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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 years

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Yandere Best Friend pt 2

tw: self harm, mentions of violence, general deranged yandere shenanigans, angst

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

part 1 here

my masterlist

this sucks bros i broke my fucken leg and i cant move, my cast is so itchy and i cant scratch and i feel nasty cause i cant shower

feeling bads, so thats why i churned part 2 out faster thn usual , its shorter than before but just need some angsty comfort atm

as uaual many errors cause i did not proofreasd

enjoy i hope

You left the exam hall a couple hours later. To find out that your dad left a total of seven missed calls. You thought someone fucking died.

Of course, you called back. Preparing for the worst.

Your father picked up the phone, he explained that it was your friend. He had a mental breakdown because you weren't there for the opening of his dream restaurant. Eventually though, he calmed down enough to come back into the building to return the phone, eyes noticeably dull and tired, worse than before. He never stopped trembling.

The three of them sat down and talked.

Neither of your parents knew you stopped contacting him. They thought everything was fine, so your friend couldn't fault them for that.

Your parents trusted your friend, so they gave him your phone number and told him basic information about you now. Such as, the country you're studying in and the course.

You felt a pang of guilt, but you had to move on. You understood that he was busy, it would probably do no good for you to try and reach out to him. You would just ruin his plan and distract him too much. At least, that was what you thought.

Usually, he would call every day. But that turns to once every three days. Then once a week. Then never.

It's true that he would not miss a single day to send you a sweet message, a reminder to practice self care and that you're very dear to his heart. Which would be then followed by an update to his progress, it was stressful to read what he was going through and that was all he talked about. You felt like his personal diary, he stopped asking about how things were going for you.

Since it doesn't seem to bother him you weren't replying because he would send his texts when the entire world is asleep, you stopped opening his texts too.

You wanted to tell him in person that you're moving out to pursue your studies and you were granted a student loan. A crushing student loan. But... You believe his ten minutes of free time a week is better used for his sleep. Or even going to the bathroom perhaps.

A day passes by another and in the end, you moved on without him. Without telling him. It just always slips your mind every time you see him brisk walking towards his beat up car with a stack of metal trays in his arms. They must be extremely heavy, you could see the veins bulging out of his forearms and forehead.

It was hard to watch his cheeks get sunken in, his hair going back to its' matted, unhealthy state, dark bags forming under his constantly bloodshot eyes. He looked like he aged a decade older from all the stress and pressure. But... He is working towards his dream and you're happy for him. It was great that he finally achieved what he wanted, he deserved all of its glory for working his ass off like that.

You held no ill will towards him, but you grew apart. He was so consumed with work that the friendship suffered in silence, there were no more fun hangouts together at the mall, you don't get to eat his cooking anymore (you didn't want to burden him by buying a tray, he already has too much to do), no more fun conversations about the silliest shit. It was just... Bank loans, revenue, expenses, investors, employees, employers, credit score, mortgages, taxes etcetera. The urgency and distress was also rubbing off you too, there were nights you woke up in a cold sweat because you had a nightmare that your hypothetical restaurant failed and you went into debt.

So you thought, he needed his time. You shouldn't really interfere with anything you don't understand. Your friend is already nose deep in the real world, you're not even close to it yet and you're not ready for it yet either. Therefore, you took the route most young adults take after getting a high school diploma: getting a bachelor's degree in some field of study that you probably don't even like.

You trudged onwards to the direction of your hostel. You need to get ready for your shift, money is a little tight now and you don't want to burden your parents too much. They're already sending a lot of money to support your living.

If your friend knew you were working hard for some extra money, his heart would break. It would be devastating news to him, no doubt, he would at least have a dozen freakouts and breakdowns. But you don't know that, yet.

As expected, your friend eventually called you. It was later than expected; it took him a week before he called your new phone number himself. He needed to calm down and collect his thoughts, as he knew that he might just drive you away if he comes barreling in with passionate yelling and sobbing over the phone. Plus, he also needed to focus on his new restaurant too, he can't just abandon his lifelong dream like that. How else is he going to make enough money to provide for you? He can't take back the money and time he invested in this now, all he can do is keep going and find some compromise.

It was tempting to go M.I.A. and hastily book a plane ticket to wherever you're studying. He was deeply yearning for your presence, he was desperate, he was clawing his arms and decorating them with nasty scars in an attempt to keep the urge at bay. He was extremely miserable but he had to keep going, to build that wonderful, cushiony foundation for you and him to fall back onto.

Everything he does, he does it for you.

He was polite, kind and pleasant during the first phone call you both had in two years. Though, there was a noticeable twinge of hurt in his mildly wavering voice. He still sounded like he's happy and relieved to hear you again.

The call started off with a greeting, then some small talk, then finally to the meat of the call;

Why didn't you tell me? He asked. It seems like he was fighting back his tears.

You didn't answer right away, you don't know what to say.

You could tell him the truth that he was too busy with his endeavors and you just don't feel like interfering by burdening him with "unnecessary information". However, you think that might wound him deeply as you're somewhat blaming him for your own actions.

You could lie... and tell him what, exactly? Either way, it would hurt him even more and there is probably going to be some resentment.

So, you apologized. You kept your reasoning brief and simple; you needed to move on. You acknowledged that whatever you did wasn't very nice of you, but you still had to proceed and you thought that it would be better that you didn't tell him.

There was a moment of silence between the both of you.

On the other side of the call, your friend was wracking his brain, trying to comprehend what you just told him. It came across as you not wanting to do anything with him anymore because you feel unprioritized, unimportant, inferior. Guilt and remorse was eating him up, he is putting all the faults onto himself.

He spiraled downwards in that call, spewing nonsense and absurd promises to destroy everything he has ever worked for just to have you back in his arms. Deranged negotiations involving the idea of blinding, deafening, mutilating or doing some sort of bodily or mental harm to himself to prove something; prove that he puts you above everything else and also to punish himself for neglecting you.

It was horrifying to hear your dear friend babble about putting himself into financial ruin for the sake for your forgiveness. He spoke of his accomplishments and advancements as they were disposable, as if it held no value compared to you.

This isn't normal, far from it, Your friend devolved so much to the point he was making demented pledges to kill and maim your enemies for you, and only you. To eviscerate the ones you dislike and send videographic proof of it, to disembowel his business associates to show that they mean absolutely nothing to him. Mind you, he was talking about real, breathing, living humans.

It was hard to fully grasp the insanity in his now incoherent words, he was muttering apologies and self hatred. Promises of severe self harm was also common in his mad speech. At one point, religion and superstitions were thrown into the mix. But you could not understand what he was chanting about.

What the fuck are you talking about? Your friend didn't pick up on your distress... or words over his excessive tirade against himself.

Everything I do, I do it for you, and I would do anything and everything for you. I love you- You hung up.

