skin crawl. it carried so many awful memories of your time spent with the black cat pirates. it reminded you of just how weak kuro viewed you — nothing but a helpless, pitiful kitten in his eyes. typical of the man that abused his authority and treated you with not a single ounce of respect. 

he continues, putting on a sweet tone. “after all these years, stuck waiting hand and foot on that spoiled brat, there’s nothing i’d love more than to hear my favorite crew mate say my real name.”

you snap at him. “i’m no crew mate of yours.”

he sighs, dramatically. “sadly, you’re correct. after all, you did slip off the ship the moment we docked in shells town. locating you on an island crawling with marines proved to be nearly impossible. we had no choice but to leave without you.”

“that’s exactly why i chose to escape there.” 

“and to this day i can’t for the life of me figure out why you would ever do that. why would you want to leave us? leave me?”

you actually laugh right in his face. “is it really that hard to figure out? you were evil. you threatened and harassed me on a daily basis.”

“so your solution was to join that ragtag crew?” he glances at the table. “it’s pathetic, even for you.”

you lean into his face, lowering your voice down. “i’m happier than i ever was on your shitty crew. every day i wake up grateful that i managed to escape you.”

you see that vein on his forehead bulge before he’s gripping you by the chin. “listen here, you little bitch–”

the shiny silver of a sword slides between you and kuro, coming to rest against his neck. his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps anxiously, releasing you. thanks to zoro’s sword, it seemed as if he finally remembered where he was. you were no longer on his ship, he was no longer allowed to treat you like the dirt he walked on. not without someone noticing, that is. 

“why don’t you step away?” zoro offers simply.

that much was a kindness. usually those who found themselves on the end of zoro’s blade(s) weren’t lucky enough to receive a warning. however, the swordsman didn’t wish to cause a scene. at least not when you were right there and everyone was watching with shock from the dinner table.

kuro obliges, stumbling back. he meets kaya’s horrified eyes, feeling ashamed that he allowed his act to slip. surely this would cause some setbacks in his plan. with no excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior, the raven haired man scurries away and up the stairs.

zoro turns and locks eyes with luffy, giving him one singular nod. luffy returns it, jumping out of his seat and going after the butler. quiet murmuring breaks out at the dinner table, everyone surely confused. 

sheathing his sword, zoro directs his attention to you once more. “are you alright?” a calloused hand comes up to grip your chin, much like kuro had. however, this time, the touch is gentle. loving, almost. you welcome it.

“yeah, i’m… fine.” your heart is beating out of your chest and it has everything to do with your close proximity to zoro.

he tilts your face around, inspecting every inch of it. once he finishes, he pulls back. his demeanor goes serious once more. “we need to have a talk.”

you nod. “i know. i’ve been keeping some things from you guys and–”

“just tell me what’s been going on,” he demands. “and don’t overcomplicate it. you can be straightforward with me.”

his sincerity makes you start over, this time far more candidly. “klahadore used to be a pirate. i was part of his crew. he was my… captain.”

the shame in your voice pulls at zoro’s heartstrings. didn’t you know there was no reason to feel guilty with him? “is that it?” 

you open your mouth to speak but come up empty. all you can do is furrow your eyebrows at his unexpectedly dismissive reaction.

“i knew it,” zoro continues, annoyed. “i knew i’d seen him on a wanted poster before. just didn’t have any proof.”

“wait, so you don’t– you really don’t care?” you ask, still avoiding eye contact. “me being a former black cat pirate doesn’t bother you?”

he shrugs. “you said it yourself. ‘former.’ all that matters is that you got the hell out of there. and away from that creep. would he always put his hands on you like that?”

you blink a couple times, sighing. “his temper was really bad so–”

that seemed to be enough for zoro. “i’ll kill the bastard,” he hisses. “wanted to slice him to bits the moment i saw him grab you.” 

though it’s a violent threat, you can’t help but smile. the idea of zoro being so protective that he’d kill a man just for touching you made you blush. pirate love language, you suppose.

“well, i wouldn’t have stopped you,” you tell him, more than ready to see your former captain go.

zoro clicks his tongue. “nah. could’ve stained your new dress with his blood. i never would have been able to forgive myself.”

“so you do have a soft spot,” you tease.

“only for pretty things.”

“do you mean me or the dress?” 

now it’s zoro’s turn to become bashful. though, his lack of response is an answer in itself. you can’t help but giggle. 

a loud bang from upstairs interrupts your moment with the green-haired man. you assume luffy had gotten his hands on kuro… or vice versa. zoro must be thinking the same thing judging by the way he instinctively rests a hand on the handle of his blade.

“you should go up there,” you tell him. “i’ll stay with kaya.”  

he gives you a nod, though he doesn’t make any effort to leave. he stands there like he wants to say something… or do something. before you can think about it too much, you pull him in by the collar and crash your lips onto his. they’re slightly chapped and taste like the wine that’d come from the cellar – it’s pleasant. his large palms come to rest on your lower back; his hold feels tight and secure. 

when you finally allow yourself to pull away, you’re biting back a smile. “kick his ass for me.” 

“will i get more of that if i do?” asks zoro, wetting his lips. they now taste like the cherry lip gloss you’d borrowed from kaya. he takes a step forward, attempting to close the gap between you two once more.

you shrug, pushing him away by the chest. “go help luffy and we’ll see.”

you both know that means yes.

[elryuse]

yandere ex girlfriend sohee?

MY CRAZY EX GF, IS DRIVING ME INSANE

YANDERE EX-GF SOHEE X MALE READER

Y/n was just an ordinary college student until he met Sohee, a dazzling K-pop idol whose beauty and charm captivated him from the moment they crossed paths. Even though Y/n was just an Ordinary College Student... Sohee somehow found him cute and unique from the rest.. This made Sohee really excited and started to approach him whenever she has the chance.

"Wow you are really cute.. What's your name"?

"Uhmm I'm Y/n. Lee Y/n.. You're that famous idol right? Sohee if I'm correct"?

"Bingo.. So do you want my autograph or maybe a picture"?

"Uhmm how about a phone number? Is that cool"?

" *Chuckle* You're funny Y/n... Alright then.. Here is your reward... XXX-XXXXXX_XXX".

"Wow... Is this for real"??

"Let's catch up later... Bye bye *wink* ".

After calling her up and starting to actually know Sohee better.. Y/n actually kinda feels like She was the one for him... He started to pay more and more attention for her, Missing out on some classes just to watch her performance.. And giving her all the best support he could ever give.

But one day... Sohee Cheated on Y/n. Which devastated him mentally and physically. He trusted Sohee with all of his life, he even almost gave up his college degree for her. And this is how she's repaying his time and effort? Y/n wanted Sohee to apologize, To feel ashamed to actually be responsible for their Relationship. But she never did.

Sohee Chooses her new "partner" Over Y/n. Which devastated him even more. But eventually Y/n moved on from her.. He started to pay more attention to his studies and started to actually be a pretty good college student.

"Sohee why the fuck are you sleeping with him? And why won't you answer my calls"?

"I'm tired... You're just not enough for me.. I needed something that you can't ever fulfill Y/n".

"Please.. I love you... I would have done anything for you Sohee.. For us.. So please tell me why".

"My friends keep telling me that you look boring... And I started to see it too.. You're to young.. And I'm basically 6 years older than you... So please.. Just go home.. Don't ever see me again".

"What!? That's it? You're gonna let me go, Just like that"??

"You're nothing to me Y/n. You never did.. ".

"Wow.. Just wow.. All this time... I've sacrificed all of my time... I guess.. I was too dumb to believe you.. ".

On the other side... Sohee has been treated like trash by her new "partner" Of hers. Her new partner was abusive, and liked to play with random girls around him. Sohee even found out that Her friends actually slept plenty of time with her new "partner" Which saddened Sohee even more.

Sohee finally realized in those moments, Just how hurtful it feels. To be betrayed by the person you trust the most. She started to regret her decision and started crying in her large penthouse. Sohee cried at the thoughts of actually staying in the relationship with Y/n. How happy she would be, Especially having a trustworthy Partner as Y/n.. Remembering the memories actually made Sohee chuckled little by little.

She remembered how he was very clumsy when he was cooking a dish for dinner. And would often burn his finger, Sohee would always take care of him and they would laugh the night away in Y/n small apartment. Remembering the memories made her even desperate to have him back. So She decided to call Y/n multiple times.

But he would never answer...

This made Sohee even more desperate... And in those desperate times, She realized the power that she had.. She's rich and has a powerful connection in this business world. She took the chance by forcing her way into Y/n's Life as possible as she can.

She would often sabotage Y/n's Workplace. By buying the ownership of the building (Office). Which means she could actually see Y/n all day long. But not long after that Y/n would leave this job and search for a new job. But Sohee never gave up... Her mind is only filled with how much she needs him... How desperate she is to actually be with him again.

And so, Day by day, Month by month. Sohee started to stalk Y/n. Y/n who feels that something was wrong immediately tried to look for the source of the inconvenience that he felt. But he didn't realize sooner that, His Crazy Ex Girlfriend would do some mad shit to own him again. To actually be his again..

She bombarded Y/n with gifts, love letters, and apologies, refusing to take no for an answer. Which creeps the living shit out of him. She would often knock on his apartment door, Ring the bell and would even stand on the other side of the room, Waiting for an answer from Y/n. In the end Sohee forces Y/n to meet her face to face. She forced his parents to actually accept her marriage letter... Which shocked Y/n to death. Since Y/n Can't do anything... He is now once again in the grasp of Sohee...

As soon as they got married, Sohee's obsession only intensified. She isolated Y/n from his friends and family, ensuring that he was completely dependent on her for validation and affection.

Terrified of losing Y/n again, Sohee resorted to extreme measures to keep him by her side. She sabotaged his job interviews, manipulated his social media accounts, and even went as far as to threaten anyone who dared to come between them.

And Just Like that... Y/n's free will was taken by force by Sohee... He was now an empty shell of a man that was once happy and cheerful. He's now stuck in the grasp of a Crazy Wife... Who would never ever let him go...

"You're mine forever Y/n...".

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening

An AU Elvis fic

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis’ full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of drug and alcohol use, blood/gore

Rating: PG-13ish?, will become explicit later on😈

Word Count: 4.2K

A/N: Hello everyone!

As I mentioned before, I had this on the back burner for a while and am very excited to get this out to you. I’ve loved vampires for such a long time and what could be better if you mixed them with Elvis involved🤭 Bit different flow than my other fics in the past but I think you’ll like the mystery behind it all. Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs. 🖤

January 25, 1973

Your bones ached after being on your feet for twelve whole hours. You needed to take off this suffocating uniform too while you’re at it. It clung to you uncomfortably and made you feel gross after a long day. You head to the locker room to change and go home, practically shoving everything in your locker and slinging your purse over your shoulder heading for the door.

“Y/n! Tanya wants to see you!” Someone yells from across the room. You huff, annoyed that she couldn’t talk to you any other time of the day and had to wait for the second you were going to get off. Tanya was your supervisor, she was tolerable, but still got on your nerves. You couldn’t completely hate her. She was the one who gave you a chance and gave you this job in the first place when you and Daniel moved out here.

You take a deep breath and quickly make your way to the back office. You knock on the door before entering and peeking your head in.

“You asked to see me?” You say politely, trying to not show the agitation in your voice.

“Ah yes, y/n, sit down I need to talk to you,” Tanya says sternly. Your stomach turns with her tone and your mind scrambles to find something you did wrong in the past few days.

You take a seat in the ripped-up leather chair and straighten out your uniform.

“I just wanted to talk to you about your performance lately,” she pauses and your heart drops to your stomach.

You don’t respond and wait for her to say something next.

“It’s been exceptional. You have no write-ups and haven’t been late once. Everyone compliments you on how the rooms look after you clean them I’m very impressed. You have definitely made a great impression on management here.”

You look at her a bit shocked, like all of this sounds too good to be true. You always put in all of your effort to do a great job but you never thought you’d get noticed for it. There are over a hundred people on the housekeeping staff and you thought no one would ever notice your work.

“Oh thank you. I appreciate you noticing the effort I’ve put in.” You say shyly.

“So management and I have decided to move you to a different position.” Your eyes brows raise and look at her inquisitively.

“Laura is moving away and that means her job is going to need to be taken over.” You try and wrack your brain for who Laura was but she doesn’t ring a bell. She was very quiet and had a different shift than you so you normally didn’t cross paths.

“Laura took care of the penthouse and I would like you to take over that position.” She says matter of factly and not in the form of a question. You were to do this, no ifs ands or buts.

You stare wide-eyed, almost not believing what you just heard.

The penthouse was where Elvis Presley lived.

The private and secluded king of rock and roll.

The man who changed the world with his voice and moves.

He’d become something of a recluse lately. The public didn’t see him very often other than for shows and he was upstairs in the penthouse for days on end. He had a very mysterious side to him with the way he was acting. He wasn’t the vibrant young rock musician like in the 50s, he was much more refined and had a sullen demeanor. You had never met him before even though you’ve worked here for four years now. You wouldn’t dare wander up to the penthouse to get a glimpse of him or you’d sure be fired. It was clear that when you got hired to not make it up to the penthouse under any circumstances.

You really liked him though, you loved how his voice made you feel. You remember having a few pictures of him in your room in the 60s and flocking to the movie theater with your girlfriends to see his latest picture. And the way those hips moved… oh God focus.