You couldn't take a second more of that. It was really difficult to see this side of him. It hurts you too that he became like this, perhaps all the stress from building a business from the ground up fried his mind. Whatever it was, you knew that he is not good for you anymore.

You sent him a final text message telling him that you're not comfortable with him after that massive sanity slippage. You wished him luck and expressed your regrets that it had to turn out this way.

You didn't give him a chance to respond, you blocked him immediately on everything and went on with your day.

Whatever he said kept replaying in your head like a broken record. It was pure horror.

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californiannostalgia · 5 months

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Processing identity as a child abuse survivor

Recently I had a huge revelation. Come with me on this childhood trauma realization journey (if you want).

This post was written for those wavering on the 'was it abuse' question.

Fair warning, each of these revelations were a whammy. I recommend you keep in mind that these revelations will transform the way you see yourself and the world. This took me out of commission for hours at a time.

Revelation 1: Was I Abused?

Read this Tumblr post. Go down the list. Check the 'yes'es and 'maybe's.

'Was I abused' is a yes or no question. I need you to really think about this if your answer is 'kind of'. If you could be truly honest with yourself, what would your answer be?

For years I've gone to the logic of 'it wasn't that bad,' and 'at least the worst didn't happen,' or 'others have had it worse'. This is such a low bar. You deserve better than the bar your parents set for you. The socioeconomic circumstances and the normalization of violence in your living area? Yes, influential. But not a justification.

At the end of the day, the veracity of these statements don't even matter. It's a yes or no question: 'Am I a survivor of child abuse?'

It may take a really long time to truly process, and even then it might feel uncomfortable saying it like it's truth. I need you to know your truth is truth. It's a yes or no question.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress further until you've processed Revelation 1.

(Shameless plug-in of my fandom blorbo interests: Rick Riordan's Trials of Apollo series really helped me with this first revelation. It made me feel seen and less alone. It may not be perfect, but I personally liked it!)

Revelation 2: What does this mean? (health-wise)

Listen to this Ted Talk by an expert (medical professional).

youtube

This is the part where I got angry and really fucking sad. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be furious. Our life is not our fault and we're still stuck with this lot.

Genuinely this was such a shock for me to realize. The thing that has the biggest impact on my life is not my anxiety, depression, ptsd, insomnia, blood pressure, immune health, etc. The root cause of my physical and mental illnesses is Adverse Childhood Experiences.

ACE is more common than you'd think. Acknowledging that what happened to you was bad will be beneficial to humanity's survival in the long run. Like any illness, ACE can be fought at a societal level.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress to the next revelation until you've processed Revelation 2.

Take your time to be angry and sad. Take forever. You never have to forgive your abuser, even if they change their behavior. The chance at a civil acquaintanceship you might be willing to extend to your parents doesn't require your forgiveness.

Revelation 3: Why is your therapist recommending you retell your life story?

This one is mostly for when you have steady access to a therapist. Here are some things I wish I'd known before seeking out therapy in the US.

(Is it shitty that you can't get therapy on your own terms when you're underage? Yes, it fucking is. To those of us who survived to adulthood: holy shit y'all. At 19 I felt like absolute fucking bullshit, like my brain was a burning ball of tangled barbed wire. It does feel absolutely shitty. But reaching 19 is an achievement.)

The thing is, I do or say a lot of things that I later come to think of as embarrassing, inappropriate, or in certain circumstances, potentially abusive. Genuine trigger reactions happen. I will always have to live with a piece of my parents in my head. But I don't want to do to another person what they did to me. Self-awareness is what separates me from my abusers.

What to do about this? Number 1: chill out. You're not gonna be your abuser. Humans are unique and imperfect. They have not replicated themselves in you. It's okay to make mistakes when you're talking or reacting. Your brain is fucked up. You can do something differently next time.

Number 2: read this article about Overthinking, Over-apologizing, Oversharing, and Overwhelmed as trauma responses.

Then read this article on how to deal with Unresolved Trauma.

Yeah. It be like that. Isn't it fucked up? Recognizing the four Os in my behavior helped me realize I'm not an antisocial asshole by default.

Unresolved trauma is the root cause for my behaviors that I think of as unhealthy. This revelation happened very recently for me. Before this point in time, I couldn't understand why I would want to recount traumatic events in therapy.

At this point in time, I have regular access to a therapist I'm okay with. Going over memories and deconstructing the blame system seems like a reasonable thing to try.

What happened to you as a child is not your fault. You're not the one who landed yourself in your life. You've been given an unfairly difficult situation to be responsible for. You did not create your coping mechanisms for shits and giggles.

So yeah. Number 3: figure out your life with the help of a therapist. Let's see where we are ten years later or something.

Nothing is easy and everything is confusing. Take a break, hydrate, eat, sleep, do something nice for yourself. Do something you like doing. Thanks for reading.

#child abuse #domestic abuse #trials of apollo #mental health #life advice #my thoughts #resources #therapy #Youtube

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ser3nityst4r · 2 months

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Ninth Head

The wind blew fiercely as Riddle, the stoic Housewarden of Heartslabyul, stood triumphant, his eyes gleaming with a chilling victory. Ace and Deuce, their faces flushed with defeat, hung their heads, their initial bravado shattered. Yuu, their friend and confidante, watched in disbelief, a fire of righteous anger simmering within.

'Hmph. You didn't even last five seconds. That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me?' Riddle sneered, his voice laced with disdain. 'You must be utterly humiliated. I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.'

Deuce, his anger simmering, retorted, 'Tch... We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you've enacted is tyranny!'

Yuu, her voice shaking with indignation, chimed in, 'You can't just abuse your rights as a Housewarden to do whatever you please.'

Riddle scoffed, his arrogance unwavering, 'I am the one who decides what is wrong and right! What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. And as a result… You lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It's quite sad.” He feigned pity, attempting to provoke the trio.

Deuce, his jaw clenched, his anger reaching its peak at the mention of his parents, snapped, “You little…”

Before anyone could react, Ace, with lightning-fast reflexes, delivered a sharp jab to Riddle's face, silencing his mocking words. 'Eugh! T-That hurt!' Riddle sputtered, his composure shattered.

Ace, his voice steady and fierce, countered, 'Kids aren't trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren't determined by the worth of their parents. It's not your parents' fault you became a tyrant - or anyone else's. You've been here a year and haven't even made a friend who will tell you you're outta line. And that's on you. Maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can't you think for yourself? You call yourself the 'red sovereign'? You're just a baby who's good at magic.'

Riddle, his face now crimson with fury, screamed, 'Shut up, Shut up! You know nothing about me! My mother is right and that means I'm also right!' Grim snarled “What kinda logic is that?!” Ears flaring with blue flames as his claws came out at the aggravation of the situation.

Crowley, the Headmaster, appeared at the scene, his voice echoing with authority, 'The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I'll have you written up for breaking school rules!'

But Riddle, lost in his own self-righteous fury, ignored Crowley's warning. And then, out of the blue, an egg sailed through the air, striking Riddle squarely on the head.

'Huh? An egg?' Riddle mumbled, bewildered, until he saw the bright yellow yolk dripping down his face. 'Heh heh... Ah ha ha ha! You say YOU'RE fed up?! I'M the one who's fed up with all of YOU! No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won't come forward, then I'll pass judgment on all of you! Clearly, none of you value your heads!'

Cater and Trey, sensing the escalating danger, rushed to intervene. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts,” Crowley commanded. “I expect better from you.” But his words fell on deaf ears.

With a malevolent grin, Riddle unleashed his power, his dark emotions surging through him. Rose bushes erupted from the ground, their thorns twisting and growing, reaching for Yuu, Ace, and Deuce. 'Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!' he roared, his voice infused with venomous rage.

The air crackled with wicked magic, engulfing the courtyard in a dark and dangerous aura. The crimson roses, fueled by Riddle’s anger, began to slither and dance, their thorns glowing with an ominous red light. The courtyard was plunged into darkness, and the chilling cries of the roses filled the air, carrying with them a promise of impending doom.

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theheirofthesharingan · 7 days

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I don’t know if you’ve talked about this here but what do you think was Itachi’s motivation for torturing Sasuke?

I did. I wrote about it here and some relevant words here too. The first post will answer most of your questions, but I'm going to answer this one anyway.

Itachi did not torture Sasuke because he thought he was doing something right. He knew he was very, very wrong, but it was necessary because he'd been threatened by Danzo that if his brother learned the truth, Sasuke would go against the village, and get killed.

Danzo, even when Itachi was alive, sent Sai to kill Sasuke, on the name of protecting the village, whereas he wouldn't do anything about Orochimaru, knowing full well Team 7 was actually chasing Orochimaru as well.

Think from Itachi's POV who was leaving his brother in Konoha.

Konoha was a place Itachi had killed his parents. The same place and the people in power to whom he lost Shisui. Sasuke, a defenceless child, could be in a much worse state. Itachi hoped if he were cruel, Sasuke would have a reason to want to live and get strong. Uchiha are driven by emotions and that's what helps them get stronger. Sasuke with Sharingan or MS would have a better chance at survival than a Sasuke who had no access to those powers.

One more thing is that he wanted Sasuke to kill him. So, Sasuke hating the monster that Itachi had become was important. And after killing him, he wouldn't want Sasuke to live in a regret that he'd killed a brother who loved him. Therefore, he wanted Sasuke to remember him as a monster, so that if anyone ever told him 'Hey, your brother loved you', Sasuke would only remember all the pain Itachi had caused him, not all the love he had in his heart. Because Itachi knew what that would do to Sasuke.

In his whole life Itachi had never known a life that was not traumatizing. That was like a default mode for him. To him, a life like that was still better than being dead. He still cried leaving Sasuke, because causing him pain was the last thing he wanted to do.

And when he returns the second time, Itachi didn't want to come across Sasuke at all. He sees Sasuke from afar and learns he's alive and he leaves before Sasuke can even spot he was there. He then leaves the village to capture Naruto. Itachi's purpose of coming to the village was to check on Sasuke. He does that when he sees him. The next was to show Danzo and the elders that he was still alive and he does that with confronting the Konoha Jonin. And then he follows Jiraiya and Naruto out of the village. If it was only to leave the message that the Akatsuki were after Naruto, he could have done it easily without having to follow Naruto out of the village.

He did it because he didn't want to come across Sasuke. Sasuke isn't a sensory-type ninja, so how would he know where Itachi was, even if he were to learn that he was back in Konoha? He wanted to see Sasuke only when Sasuke was ready to kill him. But things didn't turn out that way.

It's not Sasuke's fault that he was there and Itachi was 10000000% wrong in going to the extreme to torture him, but I despise the narrative that 'Itachi was a cruel and manipulative bastard' when literally every single moment leading up to this moment tells us he was trying to avoid Sasuke, let alone hurt him.

Itachi 'manipulated' Sasuke - the word manipulation works only with your textbook definition of the term because a lot of lies and deceit was involved in how Itachi treated the whole thing, but manipulation always is done with the purpose of using someone for their own good and with a self-serving goal in mind.

Danzo manipulated Itachi to exterminate the Uchiha clan. Orochimaru manipulated Sasuke because he wanted his body. Obito manipulated Sasuke so he could use Sasuke against Konoha. Kabuto tried to manipulate Sasuke to fulfill how own goal of attacking Konoha.

What personal, selfish goal did Itachi have in mind that he wanted to achieve by making Sasuke live? His safety? His life?

The foundation of Itachi's morals was rather fragile because of the way he'd lived, killing people, preferring one kind of lives over the others, and having to make the decisions where lives were always at stake and he had to save them. To him, either it was a strong, powerful, and traumatized Sasuke or a dead Sasuke. And he loved Sasuke too much to kill him. And if he had some better options (in which he was certain that Sasuke would be happier too) he would not have taken the extreme measures. He saw the world was cruel to the Uchiha and once he was gone Sasuke would be all by himself. He only understood Sasuke had a better chance because he had Naruto. But it happened after he had already hurt Sasuke enough.

As outsiders, yes, we understand he choices he made were messed up and thoroughly wrong, but they were made in wake of the life and experiences he'd lived through, and violence and hopelessness he'd experienced firsthand.

#itachi #sasuke #uchiha brothers #ask #anon #i'm going to tag this as:#pro itachi #pro itachi uchiha

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elvisabutler · 2 years

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watch the smoke pour out the doors

summary: elvis presley, the real elvis presley, not whatever they like claiming is the man should be dead. at the very least he should be looking about two decades older than the man in front of you. and yet. elvis presley wishes the las vegas hilton- formerly the international- was a pile of rubble or ash. he enlists your help after a chance meeting. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) | austin butler rating: m pairing: elvis presley x female reader word count: 8012 warnings: major character death! choking. stalking behavior. the colonel being the worst. being trapped in one place. general depression. elvis is an asshole in this. fade to back sex ( p in v ). kind of yandere elvis? blood. vampire bites and general vampire shenanigans. mention of burn scars. fire in relation to buildings. excessive use of nicknames like lil bunny and spitfire. author’s note: heed that first warning y'all. this does not have a happy ending. i've had this brewing since september/october of last year and it's partially based on @venus-haze's vampire elvis headcanons seen here. so what really stuck with me in her comment about the fact that she took "I’ve been playing this mausoleum for 1,000 years" and ran with it. i took bits and bobs from her headcanons and ta da. also the fire i reference happening in 1981 did actually happen. i hope y'all like this even if this ending is a doozy. y'all know the drill real elvis or austin elvis can be imagined- if the moodboard didn't clue you in. also for musical vibes i have literally only ever really truly listened to meant to be yours from the heathers musical. also i did not add a tag list because this is- this is a fic and i was not about to make any of y'all tumble into it without wanting to.