“I-i umm thank you, I appreciate you acknowledging my work. How would this exactly work though? Would the penthouse get put into my rotation every few days or…” you question as your mind runs a million miles an hour realizing you were going to meet Elvis Presley.

“Well you see, Mr. Presley is very… particular. He only calls for housekeeping when he wants it or he will be calling every day so it would be easier if you worked full time up there. We’ll pay you a few extra dollars for this since it is a different pace and everything,” she instructs.

You feel so overwhelmed. Your heart jumps at the fact that you’ve been promoted basically and will be catering to Elvis but on the other hand, Tanya’s tone of how she talks about him makes your skin crawl.

Particular?

What exactly does he do to cause people to talk about him like that?

What the hell does he do all day cooped up in there between shows?

“Thank you for the opportunity, I’d be more than happy to take on this role,” you say confidently.

“Wonderful, you’ll start tomorrow at 3 pm,” she says reaching into the drawer to give you a key to the elevator to give you access to the penthouse.

“3 pm? Isn’t that late?” You ask confused.

She chuckles to herself, “Elvis normally doesn’t get up til then so that’s when your shift starts,” she explains.

You take the key and thank her once more and make a beeline for the door before you can embarrass yourself any further. Heading back to the locker room, you realize nerves rattle your bones. Maybe it’s because it’s Elvis Presley you’re going to be catering to that makes you nervous but you wanted to get home as soon as possible to not freak yourself out and give back the job offer.

You get in your dusty car and onto the freeway to head home. You lived with your fiancé, Daniel, in North Las Vegas in a small two-bedroom apartment.

You weren’t the normal couple by any means, for one you lived together before being married and that was frowned upon by everyone. Your abusive father lived in the bottle and you couldn’t handle living in the same house anymore. You and Daniel were getting serious and he asked if you wanted to move in with him. You thought it was a godsend that you could escape your turbulent household and have somewhere safe. It was safe, but the longer you’ve lived there the more you realize the bad habits he has made normal.

It was 1973 and cocaine was running like wildfire in Las Vegas. If you had some kind of elite status, coke was the drug of choice. Even if you were a no body, you would be offered some at any party you showed up to. And while Daniel tried to act coy and politely refuse it, he would disappear in the bathroom for minutes at a time and come out looking higher than a kite.

You couldn’t forget the night you came home from work and he was high out of his mind, he didn’t even recognize you and in a paranoid episode, he threw his scotch glass at you, screaming at the top of his lungs to get out. The glass hit your forearm and shattered at your feet, leaving shards of glass in your ankles and toes. It scared the living hell out of you and for the first time were petrified of him.

The next morning he didn’t remember any of it, gave no apology and moved on as if nothing happened. It still bugged you and you told him you don’t like it when he does drugs. He assured you he only does it every once in a while and he has it under control.

But he definitely didn’t. Part of you wanted to end things because you could see it going down a dark path, but on the other hand, he was the only love you had known. And in the moments that he wasn’t on a substance, you loved him deeply. You felt the love that you two shared and wouldn’t give up on each other. You met in college and the sparks flew instantly. You had never felt serious for anyone ever and liked being around him. The years went on and he asked you to marry him, you couldn't have been more happy and said yes. He promised he’d take care of you always. For a while, he kept his promise, but lately, that hasn’t been true.

He was a bouncer at different clubs in Vegas and with the late nights for him and early morning shifts for you meant you barely ever saw each other. The apartment was almost always empty and cold as your heart felt. You longed for a fiancé that would miss you and be excited when he saw you home. Instead, you both were two ghosts passing each other, barely acknowledging each other’s presence. You didn’t want to give up, but something was going to have to change in order for you to stay.

*

It was strange to clock into work so late. Normally you start your shift at 6 am, but today you rolled into work at 2:45 pm and found the locker room completely barren and quiet. Putting on your uniform piece by piece, you realize how self-conscious you felt. It finally hits you, you’re going to meet Elvis Presley in the flesh today and you wanted to make a good impression. There wasn’t a wrinkle left on your blouse or your skirt. You starched the hell out of it where it almost looks like it doesn’t move when you walk. Checking your hair in the mirror, you smooth back some of the fly always and take a deep breath.

You couldn’t pinpoint why you were so nervous, management obviously thought you were right for the job considering your current performance. It was probably the name and the image that intimidated you the most. You couldn’t let down Elvis in any way and if Tanya was correct, you were going to have to conform to his “particular” ways that he wanted things and do everything his way.

The shrill ring of the telephone jolts you out of your straying thoughts and jump up to pick the receiver off the wall.

“Hello housekeeping, this is y/n,” Your voice soft and gentle.

“Mr. Presley is requesting your services in the penthouse as soon as possible,” said the voice in a low, unwavering tone. His voice gives you a chill down your spine and you physically shiver as you stand there with the phone’s receiver in your hand.

“Yes absolutely, I’ll be right up,” you try to say quickly before hearing the click of the other line hang up. You take the phone away from your ear and hang it up, taking a long breath in before turning on your heels to the elevator, trying not to let this first interaction bother you.

Placing the key in the elevator to give you access to the penthouse, the ride up to the twenty-ninth floor felt agonizingly long and you take another moment to straighten out your uniform. Your hands tighten on the cleaning cart and sweat begins to form on the palm of your hands. The ding of the elevator makes you jump and you shake your arms at your side, trying to calm your restless nerves.

“Okay here we go,” you mutter to yourself.

The doors open and a tall man is waiting in front of the elevator for you. He’s wearing all black and dark sunglasses where you can barely see the outline of his eyes. He doesn’t move right away and if you were just passing by, you could almost mistake him for a statue.

You try to find the words but feel incredibly intimidated, you’re not sure if this was the man that called but your heart jumps.

“Right this way,” the man finally says in a short low tone. He reaches out his hand to point you in the right direction and you push the cart out in front of you and make slow, careful steps down the hall. On your left, you reach two double doors, framed with gold accents and a plaque in the middle of the door that read, “Elvis Presley.”

You look back at the man that was closely following you and he nods his head for you to go in. Your hand shakily wraps around the gold handle and pushes the door open. With your back against the door, you keep it open as you pull the cleaning cart into the room, being extra careful to not scratch up the door frame.

The heavy door closes behind you once you’re completely in and there is so much to take in.

The living room is very low-lit, only a lamp in the corner of the room was on and the velvety red curtains kept out all the sun from coming in. The stillness of the room kept you on edge, you don’t see Elvis anywhere to give you instructions of where to start made you keep scanning the room for a sign of life. The room looked like a tornado had struck here as you look down at your feet with plates and various alcohol bottles scattered around. There was a black grand piano by the windows and a large mirror by the the door that connected to the next room you presume.

Something else catches your attention; the way the suite smelled. God, it was the most intoxicating smell that you had ever stumbled upon. Something about it was comforting and refreshing all at the same time. You wished you could put this in a bottle and take it home to make your house smell this good. It almost made you want to lay down and take a nap right here, making you engulfed with it.

“About time you showed up,” a gruff, deep voice says in the corner of the room. Your head snaps back to where the lamp is and you see a tall man dressed in black velvet with a white shirt under his jacket buttoned down to the middle of his torso, exposing his white skin and sunglasses on, blocking his eyes. You swallow harshly and make yourself focus on the task at hand rather than obsessing over how good this place smells.

You clear your throat and make your way to him in the corner of the room, “I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing out your hand in front of you to shake his. He looks down at your hand, and even though you can’t see his eyes that well, you know he’s looking at you in disgust. You quickly retract it and put it at your side, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt nervously.

“Umm, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask, your voice upbeat and trying to hide the fact of feeling like this is rejection in some form.

“Where do you think,” he snaps coldly. Being this close to him, his size of stature looms over you and makes you feel incredibly small. Like he could crush you by just looking at you. Your heart starts to beat faster by that thought and you take some steps back.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask with a smile.

“I don’t care, just get it done,” he says coldly. You quickly turn and go to the window to pull the curtains apart to let the light in. You turn around and you get a better sense of what the state of the room is in. There was so much trash scattered throughout the room and spilled food everywhere. You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself, and your eyes find Elvis sitting on one of the chairs in the opposite corner of the room.

You can’t help but stare at him, his pale white skin beaming against the sunlight shining on him. His gold chains hanging from his neck looked like golden strands of an angel’s hair on him. He sat with his legs spread open and his hand resting at his crotch, the other arm resting lazily off the side of the chair. His stature made you think of a king’s. The way he could command a room without saying anything. He was distractingly attractive and your body wanted to get closer to him. It made no sense of why you felt this way. He hasn’t said more than two sentences to you but you feel like crumbling at his feet. He was better looking in person, pictures could not do him justice and you felt bad for staring, but you’re sure he gets it all the time.

You walk over to your cart and take a trash bag out to start clearing the floor, trying to collect your thoughts and not let yourself be so distracted by him. It feels daunting to clean all of this by yourself but you assure yourself that you can do this. You work your way from the windows back to the front door. The entire time though as you are picking up wet soggy food and used cups, you get a chill that runs through your body and looks over your shoulder to find Elvis staring crater-sized holes into your back. Your heart thumps wildly, something about him made you incredibly nervous. But another part of you liked it. It was awful you shouldn’t be feeling like this! You were engaged for God's sake and can’t have your mind wander like that when a man gives you an ounce of attention.

At least he gives you attention…

After 4 bags of trash, you start to dust and carefully put back all his miscellaneous items back in their place.

“Make sure you make the bathroom spotless,” he directs.

You nod your head at him, “Yes sir, absolutely. Do your other rooms need to be done today?” You say.

“Yes the other rooms need dusting,” he says, “but under no circumstances do you go in my bedroom without my permission. I forbid it.” He says harshly. You feel goosebumps form on your arms as he says this and stares at you from behind the sunglasses.

You swallow and clear your voice, “yes sir. Thank you for letting me know,” you say without your voice wavering.

He follows you to every room you go in and watches you like a hawk. Silently critiquing your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake you presume. He keeps a safe distance away from you most of the time but other times, he gets so close that you could almost bump into him. The closer he is to you, the more suffocating it feels. Suffocating yet alluring. Like you don't want to leave his side. It’s such a strange feeling to have when you’re around someone. You always avert your eyes when you move around him to clean the next area, it’s the only way you could get things done.

The last room is finished and you pile everything on your cart. It only took four hours but you did it. You start pushing the cart towards the door again when the sudden boom of his voice fills the room.

“There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

Shit, you think to yourself. He's already ticked off.

You quickly make it to the piano and set the bench aside, kneeling down on your knees to crawl underneath. Your eyes scan for the bottle he said was here but you can’t find it. You reach your hand out and crawl on the floor until you hit the curtain and you hear a clank hit the wall. The bottle had rolled under the curtain and was laying flush against the baseboard. The expensive bottle glimmered when you pulled it away from the curtain and it hit the light, revealing a crack down the middle of it.

How the hell did he see this, you think to yourself annoyed. He probably planted this here to test you and you failed perfectly. Probably is going to make a complaint and ask for another housekeeper. Fucking idiot.

You crawl backward out from underneath the piano and stand back up. You quickly turn around and Elvis is standing inches away from you, his breathing heavy. Your body jumps when you see him and gasp at his close proximity, your hands involuntarily squeezing on the bottle, making it shatter in your hands.

You cry out as you feel shards of glass get pierced into your palms. You drop the remnants of the bottle on the floor and watch the glass fall at your feet. Letting out a frustrated groan, you stare at your palms filled with glass as blood starts to quickly leak out of the wounds, the pain stabbing at you over and over.

Elvis makes a frustrated groan and grabs your wrist, squeezing it uncomfortably tight. You gasp again at not only the pressure around your wrist but how cold and disturbingly strong he was.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He barks loudly, sending another chill through your body. You try to back up and the piano keys hit your thigh, making a tumultuous amount of sounds behind you as you try to get free from his grip. Your balance gets wobbly and you place your other hand on the keys to keep yourself from not topping over. The pressure of this only makes the shards of the glass go deeper inside your hand and you cry out loudly again. Your blood smears onto the keys and tears well in your eyes.

“Ahhh! Please, I'm so sorry about this. Let me clean this up,” you cry. You glance over at the other hand he is holding up and see the trails of blood drip drown your arm, his fingers also covered in your crimson blood. Your eyes grow wide and your breathing becomes uneven. So does his. He can't calm down with what you've just done.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls violently, disgust filling his voice. Your body shakes uncontrollably and he quickly lets go of your wrist. Your feet try to scurry away but they feel like jello as you manage to stumble your way to the door. You pick the large shards out of your palm and throw them on the floor. You don’t care about the mess you’ve made you just need to get away from him.

You’re in too much of a panic to grab your cart and reach for the handle of the door, smearing more of your blood in his suite. You push the door open and bolt past the men that have congregated at the door, having heard Elvis’ outbursts. Slamming the back of your hand on the elevator button, the doors quickly open and you rush in, pushing the basement floor and your chest heaves as you watch the doors close.

Your head spins and you feel like you could puke. The wrath that Elvis exhibited was terrifying. He acted like he was a caged animal watching you stand there bleeding. You knew you were going to get called into the office tomorrow morning and get either demoted or just fired.

You turn on the faucet and let the cool water spread over your wounds, wincing at the pain. You pick out the remaining small shards in your hand and go find the first aid kit. You wrap both of your hands with gauze and the bleeding finally stops. Glancing at the clock it’s past 7 o' clock and you don’t know where to go. You assumed your shift was over since he kicked you out but you didn’t want to go home to Daniel that was surely waking up soon to go to work and get a million questions of where you’ve been.

After you calm yourself down, you go to the parking lot and get in your car where you can feel the tears well in your eyes after a terrible day.

You made Elvis incredibly upset. He yelled at you and kicked you out. You couldn't do the one thing you were supposed to do and you bled all over his suite. Your heart jumped into your throat when you thought of what Tanya was going to say to you tomorrow morning. Resting your head on the steering wheel, you let all the tears come pouring out. Sobs and gasps fill the empty car and you try to calm yourself down but it doesn’t work, you’re too upset at your actions and you feel the world collapsing around you.

Suddenly, you get a chill that runs through your body, the same type you got when Elvis was staring at you intensely. You quickly lift your head off the steering wheel and peer out into the dark garage. There’s not a soul there as sirens go off in the distance. You shake your head at yourself, foolishly thinking Elvis would ever come down from the penthouse and check on you and possibly apologize.

You put the key into the ignition and start the car, driving away from the hotel as you prepare yourself for tomorrow’s firing.

•

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•

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Tagging 🖤: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticIOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo @loving-elvis

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @Claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121 @jacqueline19997 @returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

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

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

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[thatguywhodoesstuff]

A question for the Murder Drones Fandom:

Alright, this has been bugging me ever since Episode 6-Dead End dropped: What exactly is the relationship between Beau and Alice? Moreover, where exactly did Beau come from?

I’ve mulled it over in my head, and the options I’ve come up with are:

Beau and Alice’s Relationship

Assuming the two are related, I can’t help but feel that they started as functional parent-child duo, before the stress of having to survive in the abandoned facility and Alice’s growing insanity caused the relationship to turn abusive.

The two more or less had a mutualistic relationship, working in tandem as a means of survival against the onslaught of the Sentinels, with Alice attaching DD parts to Beau to give him a fighting chance/make him more useful to both survive and aid her in harvesting parts.

Beau more or less served Alice out of a sense of duty/honor for having saved/helped him in the past, basically following the principle of “you saved my life, I am eternally grateful & in your debt”.

Beau, either due to upbringing or circumstance, was at one point as ruthless as Alice in trying to stay alive and scrapping any hapless Drone unfortunate enough to cross their path, before Alice eventually became unstable and abusive to the point Beau started having second thoughts, which culminated in his actions during the episode.

Beau’s Origin

Alice created him in a manner similar to Frankenstein’s Monster for the purposes of having some extra muscle on her side.

Beau is Alice’s son, but because of the nature of his upbringing, he never got a chance to grow up the way Workers typically do, which lead to Alice grafting Disassembly Drone components to him.

Alice just found Beau one day after the Sentinels cleaned house, already active and developing, having either been orphaned or abandoned.

Given the Cabin Fever facility was responsible for researching how the Absolute Solver developed within and Affected Worker Drones, it’s reasonable to assume that this included researching what, if any, effects it had on Untrained Neural Networks, which would give context to where Beau came from, but doesn’t explain how he and Alice met and started working together.

TLDR: I get part of Alice and Beau’s appeal is how frighteningly little we know about them and their backgrounds and activities other than the obvious. This has been a fun bit of speculation on two relatively incidental characters in the grand scheme of the show. Reblogs are appreciated and I would really like to hear other people’s theories regarding the two.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : APRIL 2001

The Depths of Despair

By Laura

Transcript Below!!!

Darkness imprisoning me

All that I see

Absolute horror

I cannot live 

I cannot die

Trapped in myself

Body my holding cell

-Metallica, “One”

Any true World Wrestling Federation fan knows the tragic story of Kane’s life. There's probably not a fan out there who has not at one time or another felt sympathy for or outrage over the tortured existence Kane has led.

A fire, set by his own half-brother Undertaker, killed his mother and left him disfigured. His father Paul Bearer then locked him away in a basement, robbing him of the innocent, carefree days of childhood. Bearer brough the adult Kane into the Federation, where despite his strong and intimidating presence, he was a perfect target for master manipulators. Undertaker and his father Bearer, Federation owner Vince McMahon, X-Pac and Tori victimized Kane again and again. 

Victims of abuse–be it physical, psychological or a combination of the two–often go through a series of stages in order to heal. However, some victims get stuck at one stage and are never fully able to recover from an abusive past. They stay in the land of denial or anger, which ultimately tears them apart inside. The key to complete recovery lies in the victim’s ability to accept the unjust hand life has dealt. With acceptance comes a chance for success and survival. 

Innocence

Torn from me without your shelter

Barred reality

I’m living blindly

I’m in hell without you

Cannot cope without you two

Shocked at the world that I see

Innocent victim please rescue me

-Metallica, “Dyers Eve”

Denial: This is the first stage, when the victim denies the abuse ever happened or claims that it wasn’t “that bad.” Kane has spent almost a lifetime in denial. Although his father Paul Bearer was the most evil of his abusers, Kane still abided by his father’s commands, doing his dirty work. When Undertaker revealed it was he who was behind the fire that permanently scarred him and killed his mother, for quite some time afterward, Kane stood by his brother. Coming to his defense. 

However, once other WWF Superstars, as well as Vince McMahon, toyed and twisted his vulnerable psyche, Kane broke out of this denial stage and unleashed viciousness, rage and unparalleled anger toward the world. 

My life suffocates 

Planting seeds of hate

I’ve loved, turned to hate

Trapped far beyond my fate

I give

You take

This life that I forsake

Been cheated of my youth

You turned this lie to truth

Anger

Misery

You’ll suffer unto me

-Metallica “Harvester of Sorrow”

Anger: Once denial wanes, anger often sets in. The victim will get angry at everyone and everything around him–including himself–until he finally gets angry at his abusers. This stage is very delicate, because the victim can slip into a depressed state, where he becomes anti-social and can even inflict self-harm. 

Kane has been depressed for a long time and isolated himself from the world. In that time, he earned the labels “Big Red —----,” “monster” and “sociopath.” However, Kane is far from the embodiment of those tags–he is quite simply amman who has been to hell and back. 

He has remained angry for some time now, going after all that cross his path. But Kane is typical of many who remain in this place of rage–venting his pent-up rage on all except his half-brother. Kane is displacing his anger. Not too long ago, he went after Chris Jericho, who had accidentally spilled coffee on him, claiming the feud was really over “Y2J’s” unscathed good-looks. This triggered not only Kane’s grief and anger over his physical scars from the fire, but also the deep seared grief over the loss of his mother in that fatal fire years ago. 

If Kane remains in an angry state, one of two things will happen: He will either live a life trapped in complete and total anger, never seeing beyond its red, heated glare; or he will fall into a depression, from which he might never recover. If Kane is truly to heal, he must get beyond the anger and move to the next stage. 

I don’t know how to live through this hell

Woken up, 

I’m still locked in this shell

Frozen soul, frozen down to the core

Break the ice, I can’t take anymore

-Metallica “Trapped Under Ice” 

Acceptance: This is the hardest stage of all, for it is the one final step before actual healing can begin, before the self can be reclaimed. It hinges upon accepting the fact that wrongs have been perpetrated upon the victim and that life isn’t always fair. It is understanding that people can be cruel and heartless, but the abuse is not a reflection of one’s self-worth. This is the time when the victim looks at his past, looks the abuse straight in the face and decides he is no longer going to allow it to run his life. This is when the victim begins the transformation to survivor and begins to live for himself, not for his pain. 

Kane needs to reach this place. He needs to find the courage to look at the evil action of his family, at the betrayals of others, and accept that despite all that happened, he is worthy of love and respect, and has a lot to offer. 

Kane has a choice. He is not a victim anymore and it is up to him whether or not he will remain one. 

If he chooses to accept his past and move on, then he will be the next World Wrestling Federation Champion. Having survived such a torturous life, Kane will have strength of spirit incomparable to any Superstar in the WWF roster. What Kane will discover is that in his suffering there lies a gift, one amazing and rare. He will find that, despite the fact the abuse he endured stripped away pieces of himself, there is another side of him that only those who have overcome tragedy can find. And that strength supercedes any physical or mental force–it is a spiritual strength, one that is absolutely indescribable. If Kane finds this gift within himself, nothing will ever be able to stop him. 

However, if he chooses to stay trapped in a world of anger, resentment and hatred, he will wither and die inside. He will no longer be Kane, but will indeed become the monster he’s been tagged as. If Kane doesn’t move on, he can say goodbye to any future with the Federation and the only time he will come close to the World Wrestling Federation Championship is when hell freezes over. 

What is this?

I’ve been stricken by fate

Wrapped up tight, cannot move, can’t break free

Hand of doom has a tight grip on me

Freezing

Can’t move at all

Screaming 

Can’t hear my call

I am dying to live

Cry out

I’m trapped under the ice

-Metallica, “Trapped Under Ice”

[yanderes-galore]

yan rick headcanons?

Now that I think about it, I've only ever done scenarios and short concepts for him. I really do need to make a general concept for him, lol. No specific Rick in mind. Might be a bit off, or at least it feels that way to me, from my usual Rick content.

Yandere! Rick Sanchez Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Murder, Overprotective behavior, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Slight sadism, Drugs/Alcohol, Threats, Forced relationship.

Rick Sanchez is an interesting yandere.

He's extremely intelligent, disregards life...

But is not incapable of attraction and close bonds like love.

Also, if his obsession doesn't work out with you in one universe.

It has to in another, right?

Rick's obsession speed is kind of hard to track.

If you're a close friend of his, it could be slow with an explosive climax when he reveals it.

If you're just a fling, it could either slowly eat at him... or be passionate and fast the entire way.

He's a man hard to predict in general, really.

Rick's yandere behavior would be Protective, Caring, Sadistic, Manipulative, Slightly forceful, Obsessive, Possessive.

He is surprisingly caring to those he cares about despite being an interdimensional space criminal who doesn't mind a bit of murder.

Rick's protective of those he holds close to him.

Be it family or lovers, he doesn't flinch at holding a gun to someone's head.

Even if it requires him to pull the trigger.

Sometimes he may even be a bit overprotective towards you.

He expresses love and care to you and wants you safe.

Which is ironic due to him being a dangerous man.

His life is chaotic, always containing threats.

If someone hurt you, Rick is determined to make them pay.

He's going to take a lot of precautions to prevent such a thing from happening, however.

Protective gear slipped on you when you're unaware, for example.

Rick is an intelligent man, he'll think of something to keep you safe when he's away.

Anything's possible with him.

He'd probably take out his sadistic desires on those around you.

He seems like a man to be jealous but hide it from you.

Preferring to show those he knows hurt you or trying to take you away from him pain instead of you.

Rick could/would manipulate you.

He seems to have enough charisma to convince people during the show.

He'd easily string you along, saying lies and promises to keep you with him.

He's also a man for substance abuse, you'll probably end up having some sort of alcohol or drug in your system with him.

Deep down he wants to be better for you...

But he just isn't that man.

It was a mistake to be involved with him in anyway.

Whenever you crossed paths, your fate was sealed.

As much as he somewhat regrets his behavior...

Keeping you is so much more important.

Rick's manipulation comes across as forceful.

Whenever he does something he feels is for your best interest, he will push you where he wants you if you hesitate.

Rick also seems like a controlling person in general.

Rick could be obsessive towards his darling if you're refusing his advances.

He doesn't usually want to commit to someone this bad.

Yet here he is, chasing you down just for a chance to feel your warmth again.

He's usually obsessive if you've met once before then left.

That's because now he can't stop thinking of you.

His obsession is like a craving, a drug he can't get enough of.

Rick's also possessive of his obsession.

Like most yanderes, his overprotective behavior goes hand in hand with his possessive behavior.

He wants to chain you to his side.

To drag you with him everywhere-

Yet at the same time, he wants to keep you somewhere safe.

Somewhere he can trust you'll stay and wait for him.

This obsession of his really makes him question his life up until this point.

Also, every Rick has a similar way they act to their obsession.

They all have the base Rick yandere behavior.

Though every universe has a slight difference.

Some examples include;

Mysterious Rick leans more into possessive.

"That chip shows just who you belong to...."

Toxic Rick leans more into possessive and sadistic.

"YOU'RE MINE. IF I HAVE TO CUT YOU AND POUR ALL THIS GUNK IN YOUR WOUNDS TO GET THE POINT ACROSS, I WILL!"

C-137 Rick leans more into overprotective/manipulative.

"Look, I just don't like them around you, alright?"

They all have similar behaviors, however.

Also, if the Rick from your universe can't have you, he'll just start anew.

If he has to, he'll travel other dimensions to take a new version of you by kidnapping.

If he kills you or not depends on the Rick.

But a Rick will always kill another Rick to steal their darling.

Again, not like they care about murder.

Overall, depending on the Rick you have, they'll lean into one or more base yandere traits a Rick has.

Mostly he'll be overprotective and possessive over you, his darling.

Even if he promised himself he wouldn't take up a relationship like this again...

It appears he can't help himself when it's with you.

"God... you have NO idea what you do to me, baby."

[lorezhaze]

🌟🪻 General Roleplay Inquiry Post 🌀

intro & info:

Lo, 22, he/they, EST time zone.