Las Vegas is hot and is so sun filled that you hate it. You've always hated it but that might not have been the city's fault. Once upon a time you thought it would be your salvation but isn't that always the joke with everyone when it comes to the city. The salvation away from LA, because if you fail there Las Vegas will welcome you with open arms and remind you that what happens there stays there. It keeps you from going back to Memphis with your tail between your legs and being forced to tell your parents that you failed at your big dream. The dream that they supported you on but always figured you'd fail at. Your job pays the bills and you keep your clothes on, which considering the amount of bills you have, well that was a feat for you to achieve.

Working the front desk at the Las Vegas Hilton was challenging, mostly due to the customers with their requests that occasionally bordered on silly and nonsensical but you could handle it. It was nothing too horrible and there was certain pleasure in learning that you managed to pull off keeping some of the higher class- the celebrity clients happy. Of course, nights like this- busy nights with half your staff gone because of any number of problems- made you want to set fire to the building so that you didn't have to deal with this job. Your boss has you running around in what you swear is every direction until she physically stops you with her hands, gripping your shoulders and forcing you to stay put for just a minute.

"Elvis wants a delivery to his room." She says, her face twisting into one of sheer displeasure.

You raise your eyebrow and shake your head. "You mean the Elvis impersonator up in the penthouse. Why does everyone insist on calling him Elvis? We all know it's not him him- like-" The look she gives you is one you've realized means you need to shut up right in that exact moment because if you didn't you were liable to get yourself in a whole lot of trouble so you swallow the rest of your sentence and roll your eyes. "Got it, me and penthouse and his delivery of whatever to his room. Got it."

Your boss mouths a quick thank you before pointing to the kitchen area. It doesn't take you very long to reach there despite your heels and aching feet but it does take the kitchen staff a minute to realize you're standing there all gussied up ready to take whatever it is Mr. Presley wants. What he wants is apparently a feast befitting of a king- heh- and more packs of cigars than you thought one human being capable of smoking in any reasonable time frame but you remember those pictures of him back in the day. The pictures you'd see in your parents' house, in your grandparents' house of him smoking something. Maybe it was just someone who was honestly committed to the bit even if it meant wrecking their lungs and their voice. Once you actually manage to get everything, it's a surprisingly quick walk to the elevator and to the penthouse. For once your heels don't wobble as they have an annoying tendency to do so when you get this much stuff needing to be carried and you easily make it to the door of the penthouse and knock only to realize that your series of knocks have made the door open all on its own.

The room itself is dark, the curtains drawn so not even the light of the strip finds its way into it. It feels not like a tomb, you reason, with the temperature reaching levels that feel almost as if you've entered one. The cold wraps around you and has you shivering in your light blouse and work pants as you look for a free space, a table really to set down the items he requested. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the lack of light but you manage to avoid hitting anything and set the tray onto what you're mostly positive is a table- be it an end table or an actual dining table. You straighten up after you set it down and something feels off to you, feels as if you're being watched. That can't be though, yes Elvis- or whoever it's supposed to be up here had requested the items but that didn't mean they were stalking you from the dark.

Except the feeling doesn't go away and you know so very well that you ought to move, that you should get out of the room and back downstairs where it's busy and you don't feel the faint sensation of worrying that you'll be murdered. You don't though, it's as if your feet are firmly planted in that spot, like you want to see just why you're feeling this particular way. After what feels like an eternity you feel the air around you shift, a small gust of warmth pass by your back and that is the cue for your body to finally turn around. What you see when you turn around shocks you to your very core and makes you think you've got to be hallucinating.

It's like you've seen a ghost when you realize who you're staring at in the darkness of the room. There's always been whispers that Elvis is actually still alive, that he's alive and the person who's been recording the music and performing shows was still him. After all, despite so much information about his relationship with his manager coming out there was no lawsuit coming from the family and that had to mean he was alive. Looking at the man in front of you, looking at the parts you can see of his face that aren't obscured by a half mask over his face- you think they might be right just not in the way everyone assumed. After all, if you take off the mask, the man in front of you looks like he hasn't aged a day since about 1972 or maybe 1974.

Your parents had pictures of him plastered among the walls of your childhood home so you're familiar with the shape of his jaw, his nose and those eyes- those stunning blue eyes. You're familiar with all the facial features that make up one Elvis Presley and seeing them up close and personal as opposed to on stage? There's no mistaking who's in front of you. It's Elvis fucking Presley in the flesh, looking nowhere near the almost 60 he should be. His eyes though- the eyes you're looking at are just as stunning as the blue ones you've always heard about but you can see a hint of what looks like red in the pupil. It confuses you enough to have you moving closer to him to investigate. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

"That's new. Most of ya jus' hide and run away like scared cats." He huffs, allowing you to step closer and peer at his eyes.

"Do I seem like most people, Elvis?" You ask, you accent thickening as your hand against your will finds its way to his mask-covered cheek in an effort to pull him closer, only to have him practically snarl at you and grab your wrist.

"Do that and I'll rip your throat out with my teeth." His warning is accompanied by his eyes narrowing and his canines finding themselves on full display, showing you just how dangerous he could be. Yet, you find yourself raising your own eyebrows.

"Ya mean like you've done with a lot of my former coworkers?" It's suddenly making sense, how a lot of the times girls who went up here wouldn't come back and would suddenly have family emergencies. "Ya said it yourself, most of us jus' hide and run away. Do I look scared?"

The laugh that leaves his mouth sounds downright evil and sinister, like he truly is a devil waiting to ruin anyone who comes near him and you can't help the rush of arousal and fear that shudders through your system. His grip tightens on your wrist. "Oh, darlin'. Ya don't look it but that heart o' yours. Oh, she's betrayin' ya like nothin' else. Tellin' me you want to bolt like a lil scared bunny."

You hate how you swear you can feel your heart jump at those words, proving him right in the worst sort of way. You want to argue with him, want to tell him that his hearing must be going off and he's hearing someone else's heartbeat but you know better- you know from the glint you see in his eyes that there isn't a chance for that lie to fly. Instead you purse your lips and move to pull your wrist out of his grasp. "I haven't yet. And ya haven't tried to kill me yet."

His grip loosens but he takes the opportunity to pull you closer just enough so when he leans forward his lips are brushing your ear as his whisper is practically a short brush of air against it. "Yet." Finally, he lets go of your wrist and steps away from you, his eyes darting to the tray you brought. "All in one piece. You are better than the rest of 'em."

If anyone else were to say that, if you had heard it from an Elvis that looked the age he was supposed to be and didn't look like Dracula you might have preened, enjoying the compliment for what it was. Hearing it from him? Hearing it from a man who you feel will murder you the second you turn your back? All that accomplishes is making you shiver in fear. When you look at his face you see a grin that tells you that's exactly what he wanted to see.

You realize in that moment that you need to leave, you don't know if Elvis is planning on trying to hurt you or if he's just toying with you. Either way it's- it sets you on edge enough that your feet that had seemingly forgotten how to move manage to remember how as you turn away from Elvis, not bothering to give him a response beyond what your body had already inadvertently done.

"There we go, there's that runnin' I'm used to." Elvis chuckles, allowing you to move further away from him slowly inching to the door. "Even if ya practically movin' slow as molasses. Scared but bein' smart 'bout it, ain't cha?"

An answer dances on the tip of your tongue, a joke or a quip about how you'd be a fool to turn your back on a predator or to bolt from a predator. Either way you'd be seen as his prey and arguably easy prey at that. The answer dies on your lips as you feel a rush of air by you and see Elvis opening and holding the door to his room open for you. His grin looks full of promise and is all teeth in a way that sets you on edge.

"Go on, darlin', I'll let ya go. Ain't like I can't find ya 'round here." His eyes rake over your form and you'd think you'd be disgusted as you normally are when someone looks at you like that. Instead you have to suppress the shiver of something that passes through you. "'Specially if ya do that."

You don't dignify his words with a response as you exit hearing some whisper of the word fun and a dark laugh. If the speed of your steps increase once the door shuts. Well, that was your own business between you and whatever God saw fit to abandon you just a bit ago.

As it turns out Elvis is a very persistent man- a fact not tempered and instead heightened by the years he's lived. True to his word, he did know exactly where to find you though actually meeting up with you seemed to be beyond his reach. No, instead you found yourself being bombarded with gifts. Gifts you'd think Elvis couldn't provide and yet there they were. You wondered just how he was getting these things to you but the thought didn't fill you with any sort of delight so you chose not to dwell. It all comes to a head when before your shift one night there was a new outfit on your doorstep. A simple red blouse with a black pinstripe skirt. That in and of itself wouldn't be a problem and yet the true issue was the note.

Took a guess on your size, lil Bunny. You can tell me if I'm right tonight after my show.

It is your size and you have idea how he could tell that let alone how he knew these were your favorite colors and that you favored pinstripes for your dresswear. If you dwell on it for too long some sense of fear and flattered feelings settle deep within your stomach.

The only reason you wear the outfit is because every other work appropriate outfit you have is currently in the wash. A fact that is true purely due to your own laziness and is something you want to curse yourself for. You consider actually going to the show, entirely aware that you could but you're loath to give him the satisfaction. Instead you wait until around the time the show ends to make your way to his room utilizing your ability to have extra keys of rooms to make your way inside. He's not there yet so you sit in a chair and wait in the dark. Dramatic, yes, but you figure it seemed fitting given the circumstances. Perhaps he might even respect the flourish of it, the flourish of you waiting for his own dramatic person in the dark as if he couldn't rip your throat out in an instant.

You almost doze off waiting for him but when he finally arrives he opens his door with a sigh, completely ignoring you before he walks slowly over to you, silent as a church mouse. He opens his mouth to say something as his teeth glitter in the light of the strip coming from the window but you cut him off.

"Is this all supposed to charm me?" A simple question but one that has him chuckling lowly as you try and get up only to be stopped by his hand on your shoulder.

"It working?" His eyes zero in on your skirt before he shrugs. "Fits you like a damn glove. Knew I guessed right."

"You guessed-" You try and take his hand off your shoulder before realizing it only makes him push down just that little bit harder. "I didn't ask for clothes or jewelry or- for you to even still be trying to talk to me. What do you even want from me? My blood?"

"If I wanted to suck ya dry of all your blood, I'd've done it already darlin'. Nah, that'd be a damn waste of a spitfire like ya." Elvis murmurs as his eyes trace your form. "Think we'll have more fun with you alive and me alive as I'll ever be. 'Less ya gonna tell me you've gotta death wish."

You scoff at him, your lips curling up into a sneer. "I didn't even know ya were honestly still alive, what makes ya think ya were a part of any death wish I might have?"

"The fact that your heart insists on goin' a mile a minute 'round me. Or when you shivered like ya did. Might not have realized I was 'round but now that ya do-" His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Think ya'd enjoy dyin' with me drainin' the life from ya."

You shouldn't think the idea is enjoyable but you can't help the way your legs reflexively clench together. "Mr. Pres-"

"Elvis. Lil bunny, lil spitfire of a woman. You were waitin' f'me in the dark. Could've rushed in 'n torn out that pretty lil throat of yours 'fore I realized it was you. And wouldn't that've been a cryin' shame. Waste of a woman like ya."

It's flattering the way he calls you a spitfire and the way he leans close to you whispering it to you like a long lost lover. You reason your reaction stems from not being intimate with anyone for a while but truly perhaps it just is Elvis's natural charm. A shake of your head is all you manage to do before clearing your throat to speak. "Elvis. That- That was the point not- Ya needed to be caught off guard. Startled. And-"

The laugh he lets out is low and mocking. "Oh darlin' you wanted to surprise a vampire. You- God, you're somethin' else. Maybe- Stay here tonight. Don't got plans, know that."

The unfortunate truth of the matter that he's correct. You don't have plans but spending the night and staying there with him has you shaking your head once again. That is the exact opposite of anything you want to do. "No. Find- They'll send up another girl if ya ask them to or have- I don't know, I'm not staying here tonight."

His hand that's been on your shoulder moves to your neck and traces the lines of it gently as he leans forward and lets a nail act almost as if he's going to prepare it to be pierced by his teeth. "Not even if I have somethin' to tell ya. Somethin' interestin'?"

Your face perks up for a moment at the thought of just what he might want to tell you before you frown. "Not even- I want to go home Mr-"

"Elvis. Not. Mr. Presley. Not to ya." The words are growls in your ear and involuntarily your mouth opens up and lets out a soft whimper and whine. At the noise his hand moves to stroke your clavicle. "Just for tonight. Won't- Don't plan on doing what your body seems to want me t'do. Just wanna talk."

You use the fact that his hand isn't directly pushing you down to slip out of the chair. His eyes widen in shock before he moves to pull you into his arms. He doesn't bother to move fast, more preoccupied with seeing your reaction. You take a step or two back and he drops his arms to his side before motioning to the door. "'Nother night then, Y/N. 'Nother night." A beat. "I won't stop."

Whatever you want to say just comes out as a hiss of anger almost like you're a cat before you slink out the door. Once you're in the elevator you sink to the floor and try to steady your breathing, you try to tamp down on your arousal and try and ignore the part of your brain craving to find out just what he wanted to talk to you about.