Very minimal triggers and limitations, 19+, 3rd person literate writing (at least a paragraph), discord only.

mxm or nbxm, I hardly ever do straight or lesbian ships (I’m just not as good as writing it).

I love world building and knowing the other character’s feelings. I also love getting to know my roleplay partners and becoming friends of sorts + a sucker for creating playlists and Pinterest boards.

NSFW scenes and/or undertones/themes at some point. I do like smut, especially paired with angst and certain dynamics, but if that isn’t your thing and our writing styles are otherwise compatible we can always keep it limited or fade to black.

CW(!): From here down, my plots or OC’s backgrounds may contain triggering content, I attempt to remain vague and non-descriptive given these are just outlines!

plots i’m willing to explore:

Stalker falls in love with someone, all falls apart when things go too well and their obsession crosses paths with them and they eventually go out, but break up. The stalker is determined to watch over their lover while also keeping others away from them until they “come to their senses” on their own time.

Son of a rich politician falls in love with a narcoleptic sex worker he hires.

Alternatively, an older man with a successful career, empty marriage and multiple kids ends up falling in love with a slightly younger intersex and narcoleptic sex worker, the first and only sex worker he hires (think Stan and Angel from Pose vibes).

Post-apocalyptic setting, final survivor of a run down camp continues to live among the undead of their loved ones. another survivor from a nearby camp stumbles upon the ruins of the previous camp while scavenging and sees someone alive on the other side of the fence, living with the dead as if they were dead as well. Day by day they come back, bringing their new things, trying to bring some life back into them again. 16th-19th century setting:

Enemies to lovers, a member of the royal family ends up falling for a knight that saves their life, unfortunately, this knight just happens to be the royal’s childhood enemy.  

The youngest son of a royal is 7th in line for the throne and has health issues, thus has no chance of inheriting the throne. in attempts to grasp onto any bit of power his father has, the royal marries off his frail and feminine son as a wife to a prince of another territory, an upcoming heir of a throne (loosely inspired by sporus and nero).

The King allowed his son (Lucien) to be abused by his painting instructor growing up, all this rage builds up and explodes when Lucien tries to convict his instructor, but the King instead pardons the boy’s abuser during a set of public trials outside the castle. Lucien, a teenager and young Prince at the time, kills his father in front of everyone, unintentionally becoming King himself from then on. Despite exiling his abuser after the bloody trial, the then Prince, now King is seen as cruel and scary, not to be crossed even nearly ten years later. Meanwhile, a citizen with a sick sister is caught stealing medicine. Being on trial with King Lucien is scary enough, but medicine thieves in particular are known to be punished heavily, since the Princess, who is one of the only people thats kind to the prince-now-king, makes a majority of the medicine available. During a public trial, the thieve’s mother pleads for his life and Lucien realizes that the thief is someone he knew, that he had recognized those fearful eyes from somewhere else. He was amongst the crowd when he killed his own father. He spares the thief, and allows the best doctors to treat his ill sister. As long as he works directly for him in the castle until his debt is repaid.

It is tradition for the royal family to keep their children within the gates of the castle and away from the public eye until they are grown enough to handle it. The Princess was introduced to society at the age of 13, but every year the reveal of their younger and troubled son (Lucien) his delayed for various vague reasons. Everyone is both eager and suspicious, which doesn’t help matters. This is when the royal parents essentially give up when the boy turns 21, allowing him out with no announcement to the public. While practically frolicking through the flowery fields, enjoying the feeling of the grass and the new sights, he has a love-at-first-sight moment with another boy (your character). This is just an ordinary boy from a hard working family, and since the Prince was never revealed, he has no idea the boy he’s immediately smitten with is the Prince everyone is eagerly awaiting to meet. That is until he finds out, obviously. Misc:

(Movie theme) The Hunger Games, two people from opposite teams. Queer themes; gay men, trans person called upon as their assigned gender at birth.

(Movie theme) 50 first dates: (OC: Meadow-Lane) - unfinished/rough draft idea.

(Movie theme) Ego: Character A gets hurt and temporarily loses their vision. While their wealthy parents look for a medical solution, they have them live in the guest house and hire a caregiver, character B, to stop by everyday and take care of them. Naturally, character a and the caregiver get close, but there’s a big problem: character A is a superficial, seemingly shallow and straight. As a result, character B feels pressured to lie about their identity and what they look like when character A tries to guess what they are like.

I’m more than willing to hear out any of your plots/ideas as well!

OCs (Pinterest boards linked!):

Lucien - Royal prince held under the control of his King father, struggles from physical and mental disabilities from past abuse. Abuse via paint instructor creating a complicated relationship with art.

Lena - Delusional obsessive-compulsive stalker with dangerous tendencies/habits, they/them pronouns (unlabeled).

Emrys - GNC bisexual man, caregiver, related to Lena (older half-sibling)

Celeste - Post-apocalyptic OC, unlabeled/gnc, 27, loses their mind after their family, friends and everyone else in their survivalist camp perishes, but continues to live among them as if they’re dead as well, numb and on auto-pilot mode.

Emmy - Intersex narcoleptic sex worker, 22, he/she/they pronouns. adopted into and estranged from a wealthy well-known family after their biological father died overseas and they were taken from their mother by the system.

Daniel Laurie - Cisgender bisexual man that typically presents as straight, coparenting his daughter aged 6, severe daddy issues and a hard past/upbringing despite being the only son in a wealthy family.

Damon - Cis bisexual male working crime scene data analysis by day while performing annual vigilante killings by night, hoping one day he’ll have somehow got to at least one of his past abusers that he can’t recall the faces of. Struggles with PTSD, paranoia and mild facial blindness from past abuse via his step-father and others he called upon.

Del - Cis gay male, bloodluster (custom hybrid species, more species info included w/ full bio). Mother died shortly after he was born and was raised as an experiment by who he assumed was his father only to escape after he attacked and ate him. Survives off human blood and flesh, doesn’t like to hurt anyone and is terrified of someone else just as awful as his mad father finding out of his existence.

Alexei - Trans hunger games victor from district 6 (transportation/metal-workers, modifying the district to work on the production of transportation as well as the train tracks to give them a little bit more of a purpose). name was pulled for the hunger games a few days short of their 19th birthday, which also sparks their journey with their gender identity + presentation.

Meadow-Lane: Severe short term memory loss, free spirit.. (more info coming soon)

Xena - Trans femme black vampire (more info coming soon)

feel free to inquire for full bios of characters!

fandoms/ships i’m willing to explore:

(bolded characters are those i’m willing to write as)

OFMD Izzy/Blackbeard Izzy/Blackbeard/Stede Izzy/Lucius Jim/Lucius

HANNIBAL Will/Hannibal

MR ROBOT Tyrell/Elliot

Candy Shop AU: No 5/9 hacks or fsociety, Tyrell runs a Swedish sweets/candy store that lately Elliot frequently visits for the same fix of cherry hard candies, and to steal glances at the good-looking store clerk. After talking it out in therapy, Elliot’s therapist, Krista, convinces him talk to him and be honest about how he feels.

Post-Apocalypse AU: After the world goes to shit whatever left of New York that wasn’t completely ruin down by the undead is primarily taken over by a few different groups. When Elliot’s group becomes completely run down with major fatalities, Tyrell’s group (which he happens to lead) decides to lend a hand to an old friend. Little does Tyrell know Elliot was injured in the attack, and little does Elliot know the infection is less straight forward than they anticipated.

UNTIL DAWN Josh/Chris Josh/Mike

(Post-prank, twins live) Josh is the openly gay friend in the group, Mike becomes curious after walking in on Josh hooking up with someone at a party and later can’t get it out of his head.

SCREAM Billy/Stu

Other beloved honorable mentions include: Killing Eve, Sally Face, Yellowjackets, The Wilds, Sherlock, Life is Strange (Nathan and Warren) and sometimes Harry Potter (Drarry)

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Despite Everything

Afton has a gift for Sydney, but some things were best left forgotten.

POV: Sydney Herrera Time Frame: Early days at the Pizzaplex, before Gregory's escape

---------

.

The dimly lit room had Sydney’s nerves on edge the moment he crossed the doorway to enter. Ever since he and Vanessa had been moved into the Pizzaplex, pressure had been ramped up to keep him under Elizabeth Afton’s control. Seemed she was starting to catch on that he’d been working to help Vanessa keep aspects of her personality, poking and prodding to be sure she kept reacting to him in ways that he knew were truly her.

That was the point of Afton’s ‘training days’ for him, reasserting her power and control over him to remind him of his own helplessness. Master File would fiddle with his head through the damned implant, messing with what he could see, could hear, could feel, creating visions more real than his memories to taunt and terrorize. Afton was more physical, slicing shallow cuts over his body when his senses were dialed up by the Master File, turning once stinging injuries into excruciating wounds that left him hoarse from screaming. Then she’d bandage him up with a smile and send him back to Vanessa, fully aware he’d hide it from her to keep her from asking the sort of questions that would trigger her own implant’s defenses. The more Vanessa questioned, the more the implant would forcefully herd her down a path of compliance that would make it easier for Afton’s plans.

Was that what she was planning to do today? More playtime with her damned scalpels and stupid smug looks?

Sydney tensed at the thought, gritting his teeth in frustration that he couldn’t do anything but just take the abuse and swallow it down. Afton smiled at him from her desk, leaning against it as her computer screen behind her pulsed, a sickly purple glow that let him know who else was in the room. Not that it mattered if Master File was in that machine, since he had the whole of the Pizzaplex network to move in and could just as easily connect to the implants. Hell, he might even have done it already.

“You called?” Sydney bit out through his teeth, glancing around the room quickly to take stock of what else she had going on in here. If he had an idea of what kind of torture she was in the mood for then he’d have a chance to prepare himself to not break under it.

“It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been as skilled in carrying out your.. special duties.. as our records say you had been in your prime,” Afton began thoughtfully, tapping painted nails on the surface of her desk. “The skills you have currently do seem to indicate a reliance on muscle memory, but you hesitate and hold yourself back quite often.”

“Too bad. You only have me, no one else,” Sydney replied curtly. He kept the urge to shift nervously tightly under control, some trained technique to hide his feelings learned from a source he’d long forgotten. He already gave so much of himself to the madwoman, he was going to do his best to make her fight to scrape any more of him away.

Afton made some small sound, a breathy little sigh that sounded equally amused and disappointed with him. “I’m well aware of that, but you promised me a Panther and instead I got a kitten,” she pointed out, lifting her arms to fold them over her chest, “so I’m within rights to seek.. an alternate solution.”

That didn’t sound good. Sydney tensed again, doing another sweep of the room furtively. The woman laughed lightly, pulling his attention back to her with a wary expression. She made a gesture with one hand, and a familiar ‘chair’ descended from its bay in the ceiling, shaped much like the one in Parts and Service for doing maintenance on the animatronics. The only difference between the two were the leather straps affixed to this particular chair.

Sydney immediately stepped back, gritting his teeth as a filing cabinet he’d initially dismissed as just background furnishings rippled away to reveal an endoskeleton bare of any casing. Once again the Master File had tampered with his vision, annoying technology that riddled the Pizzaplex to help Afton manipulate the crowds in her search for Remnant sources. It moved with unnatural fluidity, stepping forward to his retreat and grabbing his arms.

“You always do this on our special times together,” Afton sighed in false dismay, “Really, don’t you know that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity?”

“Speaking from experience?” Sydney spat out, struggling to push back against the endoskeleton as it forced him to take steps towards the chair. His heels dug into the tile, squeaking as the soles of his shoes scraped over the polished surface in attempts to grip the floor. Stress skyrocketed from the proximity to the endo, and Sydney twisting every way he could to get free was more from the rising panic of being in the machine’s clutches than it moving him to the chair.

Master File’s derisive laughter rang through the speaker system as Afton pouted, eyes narrowed in an offended glare. “He has you there, Darling,” the artificial spirit pointed out.

“I’ll have you know that I was close to getting the results I wanted,” the woman declared haughtily. “It’s all these blasted cretins interfering where they’re not wanted for whatever reason! Like they live to get in my way.. whatever did we do to deserve such nuisances?!”

“You got my past self killed, you rancid bitch!” Sydney yelled furiously, shoving backwards one last time against the endo before it successfully shoved him down into the chair. A second one stepped out of the illusion of a tall office plant to assist with turning him over, unfazed by him kicking at whatever part of the endo he could reach.

“Death is just an inconvenience to us at this point, Mr. Michaels,” Afton replied flatly, pulling away from her desk to approach him. The straps cinched tight against his wrists and ankles, pressed his chest and waist flush to the chair so any thrashing was minimized to near immobility. “I mean, look at you,” she went on as the endos stepped away, returning to their stations now that their tasks were done. “According to the police reports documenting your.. remains.. you died at the age of 43, ripped apart by the very animatronics my former husband hired you and your partner to collect for us. Not that old, but certainly your body must have been riddled with damage from life as a mercenary.”

“Mercenaries don’t exactly have a reputation for ending up in a retirement home most times,” Sydney grumbled between strained huffs, still struggling to force the straps to loosen in some way.

“And you somehow managed to slip out of your one way trip to hell and come back in the body of a healthy young man,” Afton continued as if he hadn’t spoken, a smile on her face as she gestured to the screen. “Yet unlike the Remnant transfer processes that allows me to live on in new bodies, and will be used to restore my dear daughter and Dr. Afton, you lost so many memories.” She reached down, cupped his chin in her hand to make him face her directly. “You lost yourself, Mr. Michaels.. Panther, and that’s the real tragedy of your past demise,” Afton told him, looking at him with the fakest expression of sympathy Sydney had seen since his mother weaseled her way out of being at his high school graduation to drag-.