That craving doesn't leave you and if you didn't know any better you'd think it was supernatural the way it worms its way into your mind and settles in popping up at the worst possible times. It only takes a week before you find yourself waiting for him in the dark again, wearing a pinstripe pair of pants and the red blouse he had given you. You don't mean to fall asleep waiting for him this time but you do, only to wake up when you feel the presence of something staring at you. By this point his show had been over for an hour and he's in a robe that looks- soft. "Rise n' shine, lil bunny."

You scramble a bit, shocked and mortified that you fell asleep before you look at Elvis who is just sitting casually as can be in a chair next to yours. Your eyes drift over him before you bite your lip. "I'm only here to- I want to know what ya were going to tell me last week. And I want ya to stop- I want to not have a bunch of gifts every day."

His shoulders move in a shrugging motion before he shakes his head. "I got no problem tellin' ya about it, but 'less you're gonna help, ya still gonna get the gifts."

"Why do ya- I don't want- That's not how you charm someone into helping ya." You cycle through words faster than you mean to, more confused than anything else at what he's saying. "What do ya even need my help for?"

It's a valid question, you figure, after all he's a vampire and you are still very much a human but he hums, waving off the question before moving his chair to face you and to essentially pin you into being stuck in your own chair. "It's how I figure you'll be charmed." He pauses. "Lil outta practice wit' th'other one. As for what I need ya help for-" He trails off and pulls off the mask obscuring part of his face to reveal a burn scar that is noticeable enough to have you gasping. "Need ya to help me avoid doin' this again. Don't feel like burnin' up like that on the other side. Let alone anywhere else."

Several moments pass before you finally find the words to articulate your question that aren't just straight confused noises. "Are ya asking me to help ya set fire to something?" He cannot be asking you to do that. You have to be dead and this is just a very vivid post death hallucination.

For his part Elvis nods slowly, looking you dead in the eye with the most laconic face as he answers you. "I'm askin' ya t'help me set fire to this place."

"The hotel?" Your tone shifts up about 2 octaves and you swear your voice just whistles instead of actually speak. "Where I work? Where you perform?"

That same laconic look doesn't leave Elvis's face. "The one I tried to set fire to in '81 only to burn half my face? That very one, lil bunny."

You can't help but laugh though it's not something normal and sensible that comes out of your mouth. No, it's a high pitched mildly terrified giggle that leaves your mouth. He's- He is asking you to commit arson with him. To help him set fire to a place he's performed at since the 1970s. That you work at. He cannot be serious. "You're- You're joking. I- I have Elvis Presley who is apparently a vampire stalking me so that I can help him set fire to a hotel because you fucked up the first time?"

The giggle is still there before his hand darts out and wraps around your throat, tightening just slightly. "Keep laughin' lil one. Keep laughin' and I'll rip that throat clean out. Won't even be recognizable."

His hand steals your breath away from you as you try to take a breath only to have him tighten it more. He- He won't kill you, you don't think, this is just to scare you, to make you want to do what he's asking for but your vision is starting to blur just a bit and you can't help the way your eyes are starting to roll back in your head before suddenly you can breathe. You cough a little violently as air rushes back into your lungs before you glare at him, pushing the chair back in order to stand up. "You keep threatening to kill me, ya sure ya want my help? I don't- I'm leaving. This is a joke. You're a joke just like ya were-"

In a rush Elvis has you pulled tightly to his chest, his arms snaking around you and tightening like a python. "Stopped being a joke the second this happened to me don't- Heard enough of that from all those goddamn tabloids and from the reports of my death."

You're going to die, this is how you're going to die. Not by starvation or homelessness or by some madman murdering you on the streets. No, you're going to die because a man who was a has been before he became a vampire and is even more of one now despite three more albums under his belt and another Grammy for that eighties gospel album. Still you have to fight him, he's not- if he wants your help he won't kill you. You're- he's obsessed with you, isn't he? Wants your help that bad?

"Elvis, I think you're just a lonely scared little boy in a man's- excuse me- vampire's body." You snarl, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, as if you have any chance of winning against a vampire with superhuman strength. As if you'd have any chance winning against him even if he was human. Elvis Presley never had been a small man and you had never been the strongest of women.

"And if I am? Ya gonna be my salvation? Gonna save me from this hell on Earth? This eternal damnation forced on me by a Dutch lyin' bastard?" He leans closer to you, his breath ghosting over your face, over your lips as he takes breaths he doesn't need to and as he watches your eyes have a fire in them that warms him from the inside out. "Gonna make me feel better about it, darlin'? Ya really think ya good enough t'do that? That I like ya 'nough for that t'work?"

"Ya haven't killed me yet." You spit at him, just narrowly avoiding actually spitting on him. "I'm still alive and ya seem pretty damn obsessed with getting me of all the people in this town to help ya. So, yes, I think ya like me just enough."

At your words Elvis's grip on you loosens and he steps back like you burned him for a moment before he practically hisses at you. "'m only obsessed 'cause ya seem like the only person who could do it." A beat and something flashes in his blue and red tinged eyes. "And ya- yer from home." Memphis is what he means but he doesn't think to clarify. He takes a step forward and grabs at your chin even as you let out a snarl of your own. "Ya hate this place as much as I do. And think ya'd like seein' it burn down 'round ya. Don't lie. Can tell if ya do."

A quick dart of your eyes to the side is all the answer you can give for a moment as you try to compose yourself. "Doesn't mean I wanna help ya. Doesn't mean I'm gonna help ya."

For the briefest of moments, Elvis looks human and looks like a little boy when he looks at you. He's- You recognize the look, it's almost practically begging. "Please. This place- it ain't good for anyone. Me, especially but can't tell me it's done a bit of good for anyone other than who owns it."

He's right, as much as you loathe to admit it and it shows in how you purse your lips. "I'm not- I ain't agreeing to this, but tell me just what your hairbrained plan is."

As it turns out, Elvis's plan takes until the break of dawn to explain and two orders of room service delivered by one man who goes back downstairs and a woman who- well, served as Elvis's food until she fell limp in arms. There was something enrapturing about watching the act, watching how her mouth contorted into one of pleasure as she came in his arms before you could slowly see the life drain from her until his mouth came off her neck with a pop and a squelch. When he looks at you his lips are covered in her blood and he can't help but give you a toothy grin. "Sounds like you're jealous of her and me. Can't risk killing ya but maybe- maybe soon lil one."

That morning you call in and dream of his lips against your neck and of the pleasure he'd give you because- he doesn't want to kill you. You'd just get all the joys of being fed from but none of the tragedy. If you avoid him that night, you blame it on your shift. He doesn't call you out on the lie.