He jerked his head out of Afton’s grip, shoving the memory down and casting it into obscurity with a grimace as he felt Master File’s tingling touch dance over his mind.

“Oh my, my, you can win that round, Darling,” Master File purred, files blooming to life on the screen at Afton’s gesture, “The next one is mine, though.”

Images and documents littered the screen as Sydney’s gaze was drawn to them almost magnetically. The face on display.. it was that of a stranger, but not quite. That older man with the wide grin in the scanned photo had the same eyes Sydney did, that ice blue color that seemed so much colder and more malicious in that older face.

Was that...?

“You don’t even recognize yourself, such a shame,” Afton murmured, reaching out and tidying up the collar of his shirt, “I suppose that explains your lacking skills. But that’s where having me as your employer is a boon.” She smiled wider when he looked at her in confusion. “One of the things my husband did, while trying in his own way to bring Emelia back to life, was create a learning artificial intelligence to make up for her degrading memories. A mimic of sorts,” she explained with a flippant little gesture of her hand. “It was to study all our home videos of Emelia, learning her mannerisms from them, learn to be Emelia from them, and then her Remnant would be fused with it to create a fully digitized version of herself rather than a copy like the Master File.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as Sydney stared at her in faint horror. “Then that would be uploaded to a paired mimic animatronic that would be able to adapt and adjust itself to let Emelia ‘grow up’ under the illusion of her looks with his special discs. A novel idea, but I wish my daughter to have a body of flesh and blood.”

“Yeah, you’re all fucking insane,” Sydney said slowly, pushing himself away from Afton as much as he could under the restraints.

“Now, Dr. Afton is someone who doesn’t seem to care what kind of body he has as long as he’s alive to continue his research, to defy Death and bring it under heel,” she went on with the same maddened glee, “But I wanted to be sure the Mimic program could accurately ‘bring back’ a dead personality through study of historical records, and Panther had a lot of records that his partner hadn’t thought to destroy.”

A chill ran through Sydney as he swallowed, trying to dislodge a sudden lump in his throat. “Wh-what the fuck...?” he murmured as Afton leaned closer, filling his vision with her maddened smile.

“I’m going to give you back your memories, Panther, be thankful to me,” she said, giggling at the end of her words. “Upload the Mimic!”

A sudden splitting headache pulled a cry from Sydney’s mouth as he jerked in place. Reality faded as he sank into darkness, Afton’s painted smile still looming over him as he drifted away.

.

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

.

Hazy walls of concrete gray meshed and connected awkwardly with walls of creamy beige. The cheap furnishings of his and [REDACTED]’s apartment phased in and out with the battered furnishings of a long ago time, a cooler set in front of a reclining chair like a footrest. Pockets of void took up space where there was nothing familiar or unfamiliar, the emptiness cast by amnesia with only faint feelings or sensations leaking out.

Sydney stood in open space, standing on a clash of wood paneling and concrete floor. He held still, glancing around cautiously as he felt a new presence encroaching in his mindspace. What was happening? What did Afton do to him this time? What did she mean by giving him back his memories?

Could she actually do that? Could she fill in those blanks he’d had to live with for so long? He swallowed again, uncertain of what to feel about that. He had been dangerous in the past, that was something he’d been told over and over, by someone who had been proud of that for him. Sydney had leaned into that at first, used the skills that had carried over with him against a bully that continuously went after that someone. But then what? He didn’t know what to do after breaking the kid’s personality so he’d left them be after, only to see them day after day at that school when he went for a pick up, a broken kid with a lost and confused expression. The same expression Sydney caught himself wearing if he glanced at his own reflection.

He couldn’t bring himself to use those skills again after that. There was no reason to make more people like himself. ..But....

If he had his memories back.. if he knew why he had these skills and what he did with them....

“So this is the punk who took over for me?” a rough voice asked in amused skepticism, the words echoing through the hollow building of the mindscape. Sydney jumped a bit, caught off guard by the sound as he spun to track the origin of it. It was easy enough to do; the man from the photo stood not far from him, imposing and broad, dressed in heavy black clothing. He smirked in a way that looked a hair’s breadth away from breaking into that wide, wide smile, ice blue eyes bright compared to the shadows he stood in. “Well, hello there, Shadow Mine,” the man greeted in a low tone, stepping forward and closer to Sydney, looming over him through the sheer strength of his presence, “Now there’s a Panther here.”

“You.. you’re who I used to be? With all the memories I lost?” Sydney asked warily. Now Panther smiled widely before letting it dim down to something less crazed, a smirk like he had before.

“Well, more than what you have at least,” the man returned, stepping to one side to look around at their surroundings, “So this is what you built up for my mind? Could barely picture our base in Florida, huh?”

“Is that where this is?” Sydney asked, looking around in wonder at the concrete walls. A sudden spike of tension ran up his spine and he whipped his head around to track where Panther was, furrowing his brow as he watched the man just slowly circle around him. “What are you doing?”

“Every time you speak you just prove more and more that I’d be doing you a favor, Shadow Mine,” Panther replied, watching him back with a calculating look. “I can see why Router hasn’t made much effort to get you back.”

What?

“He hasn’t made the effort because I made sure he doesn’t try,” Sydney growled, clenching his hands into fists as he turned in place to keep the older man in his sights. Panther chuckled into one hand.

“Is that what you tell yourself as cold comfort? Funny, but it’s more sad,” he replied with a shrug. He tilted his head, his gaze lidded as he continued circling Sydney. “You’ve been holding yourself back on the skills I worked hard to gain, not because you have this fantasy of being ‘good’,” Panther purred, “but because you fear what Router’s reaction would be to see you get halfway through my M.O. and then fail to follow through. The disappointment would be soul-crushing for him, and you’d be the one to blame.”

His blood chilled as his eyes widened. Router had given up a clean slate, a true second chance at life, to bring him back too. And he came back missing so many memories, so many of those moments between them that Router cared most about. A failed revival? His breath caught in his throat. Did Router.. was that why he kept making references to their past lives? Testing to see how much of him was actually Panther?

“Oh, you’re getting it, aren’t you, Shadow Mine?” Panther remarked with a dark laugh, “A pale imitation of me getting himself kidnapped so easily? Caving to a few razor cuts that I would have dismissed as just a hazard of shaving? You’ve fallen so far it’s a wonder Router didn’t just put a bullet through you at first chance to spare you and him any further embarrassment of your existence.”

Sydney lifted a hand to his head, heart pounding as blood rushed through his ears. “N-no,” he stammered out breathlessly and shook his head, trying to clear it of the words circling around, whispers echoing them in the space around him, “No, I.. I know what you’re doing…”

“And? So what?” Panther asked mockingly, “It’s not like you have the skill to do anything about it. You’ll hem and haw and worry over someone else’s feelings, and in a merc’s line of work that’ll just get you dead first. Or in the case of this life now, you’ll just get Router killed. Is that what you want? To fail to the point of getting him killed?”

“No!” Sydney blurted, burying his hands in his hair as he staggered back, away from Panther pressing down on him through his sheer imposing aura. “S-stop.. stop! Those are my memories!”

“You stand there sniveling and sobbing and dare call yourself Panther?” the older man declared in offense, “Shrinking in on yourself like so many of my marks before they broke in my hands and you dare claim that, despite everything, you’re still me?!”

“My name is Sydney Herrera, not Sydney Michaels!” Sydney snapped back, pressing forward in a fury to force the intruder out of his mind, one way or another. His hands flew up in surprise when Panther grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back against a wall, holding him in place.

“You’re no Panther, either,” the mercenary growled darkly, “But that’s what I’m here for, Shadow Mine.” Sydney stared up at him in equal parts frustration and fear, fingers digging into the hand gripping him in feeble attempts to pry him off. “You can be the meek little civilian playing house with that woman, but I get this body when the real work needs to be done.”

“Y-you’re just software that b-bitch put in my head!” Sydney hissed, mustering up every ounce of anger to glare defiantly up at the recreation of his past self.

“And yet I’m more true to the memory of Panther than you could ever hope to be,” Panther countered coldly, “A mimic that succeeds where you failed. You could wither away to nothing in here and nothing of substance would be lost. I doubt Router would even miss you when you’re not the one he wanted to begin with.”

A sharp gasp, a numbness crashing over him, and Sydney could only look helplessly up at the face he once wore in the past, his hands loosening and going still around Panther’s wrist. A wetness on his face as tears welled unbidden and spilled down his cheeks.

“Afton may act like she’s got you on a leash, but make no mistake. You belong to me, Shadow Mine,” Panther crooned, “This body was meant for me, but I’m a considerate kind of guy. I’ll let you be in the driver’s seat when dealing with the tedium of playing nice with the blondie, and when the real fun stuff happens, I’ll take over and handle things. Maybe I’ll be snoozing, then that Master File asshole can drive for me until I’m up. You can just enjoy a nice quiet existence with Blondie, and when we’re all done with her, you can sleep and leave everything to me.”

“L-leave it.. to you?” Sydney murmured with a shudder. A dangerous person, unleashed on a world that wouldn’t have any idea what was coming....

“Sure~,” Panther laughed condescendingly, “I can’t wait to use that voice; won’t take me long to train it to work for me like mine did.”

“My voice is mine. W-won’t let you..,” Sydney struggled to say before clacking his teeth together to bite off his words. Panther blinked a few times before laughing again in mild disbelief.

“You’re seriously going to pull that with me? Alright, this could be fun. Let’s see how long you last,” he murmured and lowered his head to press their foreheads together, until all Sydney could see was his own eyes looking back at him in malicious glee. “Keep existing, Shadow Mine, and I’ll be here, watching, waiting. And you can live with the knowledge that any time you open your mouth to talk, the words that come out might not be yours. Maybe it’ll be the moment I speak through you.. and break whoever you’re facing.”

It took everything Sydney had to glare back through his tears, refuse to show his fear on his face, lips pressed together to hold in any sounds out of defiance. Panther just smiled at him knowingly, amused by whatever he saw. He reached up with his other hand and lightly patted Sydney on the cheek with mock affection.

“Back to the land of the living you go, Shadow Mine, but know that from now on.. I’m here, waiting for you to let your guard slip. Keep that driver’s seat warm for me,” he quipped and laughed as even this world began fading from Sydney’s sight.

.

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

.

Sydney groaned softly as he blinked back to wakefulness, a heavy fog still clouding his senses. Afton was undoing the straps holding him to the chair, humming cheerfully to herself and looking pleased. Right, she made that software version of Panther and shoved him into his head as a ‘gift’.

He already didn’t talk very much out of worry that he could accidentally ruin someone’s mental state, now he had to be especially cautious with speaking with that mimic mercenary squatting in his mind. What could he do to protect Vanessa from himself? Maybe he could convince her to use some of their breaks as time for him to teach her self-defense, and then carefully increase that until she could have the strength to take him down in an emergency.

“Now you’re all set to be even more useful to me now, and when Emelia is back, you’ll be perfect for taking care of any issues for her as her personal guard,” Afton remarked with a happy clap of her hands once the last strap was undone. “Off you go now, Mr. Michaels,” she added with a cruel smile, “I’m sure you’ll keep this visit between us, as usual.”

“It’s Herrera,” Sydney hissed, pushing himself up. He swayed from the motion of getting to his feet, a wave of disorientation passing over him that made him dry heave and grip the chair to steady himself.

“Not for long~,” Afton sang out, stepping up to him to drag a nail down his spine and make him cringe at the contact, “Back to your room now. Appreciate your gift.”

He flipped her off as he staggered to the door to get out and away from her, and she only laughed, the sound following him even once he shut the door on her and made his way back to Parts and Service.

[mbrainspaz]

Still processing the fact that before this job I never had one where I haven't been harassed or abused in some way. I'm still not sure I believe it can last.

It's been over a decade since I started working. My very first job in college I had a coworker who would cuss me out every day at 7am because he didn't want to be there, which wasn't worth the minimum wage pay. At my first office job the boss joked I should dance on a table and coworkers debated how easy it would be to assault me. In 2021 I had a coworker who would show up and follow me around on his time off just to criticize me and call me an idiot. When I tried reporting him the boss defended him and did nothing. So many people treated me like I was stupid and incompetent to the point that they almost had me believing it. Even once I stood up for myself I had to work through 2 years of useless corporate Karens talking down to me like I was a teenage peasant instead of an expert running their whole business from the dirt up. Another coworker made a hobby out of yelling at me every chance he got and trying to stop me from doing my job because he didn't believe it was 'women's work.' Everyone knew he was bullying me and just expected me to cope. Nobody (except one part time high schooler) ever used the right damn pronouns for me. My parting Christmas bonus was the corporate boss making up false accusations in an attempt to get me fired because she effed up the budget.