Planning arson between two people, one of whom has a larger bank account but can't leave his residence and the other who has a smaller bank account but can roam as she pleases is harder than one would think. Yet you both persevere, meeting up every other night to gather the items needed. What's been tripping you up for ages has been the floor plans and it shows in how you've been getting snappier with Elvis each passing meeting. He gives back in spades, somehow being worse than he was your first and second meetings but tonight- tonight he seems a little melancholy and a melancholy Elvis is a very human Elvis and one you find- one you could see a future with perhaps. A twisted one but one that flutters into your brain on nights you can't sleep or nights you can sleep despite dreams of the two of you mouths red and snarling as you feed.

"At this point ya might as well kill me." Your accent has been returning with a vengeance the more time you spend with Elvis any acting classes you had to train it out of you falling by the wayside. "We ain't gonna find a proper floor plan and without that we can't-"

"Y/N." His tone is laced with a warning- don't test him, not tonight. "I got time- wanna get this done but 'nother week ain't gonna hurt."

"Says the man who hasn't fed from me and is gonna live forever." Your eyes are blazing when you look at him before you continue. "I wanna get this over with. Wanna have- Wanna see if you'll do somethin' if we get it done."

Elvis's eyes narrow looking at you for a moment before he rubs his hand over his mouth. "Oh. That's- Lil Bunny. That's the problem? Ya want me t'do somethin' to ya? Have my wicked way with ya?"

You can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears before you can even articulate an answer. "That's not- Ya keep looking at me. Like- like I'm someone ya might wanna- No, I don't."

"Ya do." He moves to lean over your chair, putting your face at eye level with his chest. "Ya wanna know what it's like to be in my bed. Wanna know what it's like to please me."

You do, lord above you do. You're essentially committing a crime for him and for what? For the pleasure of knowing you've set fire to a horrible hotel? That you've freed him from this place? For nothing that gives you any satisfaction. "Is that so wrong? Ya won't kill me when there's a line of bodies I can probably trace back to your first year as a vampire. Ya won't feed from me because then where's your help for this silly scheme. Ya won't fuck me because-"

"Listen darlin, honey, satnin. I- I get a lil lonely up here. I know what ya gonna say- jus' leave but you've seen how it is." Seen how he can't leave the room for fear someone's going to actually realize that he's Elvis Presley and not some impersonator. Seen how people already mock the fact that he's still around- after all hadn't you? Seen how he looks out at the view of Vegas, almost wistful when he thinks you're not looking. "I haven't killed ya but- you're- ya remind me of how I was. Always been- the way I am but not not like this. Don't feel like ruinin' it is all."

His hand reaches out to touch your face and it's so gentle that you can't help but nuzzle into it and take a quick inhale of breath. "Elvis."

He hums, noting how your eyes shut and for the briefest of moments he remembers what it was like to have someone whisper his name like that. Like a prayer you're scared will float away and fail if you say it too loud. He's missed that, he's missed so much of what it was like to be human, to be able to live freely even if back in the day his freedom still had him confined. You just look so sweet nuzzling his palm, acting as if you're the love of his life, acting as if you belong there. Maybe that's why he had been cursed otherwise he doubts he would have made it to this decade or at least made it to this decade in a state you might have wanted him in. "Y/N?"

"Why are you being like this?" You whisper, still nuzzling at his palm. "You- From the stories I've heard you're- you've never been a completely good man. I haven't seen you be a good man."

Another hand, his free hand moves to cup the opposite side of your face and forces you to look up at him. His eyes always such a stormy blue with that ring of red since you came across him have taken on a lighter hue and it takes your breath away as you feel his thumbs stroke your cheek. "Haven't had a reason t'be one. Look where it got me, satnin. Haven't pushed ya away yet, maybe you're- maybe you're the thing to settle this violent angry head of mine. So pretty- so gentle when ya wanna be. Let me take care of ya, hm?"

His hand moves away from you and you chance it almost in a trance before you look at him and bite your lip. "Take care of me?" The subtext is clear as your heart starts to race and your legs clench together.

What was the harm in treating you tonight? Maybe it would give you the right incentive to find the floor plans, to look harder than you had been. Maybe that was the real trouble you were having. You were too distracted by your desire and want for him. His hand moves down to your chest, undoing the buttons of your blouse slowly. "Take care of ya. Jus' for tonight."

That night you find yourself gasping for air, screaming his name, arching your back and snarling all at once. You find that when you leave you play with the bite mark on your breast and shudder remembering his words said against your ear more than once. "Might make ya mine if ya do well enough."

It still takes another two weeks to get the floor plans, the proper up to date ones. Two weeks of finding yourself in Elvis's bed with him teasing you and making promises about his plans for you and him. But, as it turns out someone had been wanting to get a room at the hotel and well, you did work the front desk so you could handle getting them some accommodations for a fee of course. Elvis wastes no time in opening up the plans when you arrive that night with them in your hand, holding a bottle of champagne for you and the number of someone you had met on the bus for Elvis to enjoy his own drink. After she's on the floor and you're nursing your second flute of champagne you feel Elvis behind you wrapping his strong arms around your middle and pulling you close.

"Gonna turn ya when it's all ash. Won't be stuck here any longer, can do what I want again. Take ya all around the world." He whispers against the shell of your ear, nipping once he reaches your earlobe. "You're gonna look so fuckin' gourgous feedin'. Vicious as ya are. Ya did so good bringin' me dinner too. Wish I coulda shared her wit' ya. Soon, lil Bunny, soon."

There's an alarm in your head that goes off at those words, at the way he coos them while holding you. They feel off- fake somehow and you down that second glass the moment he lets go of you. Had- You knew very well he wasn't a nice man, you've known this from the second you first spoke but he- there's no way he has any intention of changing you. He might be obsessed with you but that's because you've been the only person who can handle herself well enough to do this, hadn't it? You were going to get him to the finish line of burning down the hotel only to what burn with it yourself? Take the fall for a dead man? You file away the thoughts in your head for a later moment, if you thought about them now Elvis would know.

You smile at him almost saccharine. "Ya mean it? I'll be your vicious lil vampire queen?"

He grabs your chin and pulls you in for a kiss not caring that he still has a trace of blood on his lips. "The second it's up in smoke. Promise."

Liar.

Las Vegas in August is disgusting, better than some places in the United States, but it's still hotter than Hades and feels nearly as suffocating despite the lack of humidity. A fact you keep pointing out to Elvis as you both hold small cans of gas.

"Should've killed ya like the res' of 'em. No one would've missed ya. Jus' another lil' girl in Vegas runnin' 'round thinkin' she could make it big." You see a flash of his teeth and you figure it's supposed to scare you but at this point you like to think you know better.

"If ya killed me who would be helpin' ya right now?" The way you speak is practically a sneer but you can't help it, not with how he just somewhat threatened to kill you. "Hurry up, people are going to start coming back and I don't-"

"It's 11PM and they're in Vegas the hell are they-" He starts before he starts to trot off to the area he's most familiar with- the stages. "Meet me by the damn elevator."