Now I walk in to work 5 minutes late. There's no time clock. People smile and greet me in the hallway. The department boss gives me a cheery 'good morning!' I settle into my cubicle with the fluorescents turned off and my top end mac they got me with my coffee. An hour later my boss stops by for a chat and we exchange notes on the tasks for the day. He's always the picture of professionalism. He asks me how my horse is doing. I ask him if the latest freak storm destroyed his house. He says it missed. Nice. I spend the next 8 hours doing the 4 hours worth of work I've been given and then drawing or writing my novel. Eventually my cubicle neighbor shows up and we exchange a friendly greeting. Sometimes the gen z girls from social media swing by and ask me if I want to go get coffee. Everybody still gets my pronouns wrong but they correct themselves on the next pass, even my boss's boss who gives me slightly bad vibes. The director stops by to say hi and pet whichever dog I brought into the office with me because that's allowed here. Just before 5 someone taps my shoulder and says there's leftover cake in the break room. The pay isn't making me rich but it's enough for now. I'm not any more or less competent, skilled, manly, valuable, or intelligent now than I was at any other job I've ever had, from the sandwich shop to the last horse stable. If anything I'm applying fewer of my skills than I've ever had to use to get by. Suddenly people see me when I walk past. They want to know my name. They treat me with respect. I did nothing different to 'deserve' this. At most I crossed paths with the right contact at the right time thanks to a funny bumble profile that I designed to ward off christian men.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for wanting to stop everyone from hurting each other?

I (30F) moved to a new city a few years ago and made a new friend, K (33F). I'm used to people judging me by my family before they even know me, but K gave me a chance and accepted me for who I am. She was sweet, and funny, and kind, and she welcomed me into her life and friend group. Even when everyone else thought I was a horrible person and a criminal, K stood up for me and proved I was innocent. She was my hero, and I trusted her more than pretty much anyone else.

Around the same time I met K, I also met S (looks like early 30s, F). She's a first responder of sorts, and she claimed to be a friend of K's. She also worked with K's sister and several of her friends, which had now become my friends as well. S saved my life when people targeted me because of my family, and I helped her when her work crossed paths with my family or when my science knowledge could help her. We haven't always seen eye to eye, but I can't deny she's hot.

Then my brother (40M) came back into the picture. In addition to being a manipulative, abusive asshole, he's also a notorious criminal who's done horrible things, so I helped K and S track him down and stop him. He almost killed S, along with countless other people. He was badly injured and nearly defeated when he escaped, but I knew where he'd go, so I went after him and shot him so he couldn't hurt anyone else. But then as he was dying, he told me, and showed me proof, that K and S were the same person and that she and all her friends had been lying to me this whole time. This was a little over a month ago.

I was shocked and devastated, because I'd trusted these people and they'd treated me like a fool. S knows how many people have already betrayed my trust, and she talks about the importance of honesty and being a good person, but she's a hypocrite who's been lying to me for years. And I killed my brother for her! She did eventually confess her identity to me herself, but the damage is done.

I don't want anyone else to ever be hurt the way S hurt me, and I've come up with a plan to prevent that. If people were driven by logic and morality, rather than selfish emotion, they wouldn't lie or betray each other; there'd be no more cruelty, no more violence. So I'm working to change that.

AITA for trying to fix humanity?

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 3 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Sexual assault (not described in too much detail). Dissociation. Mentions of physical abuse. Coercion. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: R (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 2 and I'm so glad people are finding the premise and E's health to be as fascinating as I do!

Please read the trigger warnings for this chapter. While not super graphic or in detail, this chapter delves into some dark things related to both sexual and physical assaults that are the catalysts for Dolores' decisions going forward and could definitely be triggering to some readers. It's not the whole chapter by any means--the actual moment is very short, but it is referenced in her desperation to forget what has happened to her and to escape her situation.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

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

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

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Usually, the subway threatens to rock you to sleep after your night shifts. It is rather quiet in comparison to the trains headed into Manhattan, filled to the brim with workers of all kinds who are headed in from the boroughs. A bonus of working nights has been the less crowded and frenzied rides as you are heading out of the city while everyone else is going in. But this morning, every time you close your eyes, those brilliant yet stormy sapphires stare back at you with amusement. You can’t even focus on the book you’ve brought without your mind wandering back to the strange encounter with Elvis, wondering why he’d chosen you of all people to bother.

Heat flares through you again at how maddening he was in such a short amount of time, but you are self-aware to recognize that while the heat is mostly frustration at his actions and the repercussions they caused you, it also speaks the tiniest bit of how his pointed, beautiful gaze made you feel a little off kilter. You are annoyed that you can’t seem to forget how lovely he looked asleep in the bed.

Not asleep. Unconscious.

And that reminder strikes dread in your heart. The words in his chart (which I shouldn’t have looked at in the first place) make you feel uneasy because this secret is likely to cause untold repercussions if discovered. Considering the fervor surrounding his draft into the Army, you can only imagine the emotions of the female populace if they learn the truth about their beloved idol’s health.

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, the weight of your knowledge an unwelcome pressure on your psyche. It’s your own fault of course. But the empathy that serves you well in the hospital also has you feeling sad for the poor man, despite your annoyance. You may not be a fan, but you can’t deny the man’s talent and impact on the world. Thousands, millions even, will be devastated when…

No. It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t even know who the VIP is, much less be worrying about the man’s future. You have much more pressing things to worry about.

Those worries take hold with each step towards the house where you live. It’s certainly not a home, not anymore, and hasn’t been for a very, very long time. Your mother’s untimely death assured that.

Part of the excitement of getting into nursing school, even one as close as Bellevue, was that you were required to live in the dormitory. Four whole years in a tiny closet of a room, clad with only a single bed and a tiny desk and a small sink. For many of the girls it was torture but for you it was sweet relief. Peace. Safety.

But the day after graduation, you’d been forced right back into the viper’s nest, unable to find a place to share with anyone else, certainly not before you’d secured the job you now are desperate to hang onto, the one thing that will hopefully secure that freedom for you.

A heaviness settles over you the moment you hit the doorway and you say a silent prayer that you are late enough to have missed breakfast. Another bonus to nights is the fact that you have a viable excuse to not interact with your volatile father, Pop, because he, along with your younger brothers, are often gone by the time you trudge through the door.

But said door is unlocked, a sure sign that you’re too early and the dread you’d felt on the train about a man you barely know is nothing compared to the fear that settles in your stomach at the sounds of breakfast in the dining room.

You tiptoe down the hall in an attempt to remain unseen, your breath held as though it will somehow make you invisible. It’s only two big steps past the open door of the dining room but those steps might as well be a ravine. You make a break for it all the same.

“Dolores!” Pop’s voice sends you ramrod straight, but the tone of it is not the usual gruffness and distain. No, this is the voice for company, the one that covers all the dirty little secrets that permeate the walls of this house.

“Look who stopped by! Aren’t you glad to see our old friend?” Pop says in that saccharine voice.

You pull your gaze up and right into the black eyes of another man you don’t want to see but have to act as though you do.

“Hello, Gianni,” you force out of your mouth as neutrally as possible, but you grip your purse tight enough that your knuckles turn white.

“My beautiful Dolores! It’s been too long, bella,” Gianni coos at you, rounding the table to press an unwanted kiss to your cheek. He lingers too long, his hands like heavy weights on your biceps. Every ounce of you wants to push the snake away but you cannot, not here in front of Pop and your brothers. Gianni is too important in the community and disrespecting him would have consequences.

“You are a hard woman to get ahold of, Lori,” he purrs in your ear, using the nickname that is reserved for close relations and friends. This angers you but you are tired and weary and correcting him would only spell trouble.

“I was just telling Gianni how that hospital is working you to the bone, keeping you up nights, and that’s why you haven’t returned his calls,” Pop says pointedly, the clear message underneath being “Why the hell haven’t you called him back?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You hadn’t called him back because you are avoiding him like the plague. Because you know he’s going to ask you out on a date and the result will be him asking you a question you do not want to answer.

Gianni has had his sights set on you since you’d hit puberty. Thankfully your youth saved you, as the seven years between you two was a great enough span that even your father did not approve of it in those early years. Then, nursing school kept you out of the fray, beyond a few well-chaperoned dates.  But now that you’ve come of age and are back home, you’ve felt the crawl of him under your skin, getting closer and closer.

The fact that he wants you at all is crazy. Gianni’s father Salvatore is one of the “pillars of the community,” the Consigliere—the right-hand man of the boss of this crime family. He’s one of the most important figures in this dysfunctional community you live in. Being a woman, you aren’t supposed to know any details, of course, but it is impossible not to know at least some of what goes on in the famiglia. Especially when your father has been coming home covered in blood and bruises and smelling of gunpowder since you were a small child.

You aren’t supposed to know your father is a soldier, a violent underling sent to do all the dirty work for the boss. It’s hard to deny, though, since his temper and aggressiveness are never just left at “work.” Unfortunately for you, Pop’s somewhat lower position in the hierarchy has not disqualified you from being courted by Gianni; in fact, with approval from his father and the boss, Gianni has every right to pursue you.

However, to the dismay of all parties, you do not want to be pursued. Not by Gianni. He is handsome with his dark hair and olive skin, yes, but ruthless, set to devour anything in his path. He wants to possess you. Own you.

His near-black eyes shine with it even now, this need of his to collect what he believes is his due. You are well aware that he has intentions to marry you—the beauty and intelligence you inherited from your mother has seen to that. And since it’ll raise Pop’s stature in the famiglia, he has been pushing you towards Gianni one way or another since Gianni took an interest. Only your mother had been hesitant, but when she died, all hope was lost.

An arranged marriage in a modern world.

So, no, you haven’t returned Gianni’s calls because once you do, he’ll take you out and then he will propose, and you’ll be expected to accept. That has been made crystal clear by your father. Once that happens your life is over. Nursing will be over. Any independence you’ve gained will be gone, and you’ll be shackled for eternity to another cruel man and forced to bear his children and look pretty and happy while you do it.

Which means the fact that Gianni is here, now, is very bad news indeed.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with so many shifts. The new nurses get nights,” you say, as though you didn’t love the night shift.

“Of course, of course,” he tuts, “which is why I am here to take you to breakfast.”

It is not a question.

Your heart drops so quickly it makes your stomach queasy, like you are on a roller coaster you cannot get off. The trapped feeling has panic swelling in your throat. Pop looks at you expectantly, with both warning and excitement flashing on his face.

You cannot refuse the invitation.

“I-I’m a mess, Gianni, and I haven’t slept,” you sputter out in a last-ditch effort to escape this.

The way his hand trails down your arm to grasp your hand makes your skin itch and you resist the urge to yank away from his grip. “You have to eat, bella. Go fix yourself up real quick, I’ll wait. And I’ll have you home at a decent hour,” he finishes with a wink.

You don’t trust yourself to speak because the bile rising behind your panic threatens to give your feelings away. Instead, you just nod and smile before heading up the narrow stairs to your room.

A quick change into a nicer dress, along with a wash-up and unpinning your hair is all it takes to make yourself presentable, but you find yourself stalling for as long as possible. You wish you could be tittering with the excitement that every woman deserves when they get engaged, but Gianni is a man you do not and will not ever love. You can barely stand to be in his presence, much less marry the man.

The walk down the stairs is more like marching to your funeral rather than a date. You manage to plaster a half-pleasant look on your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.  

Gianni is the picture of patience standing next to your father in the foyer in his expensive suit, reeking of Acqua di Parma cologne. It makes you nauseous.

“Oooh, Lori’s going on a date!” your youngest brother Paul teases as you walk by him. This sad spectacle has gathered a crowd of your 18-year-old twin brothers, Tony and John, and 16-year-old Paul.

“Stai zitto, and get outta here! Go get ready for school!” Pop hisses at the boys and they scatter, but not before Tony gives you a knowing look that only you catch. The glance is as full of trepidation as you are.

Pop practically pushes you into Gianni’s waiting arms with that deferential, schmoozing smile and betrayal boils in your blood. A father is supposed to protect his daughter, not serve her to the wolves on a silver platter.

But your betrayal is quickly replaced by repulsion when the heat of Gianni’s hand resting on your lower back bleeds through your dress. He leads you outside and into the back of the waiting car, then slides in next to you, too close. Ignoring the driver, he makes small talk on the way to the restaurant, one that should be closed at this hour, but for the son of the Consigliere, it is open and staffed, though you are the only customers.

You resist the urge to balk when he orders for you and are monumentally uncomfortable being alone with him like this. His predatory eyes are focused solely on your every movement, so you attempt to be the picture of congeniality, as your culture has trained you to be since birth: pleasant, polite, demure. Underneath the façade, your heart pounds against your ribcage because you are unable to stop the collision you know is coming.

Barely able to eat the food in front of you, you resort to tiny bites and pushing the rest around the plate as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bella,” he states, seeming almost amused by your anxiousness. He flicks his wrist and the waiter appears out of nowhere to clear the plates. “And I know you are tired from slaving away all night at that hospital, but soon you won’t need to worry about any of that.”

The surety of that statement makes your stomach roll. Gianni pulls a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his coat and places it in front of you on the table. Your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum. You think you might pass out.

“My bella,” he purrs, getting up, then sliding into the booth next to you, trapping you in, “I think you know I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now. Of course, I had to let you finish your schooling, let you grow up into the lovely woman you are now…”

Let me? you bristle internally, as if it were ever up to him, as if you ever needed his permission in the first place.

“But now it is time to let me take care of you and give you the life you deserve,” he finishes, opening the box in front of you to reveal a ridiculously large and gaudy diamond ring.

You are frozen, wanting so badly to tell him where to shove his ring and flee as fast and as far as possible. But instead, you can’t seem to move to stop Gianni from grabbing your shaking hand and placing it upon your trembling ring finger.

“Be my wife,” he says.

A command, not a question. One to which you don’t respond. Gianni takes your silence as acceptance, however, taking the single tear that spills down your cheek as one of happiness and not distress. He brushes it off your face with the backs of his fingers and you want to flinch, scream, anything that will tear you away from this union, but all you do is give him a tight smile and try not to sob outright.

Fight, goddamnit! your mind screams. But you can’t. You are imprisoned in your fear and despair, trapped by propriety, shackled by the responsibility to your family, to your brothers. Because a refusal would blow back on them as much as it would on you.

So, you don’t pull away when Gianni’s hand grips your chin or when he presses a kiss onto your lips. You’ve only been kissed once, by the boy who took you to the prom. You’ve been far too busy to date these past few years, much less kiss anyone, but at least that experience was enjoyable and coupled with butterflies. This kiss is devoid of anything other than a feeling of disgust. It seems to mark you as his possession, his cold lips making your stomach turn once again.

The rest is a blur as he brings you home, inviting himself inside. For once, you wish your father was home because the hungry look in Gianni’s eyes promises nothing good for you as he walks in behind you, into the too-silent house.

You fumble for the right words, the words that will make him leave so you can mourn the loss of your freedom in peace, but once he realizes the house is empty, he turns to you and pushes you into the wall. He is much taller than you, his muscular limbs so much stronger than your flailing ones as he pens you in.

The next kiss is hard and rough, all teeth and tongue. You press your arms against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it does nothing but urge him on. Dizzy from the effort and drowning in the heaviness of his cologne, you barely make a dent in defending yourself against the assault of his lips on yours.

“Gianni, stop,” you finally breathe out, but he seems to take this as encouragement, nuzzling into your neck, his lips pulling and nipping at your skin. You can’t find the strength to push him off, to scream, to do anything other than whimper while his hands grope and wander places on your body that no man’s have gone before.

You pray for it to end. And when he grabs your hand and forces it down, down, down to feel the hardened length in his slacks, you go far, far away. You disappear into the same fog that takes you every time Pop goes ballistic, only realizing the truth of what happened when you come back into yourself later, feeling the pain of the bruises on your ribs, or seeing them on Mama, back when she was still alive to take them for you.

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise when you wake up much later in your bed, on top of the covers, your clothes in disarray. It’s not until you register the heaviness on your ring finger that you remember your engagement and the feel of Gianni’s meaty hands on you.

Barely making it across the hall to the bathroom, you vomit up what little you managed to eat for breakfast at the restaurant. Once the heaving stops, the shaking begins.

But you do not cry.

Rinsing out your mouth and splashing water on your face, you don’t, no, can’t, think about what may have happened once you faded away. You push away the thoughts of why your body feels sore and bruised in places it shouldn’t and why you can still smell the stink of his expensive cologne lingering on your dress and your skin.

No, no, no.

Disorientation makes you blink slowly as you come back into yourself and into the present, and you make your way back into your room. Your eye catches the clock and suddenly you feel wide awake.

Dammit!

You slept too long and are close to missing your train into the city for work, which today starts earlier than normal due to the fact you stupidly agreed to cover the end of your friend Sally’s shift so she could go on a date.

There is no time, then, to linger in despair. You race to rip off your dress and throw on a clean uniform, one thankfully already pressed and ready to go, pushing away the dark thoughts threatening to consume you. A pass of a comb through your messy locks and a few pins help you look somewhat put together and you slip on your white shoes, grabbing your bag.

The sparkling on your finger makes you pause long enough to tear the ring from your hand and throw it onto your vanity. If anyone asks, you don’t want to wear a ring like that into the city.

Flying down the stairs, you avoid the questions budding in Pop’s mouth with a “I’m late!” as you rush out the door. By the time you reach the station, you are breathless, but are just in time to make your train.

Exhaustion weighs on you as the adrenaline in your blood wanes. You slept today, but do not feel rested, and you pretend you don’t know why that is. It’s the last thing you want to think about.

Engaged. I’m engaged. To a monster. And he hurt me.

Your breath hitches in time with the rocking of the train, panic creeping its way back in.

No. Not now.

The urge to climb out of your skin, or at least scrub it raw under the locker room showers at work, must wait. You are grateful that you have to hit the ground running as soon as you step through the front doors of the bustling hospital. One emergency leads into the next and you barely have time to think past the next crisis, much less worry about what happened earlier today or the terror your future holds once you leave this hospital tomorrow morning.

“Nurse Cannava!” Nurse Hunt calls for you, her voice dropping once you approach, “Dr. Paulson is in with our VIP patient, and he is needed urgently. Go get him for me, and don’t get distracted by our patient this time, will you?”

“Yes, Nurse Hunt,” you say quickly, the dig not even bothering you. You’d take a lifetime of them in lieu of what waits for you outside this hospital. Fingers tittering nervously, you find yourself hoping that Elvis does not blame you for what happened last night. Though the way this day is going, you wouldn’t be surprised to find him combative towards you. And perhaps you deserve it after the way you treated him (even if he was being an ass).

The scene you are met with when you arrive at Elvis’ room is not what you are expecting, however.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis stutters, but it is not with the air of confidence he exuded last night. It is not aloofness or displeasure.

Your annoyance at the nickname, along with the smallest bit of relief that he is up and talking, quickly turns to apprehension. Much to your confusion, Elvis seems almost reverent as he stares at you, like you’d descended from the heavens or something.

Must be the head injury, you think, trying to make sense of him.

The other three men crammed into the tiny room all turn to stare at you at once, eyes wandering over you far longer than necessary, as though you are both interrupting something important yet are expected at the same time.

Why in God’s name are they all looking at me like that?

Elvis’ churning oceanic eyes lock onto yours and are loaded with such emotion that you can’t begin to sort through it, and you have to tear your gaze away. You manage to sputter out Nurse Hunt’s request to the doctor and instead of replying, the lot of them turn to Elvis, as though he has any say in it.

The silence sits heavy, and Elvis’ pale cheeks turn a little pink, almost bashfully, as you look at him again. He stares at you in an unreadable way, as though taking in every bit of you, as though seeing you for the first time. Confusion rushes over you in a self-conscious wave.

Have I done something wrong? Is this about snapping at him last night?

You shift uncomfortably, trying to piece together what is going on. But with everything that has happened in the last 24 hours, your brain can’t seem to put anything together other than that this group of men have lost their minds.

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally states, looking back at you almost regretfully but you don’t take the time to try and figure out why. You are just grateful to be dismissed and leave the strange scene. In fact, with one crisis after another on the ward this shift, you put it out of your mind completely.

Until Dr. Paulson pulls you aside in the early morning hours, that is.

The doctor looks uncomfortable, his face in a grimace, when he leads you into a quiet corner.

Oh, Madone, I’m going to be fired. As if this day can get any worse. Your heart pounds and you fight back the tears that prickle behind your eyes.

“Nurse Cannava, I know this is going to be unorthodox…” he begins, and suddenly your mind jumps to another, equally disturbing place. The man is wearing a wedding ring, for God’s sake. And is old enough to be your father. You’d never taken the doctor to be that kind of man, but he interrupts your thoughts by continuing, “…but are you interested in private nursing?”

Now that is not what you were expecting. Relief floods through you, followed quickly by bewilderment.

“Excuse me, Doctor, private nursing? What do you mean?”

“Well, um, you see, Mr. Presley is going to need some discreet and rather specific care going forward,” he whispers, “and it seems as though you, um, fit the bill, so to speak, to take care of him exclusively.”

You fight to hold back the laugh that wants to escape your mouth at the pure absurdity of the situation. Elvis wants you of all people, the nurse who nearly took his head off last night, who sent him into respiratory distress, to take care of him exclusively? A day ago, you would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don’t shine.

But things have changed dramatically for you in the last day.

“I know it sounds strange, and certainly you’ve done great work here, but might you be willing to discuss this with his manager?

You cross your arms and worry your lip in between your teeth. The words fall out of your mouth before you can think too much on it.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him.”

Dr. Paulson sighs and nods, walking you down the corridor to a small waiting room. Your heart pounds in your ears as you are led inside.

“Colonel Parker, this is Nurse Cannava,” Dr. Paulson says, in a bristled tone that insinuates he doesn’t particularly care for the portly, balding man standing near the window you assume is Elvis’ manager. Colonel Parker turns to you, and you immediately get the sense the man is not to be trusted. Being around criminals who pretend they aren’t ones your whole life has given you a sixth sense for this sort of thing.

“Ah, Nurse Cannava, how lovely to meet you. We have much to discuss. I’m Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager.” Colonel Parker motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. He attempts to wave off Dr. Paulson, but the doctor does not go, choosing to stand in the doorway instead, seemingly wary to leave you alone with this stranger, and for that you are silently appreciative.

“And of course, this conversation must remain completely private, no matter what you decide. I’m sure a smart girl like you can understand the sensitivity of the situation,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, his casual position in direct contrast of his words.

“Of course,” you nod.

“Good. Now I’ll get right to it. After speaking with your supervisor, I know you are already aware that Elvis is quite…unwell.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“Yet I’m sure you also know how important Elvis is to so many people like yourself. Are you a fan, Miss Cannava?” he asks suddenly.

“Um, not especially, Mr. Parker,” but you rush to add, “It’s not as though I dislike his music, I’m just not one of those girls who, uh, fawns over him, sir.” You try and remain as neutral as possible because you get the feeling this question is some sort of test.

“Hmm,” is all he gives you in response. He looks you up and down with a careful beady eye and you resist squirming in your seat. Instead, you straighten your spine and lift your chin, your only tell being the way you tightly grasp your hands in your lap. His look is not a leer so much as an assessment as he takes in every inch of you.

After a moment he nods—you seem to have passed muster.

“This is an incredibly unique situation, my girl, which I’m sure you can appreciate. Elvis needs discreet, around-the-clock care, according to Dr. Paulson here,” he says with distain, “but we can’t have the world knowing that Elvis is ill. It would do irreparable harm to both his career and his fans.”

He is talking as if Elvis will have a career with his diagnosis, you think in surprise.

Colonel Parker must read this on your face. “You must understand, he loves his work, my dear, and nothing will keep him from it. Or his fans. Which is where you come in.”

“I assume I would just be there to take care of Elvis when he needs it, and to make sure he takes his medications and such?” you say.

“Well, it’ll be much more involved than that, my dear.”

You look at Dr. Paulson, who’s mouth is set in a line, as though he’s attempting not to add something to that statement.

“What do you mean, involved?” you ask.

“Firstly, you will need to live and travel with him,” he starts.

You nod. You figured as much, which is honestly why you are even considering this in the first place.

“But you see, no one can know you are his nurse. Elvis must appear, for all intents and purposes, the picture of health.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m understanding, sir. How am I supposed to live and travel with the man to administer medical care without anyone knowing?”

Colonel Parker looks at Dr. Paulson, and then at you, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be his girlfriend, of course.”

You choke at that. You can’t have heard him correctly. “Excuse me? I’ll be his what?”

“You will play the roleof his doting girlfriend, while secretly being his nurse. It was love at first sight, you see. Our handsome soldier comes to from a simple bump on the head and falls instantly in love with a beautiful young nurse, sweeping her right off her feet and into his life. Quite the storybook fairytale, wouldn’t you say?” he smiles that shifty smile.

Your heart flutters as fast as a hummingbird’s. “You…you can’t be serious. I—he—” you stutter.

“Oh, I couldn’t be more serious,” he says, the smile falling from his face. “I’ve been told this situation is life and death, my dear, and Elvis needs someone like you to help keep him alive.”

Silence falls and you can’t help but gape. But your mind whirls with the possible implications and how they might get you out of your current situation. If you weren’t desperate, you’d laugh in this man’s face, but your situation, and Elvis’ for that matter, are both quite dire.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Of course, you would be extremely well compensated for your trouble. That’s in addition to room and board, since you will be staying with Elvis. But you will have to leave your current life behind to sell your relationship both to the public at large and to both his and your friends and families for this to work,” he adds.

It’s completely, utterly insane. You don’t even like Elvis, so you’re not sure how you’re supposed to pretend to be in love with him, while at the same time having to secretly tend to his medical needs. You can’t in your right mind see how this will work. You are no actress.

But that fraught voice in your head is thinking about your survival, about that engagement ring sitting on your vanity and the expectations that go with it. About what has already been taken from you because of it. You push those thoughts as far back as they will go, but the fear remains because you know that if you stay, any scrap of independence you have will be gone, and you will live the rest of your life with a horrible snake of a man.

You’ve been wrestling with a way to escape since Gianni put that ring on your finger, claiming you as his, against your will. But as a single woman with hardly any money and nowhere to go, your options to run are limited. And if you run, with the resources of the famiglia, you know you would be found quickly and your punishment would be painful, if not deadly.

But with Elvis, you’d be cared for—you’d have money, you’d be travelling, and you assume that with his fame, Elvis has a wealth of protection at his disposal. As long as you are close to him, and with the relationship being so public, you realize Elvis might be the only one who can protect you from Gianni and your father.

They wouldn’t dare do something to me if I’m Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. They won’t be able to touch me.

You choose not to think too much on how you still would be giving up some of your freedom. How you will still be tied to and at the mercy of a man. You don’t think about how long you might need to keep up this act and what might happen if you decide to leave. No, all you know is that as much as Elvis might annoy you, he seems like a decent man. He does not seem the type to hurt you, and you’ll be his employee, not his true girlfriend, anyway. You will still be nursing and earning money while doing so.

I can figure out the rest later.

“Perhaps it is asking too much. I know not every woman would be up for the task—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt Colonel Parker.

His eyes widen with surprise, which you get the impression is hard to do with this man. “You will?”

“As long as Elvis approves and that we have a contract with established rules and such. I think I’m safe in assuming I won’t be required to, well, beyond playing it up in front of others I won’t be required to…to do anything untoward,” you say, not being able to keep yourself from blushing at the implication.

“Of course not, of course not, my dear!” Colonel Parker hurries to say once he picks up on your meaning. “It’ll all be on the up and up and respectable. We would never ask you to compromise yourself like that.”

You nod, trying to still your shaking hands. You don’t trust Colonel Parker as a person, but if there is a legal contract, he can’t force you to do anything you don’t agree to.

“Then I will do it. When do I start?” You hope it’s as soon as possible. Frankly, you’d leave this hospital with the lot of them right now if it meant you didn’t have to go back to that house again.

The smile that spreads across his face unnerves you but does not scare you. Not like the other men in your life.

“Excellent, my dear. I will get that contract set up for you immediately, while Dr. Paulson apprises you of your medical duties. You’ll begin as soon as you sign on the dotted line,” he says. “Then we will get you in with Elvis. You both will have a lot to talk about, I am sure.”

You gulp and your heart flips in your chest. Part of you fears all the things you don’t know about what you are walking into: about Elvis, his lifestyle, and what you will have to do to convince the world you are Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. But it will all be worth it if you can get away from marrying Gianni or staying with your father.

Mother Mary, they will be furious.

But by then you’ll be long gone, safely tucked away by Elvis’ side.

And, strangely, that gives you more comfort than you could have ever hoped for.

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[wild-wombytch]

I learned from "Punk Santa", the punk who gave me the CDs today -and who happened to have known my father- that someone I knew died last week. I'm not taking it really well.

(under the cut because it's a long vent of many many messy thoughts and also tw moid, you don't have to read about men, and tw child abuse and death)

It's fucked up because I'm aware I'm likely idolising him and that maybe if I saw him again before he died I would now find him as awful as the next man...but he was oddly extremely dear and important to me, because he was the one normal and not creepy adult I had when I grew up. By being normal he was the anomaly of my world. The one kind man I ever knew growing up, way before my middle-school teachers. He saw me with my curly hair and patiently listened to me enthusiastically talk about insects and horses and videogames for hours, asking questions and stuff, joking, encouraging me to express my views and emotions, explaining things to me wisely, defending me when my father belittled me and made me cry and scolding drunk other guests who would have inappropriate vocabulary or discussions around me. He was younger than my parents but much more responsible and caring than my father ever was. He was Yugoslav. The man born in a country that didn't exist anymore. He had six younger sisters he raised with his single mother. He was into drugs and shits but that's why he never had a partner that I ever heard of, because he said he knew he was a walking problem and his life sucked and didn't want to drag someone into this. He never said he was feminist like all these libfem men, he just respected women. Or at least he seemed so to me as a little girl who grew up with the worse examples of men around, including men pissing with the toilet door open. Even my mother said she wished she saw him again and that he was a green flag. One of my doggo who died two months before my father was the baby of his dog. I remember playing with her pups in the backyard of this man. I was the one who taught them how to respond to whistling.

One day, to cheer me up after some verbal abuse from my father that made me cry, I don't remember the exact context, but he said jokingly he'd marry me (in a very non-creepy way, that wasn't serious at all). I believe it was after some shit my father told me about being so gross or temperamental as a person that nobody would ever want me or some shit (when I was like. Five).

We stopped seeing him after he called out my father on his bullshits in my and my mother's defence, because my father likely "blacklisted" him from his circles then. We never really knew the whole story. Maybe it was also sickening to him to be powerless about the situation my mother and I were in. He was genuinely sorry for us.

I don't know. I missed him. I've been thinking about him this year and for months I was frantically searching for him, asking every gutter punk about him, asking an acquaintance if by any chance the guy with the same name he mention could be him...I really believed it was a question of time before our paths crossed again. I dreamt about him and me going to a travel together 2-3 weeks ago, with him listening to my enthusiastic talk about horses and being happy to catch up after I was confronted with weird monsters...I never dreamt about him before. I should've known.

It's hurting maybe more than losing a family member in a way. Apparently he was sick or something like that and didn't go get treatment. He died alone. Not long after his dog, who birthed the one I had. I don't even know this man's family name. His exact age. His birthday.

I feel sick. It's not my fault or responsibility, yet I can't help but wonder...what if I met "Punk Santa" three weeks ago? He knew about this man, he could've told me where he lived. I could've seen him one last time. Maybe kick his ass to go to the hospital. Maybe he wouldn't have died. He was at most in his early fifty. He had so many years before him. I can't believe it was his time yet. I missed him by one week and now I'll never see him again. I quite literally do not care about anyone who was around me when I grew up, if they die painfully (except "Punk Santa", grandpa's cool), in all honesty, they probably deserve it, but this man...I don't know if it's because I'm not in a great place psychologically but it's really messing me up. My actual self doesn't feel much connection with my past self due to the severe depersonalisation, derealisation and ptsd I experience, so I'm numb, but when I think of the little girl who is still somewhere inside of me, she's absolutely devastated and heartbroken and suddenly I can't stop crying. And there is this obvious fracture inside of me where all of these emotions mix up and are so hard to identify and deal with. It's unfair. Of all those awful men, he was the one who least deserved it.

I don't know why, but I needed to see him again. My soul needed it. One week...it's cruel. Very cruel. What even happened there? I can't stop thinking about this man and the little girl inside of me. Caring and looking out for each others and failing. It's like a tragedy from a fictional story except it's real.

I don't know, maybe I'm too sappy and probably cringe right now...I'm a big mess. It's like another bridge to my past violently collapsed and with it a pillar that saw my construction as a person.

And I'm hurt that I was invited to exactly one wedding in my whole life, yet I buried almost all the people I ever cared about. My maternal grandparents when I was four and six. My maternal great uncle when I was 14. My father when I was newly 19. My favourite paternal uncle a few months later. My dog who's been with me since I was 6-7. Now this kind man.

Now I just have two uncles, my mother, my paternal grandmother who I die to see but can't due to lack of transportation. Two brothers who don't care about me despite how much I try to heal our relationships, fucked by our father. Aside from my brothers, my left family is aging fast and badly and won't stay around for long. When they're gone, I'm alone. Completely, utterly alone. And homeless. But mostly alone.

I live with death. I die more everyday I live. I see it as fair and transformative, usually. I'm not afraid if it. Sometimes I seek it. Sometimes I feel less alone in its arms. I look at it in the eyes and accept it as a part of nature. Raw, indiscriminate, merciful. I don't see it as cruel, except this one time. This was unfair. Why?

And I'm tired. It's like trying and failing to wash again and again a cloth that keeps getting bloodied like the kannerez noz. My infinite task that I'm trapped with is grieving others and swallowing the pain. It hurts that I know more of death than joy. It hurts that I simply know that my life won't be super awful but also won't ever know major joys. I'll just keep burying people. Put band aids emotionally. Move on. Wait and see who's next. I'll continue reading the death records carefully every time I open a newspaper. Sometimes I'll recognise a name vaguely and wonder who it was to me. Sometimes it will be strangers and I will imagine their lives based on the informations.

...I don't even know what happened to the body of that man. I hope his sisters took care of it well. I wish I could've attended the funeral if there was one. Maybe it would've helped. But right now...it's awful.

[anonymous1038]

Revenge

@ila-appreciationweek day 3

(cw: implied abusive relationship and bullying)

That arrogant little shit.

Cody has been thinking about that shitbag ever since he was driven away from the party by his friends, all of them leaping to his defense almost immediately.

It makes his rage boil to the surface. It boils in his bones, in his blood, in his entire body.

“Little fucker…” He hissed, kicking a loose stone into the air, fishing his phone out of his pocket and going to his contacts, finding a specific one almost immediately. “And to think I gave him love when he wanted it…”

Cody remembered middle school very, very well. How his eye caught a very peculiar and stupid looking head of shaved lavender hair. How he gave him the kindness and affection he craved for from whatever the hell happened to his friend.

And he rejected him.

Jasper Bright rejected him.

They say time heals all wounds, but for Cody, those wounds only got worse overtime.

It’s why he targeted Jasper in particular. As revenge for turning him down. As revenge saying all that shit about him.

Yeah, he only kicked him a few times, but it was to make him stronger.

Yeah he pulled his hair too hard, but he couldn’t look at him in the eyes while he was talking. He deserved it.

He deserved everything coming his way.

He presses the call button to Jocelyn’s number, and soon he hears her voice.

“Yo, heard the shit that went down.”

Cody spent the next five minutes ranting to her about how ungrateful Jasper is and how much of he hates him and his friends.

“Yeah, fuck that guy. Nerdy little loser.”

“And you know what? I think I should get some revenge on him. A prank. Catch my drift?”

“What drift? That twerp wrecked your car didn’t he?”

Cody doesn’t bother to correct her.

“You’ll see.”

.~.

Cody waits outside Britney’s house until he caught sight of a red jacket and lavender hair leaving the property, talking animatedly with that pretentious student body president.

But what really set him off was the linked hands.

They were holding hands.

They were holding hands.

Jocelyn said earlier that Britney caught them both kissing in her dad’s office or whatever, but seeing it in person made him sick.

It made him mad.

“You want to stay at my house tonight?” Jasper asks, rubbing soothing circles over Lucas’s hand. “Your parents probably won’t appreciate you staying out late.”

“I’ll be fine. They come home late on this day so they won’t notice.”

They give each other a kiss on the cheek. Cody struggles to not gag at the sight.

“Walk home safe.”

“You too.”

.~.

Jasper turns around every few minutes as he takes the path to his house, Cody taking extra care to not be noticed as he follows him.

As he stalks him, a thought creeps into his mind.

Why the hell should he do it at his house?

Why not do it right now?

His mind made up, he looks around to make sure no one is able to see him. It was late and barely anyone is on the streets.

Once Jasper is away from the light of a streetlamp, he rushes forward.

“Hu-“

He slumps to the ground before he had a chance to scream, out like a light.

Cody takes his unconscious form into his arms, heading in the direction of his house.

.~.

Cody opens the basement door and walks down the steps, flipping the light switch on and seeing the stirring form of Jasper Bright, wrists chained to the wall. A groan escapes his throat as he looks around, the light forcing him to keep his eyes shut for a few seconds.

He comes forward and yanks his hair, earning a yelp.

“Hey, Jaspy.” He spat out the nickname like it’s poison.

That seemed to get a reaction out of Jasper, his eyes widening and blinking a few times, dread and terror crossing his features.

“…Cody?”

“Hey, love.”

Jasper glares at him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Where’s your little nerdy loser friends to tell me that, hmm? Where’s your boyfriend at?”

The way the word boyfriend left Cody’s mouth is reminiscent of venom.

“Wh…what?” Metal cuffs prevent flesh from moving, and panic crosses his face as he looks back and sees the chains. He begins to tug at them, trying to break free.

Cody kicks him in the stomach. It stops the thrashing as he heaves from the impact.

“Listen here, you’re never going to leave this place again. Not until you make up for what happened in middle school.”

“…fu…fuck…you.” Jasper looks up at him with pure hatred. “You hurt me. How can I ever be with you?”

“You will be. One way or another.”

Cody smirks.

“But suit yourself. Rot here until you yield. Can’t wait to see all the missing posters of you at school.”

[briefcasejuice]

I hope I word this correctly but I think Elektra’s fan characterization is an unfortunate mix of how fan spaces don’t know how to treat female characters with nuance and also the demonization of abuse survivors how don’t act the way people should. The way her killing of Stick is treated by the narrative versus Earth-10245’s Matt Murdock killing his version of Stick. It’s both treated as them crossing the point of no return, redemption wise but Matt is handled much more gently by others…

you worded this wonderfully and i wish you'd have made a post of your own because i have very little to add to it as an ask. i completely agree; i've ranted about misogyny in daredevil fanspaces on here before and a large bit of my rant was about how elektra's character is often understood without empathy or not understood at all because of unconscious refusal to understand her due to like i said, misogyny. it doesn't help that the way she's introduced inherently tethers her to matt and if you're not really invested in the show or its characters, it's hardly possible you're ever going view her outside of that unfortunate little box the writers have confined her to. in relation to her relationship with matt and the way she's treated within fanspaces, the unintentional yet ableist babying of matt and his emotions is also rampant and extends to the decisions he made whenever he's involved with her. i see posts often saying, "elektra made him do [this]," or, "elektra is the reason he did [that]," but that's now how this works and it's also indicative of a horrible interpretation of matt's character as well. matt is an adult capable of making his own choices and matt is not someone easily pushed into doing anything he does not want to do; he knows how to identify manipulation and separate it from genuine emotion as well as intention and is incredibly intelligent when he acts accordingly. we haven't even gotten to the demonisation of elektra as an abuse survivor and yet we've already identified a multitude of issues in the way that people understand her character and that speaks for itself. elektra was also never given any chances at redemption and the singular path towards it that she does begin ends abruptly with her death which further sours people's perceptions of her bit honestly, that's on the writers.