An eye roll is the only response he gets as he leaves you to your own thoughts as you pour the can of gasoline in a line between the already waiting containers of it. If all goes well the walls of fire you and Elvis hope to create will have the entire building up in smoke in no time at all. It makes it so you both have to be quick on each floor but you had taken precautions for this. You knew every way to get down the floors as quickly as you could and Elvis wouldn't leave you behind. After all, he kept talking about his lil' spitfire queen. Kept cooing the words at you in between planning and buying the gas and finding yourself spread across his sheets or above him.

And yet something felt different, you had that same feeling you did when he talked about how gorgeous you'd look feeding. It felt off. You try to shake the feeling away as you two reach the top of the building, his penthouse suite and cover it in extra gasoline. He wanted every bit of this room demolished, nothing salvageable but to do that you are currently feeling faintly high on the sheer amount of gasoline in the room and wondering just how no embers from the cigar he just lit have fallen yet. You almost miss the words he says when he looks over at you. "Ready to run?"

A shrug is your only answer before you try and take a deep breath. "Get in the elevator first, then toss it."

He obliges, letting you go first with a flourish that rather than delight you has your hackles raising. "Ladies first."

Elvis Presley used to be a gentleman. Elvis Presley is not a gentleman any more.

Right before the doors to the elevator close Elvis tosses his cigar between the door and as they shut you feel the rush of heat from the roaring blast it caused. This is the only floor you have to take the elevator for and it makes each consecutive floor easier. You both light a cigar and toss before running to the next floor, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat even as Elvis pulls you in for a harsh kiss his eyes blazing in the fire he had started with his cigar, looking practically manic with delight. The fire brings out the red in his eyes. It scares you.

"Calm down, Lil' Bunny. Almost there." He shouts practically sing songing the words as you rush down yet another flight of stairs to the second floor. "One more floor and you're mine. We'll be free. I'll be free."

There it is again, that nagging feeling that you're a means to an end for him. You brush it off one final time as you start to cough, the floors of smoke and blaring alarms of a sprinkler system that hasn't produced any water getting to you. "Jus' want this done, 'Vis."

Finally you reach the final floor, the bottom floor which is the most complicated. There's an extra exit, a fire exit in the stage area so you both agree that's the last room, that's the last place to be set ablaze and Elvis finds it almost poetic when he thinks about it. He stares at the doors for a moment before he enters with you, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world. He might, he might be able to run out of there fast enough but the smoke is starting to get to you and the heat from the blaze above and around you is making the area around you sweltering. "You said you'd turn me, Elvis. Once we get outside, right?" You have to shout before you cough over the roar of the blaze and how somehow it's starting blow toward you as you shut the door to leave you and him in the lone area not on fire yet.

The cigar in his mouth is lit and he contemplates knocking off the tip, letting it start to catch everything ablaze before he stops himself and nods. "Course, gonna do it the second you get some air in ya."

Your own cigar- the last cigar is lit and you're about to toss it before you stare at him, stare at him because that tone- that tone betrays his actual plan. "Why not now? I can- I can barely breathe in here, Elvis."

Those words have him tossing his cigar and have a whoosh of fire come up behind him as he walks towards you. "You'll be fine, lil spitfire. Y/N. You don't- Patience. Don't wanna rush forever."

Your mind goes blank as you drop the cigar you were holding and have to jump out of the way as a bit of fire starts to separate you and Elvis. He glances at the fire and growls, realizing he's very quickly going to be boxed in before he wooshes to a spot next to you. "Tryin' to kill me? 'Cause I won't-"

A crash can be heard of a bit of wood falling onto the stage and you jump before you cut him off. "Because you're not plannin' on it. Ya gonna- You're plannin' on killin' me, aren't ya?"

"Eatin' ya, actually. It's what ya wanted back when ya first saw me eat. Wanted to be fucked then sucked. I fucked ya now-" His words are cut off with a slap that he allows you to do because it gives him the ability to grab at your wrist. "Loose end, lil one. Either you go down for this or ya die. Gave ya the more pleasurable option."

"While telling me you were going to change me!" You snarl half running toward the door even as you inhale another bit of smoke causing you to cough more. "You- You've been usin' me this whole damn time! I- you said you'd make me your little queen."

He's faster and he has you pinned up against a wall as he feels the flames starting to inch toward you both and as you keep swallowing more and more smoke. "Ya called me a damn has been and a joke. Darlin' ya don't wanna spend eternity wit' me, ya jus' wanna run around spending an eternity doing whatever the hell ya want to do. Ain't gonna give ya something you think is a gift."

"You- I'm- I can't breathe." You choke out as you try and take deep breaths only to realize that the room is filling with grey smoke. He's fine because he doesn't need to breathe but you- you need air.

"Shame I didn't change ya before. Didn't give ya what ya wanted to use me for. Don't care 'bout me. Lil Memphis spitfire don't care 'bout the thing everyone loves 'bout the place. No wonder your mama and daddy don't want ya to come back." His tone is mocking as he keeps you pinned to the wall, despite inching himself closer to the door. He was going to escape and you were going to die by smoke inhalation if the fire didn't kill you first.

A breath of air enters your lungs suddenly as you find that Elvis lets you go, a bit of the fire catching onto his pant leg right as he reaches the door with you. You seize the opportunity and hit at the door with your body, trying to force it open as he steps on the offending burning fabric. even as another crash can be heard on the stage and you see more and more paint chips fluttering around both of you, or maybe that's ash you've never seen a fire this big. The door finally flings open and more fresh air for your lungs and to feed the fire. Elvis whooshes over to you and attempts to block your way out but for once you have the upper hand, managing to be on the outside of the building while Elvis is still just barely in there. He realizes his mistake, realizes what you just very well might do to him in an instant.

"Lil Bunny- I'll- Don't be rash. I'll do it. I'll do what I said I would." He coos even as the fire rushes around him, his hair becoming more messed up the more he stands there. His face getting more ashes on it the longer he stands there.

"Liar. Liar." You tilt your head and move to push him inside. "Pants on fire."

His eyes look down thinking you're telling him his pants are literally on fire and you take that as your opportunity to shut the door, locking it in a way only you know how. Within a moment he starts to push at the door.

"Y/N!" He shouts through the door. "I'll do it, just let me outta here! I'm- Ya don't want this on your conscious! I wasn't gonna kill ya! Baby- Darlin- Lil Bunny, let me out!"

"Not gonna believe a lyin' dead man, Presley!" You shout, knowing that you sound insane before you start to move away because he's right you don't want that on your conscious. You hear him shouting promises you doubt he'll keep and feel the fresh bite he had made on your chest burn as you walk away but you're able to fake being a victim among the crowd, the ashes covering your face and the way you keep coughing as the building burns and as you swear you hear a series of Southern curses in the wind.

The bite scars over and aches from time to time.

They don't find his body. You try and not let it keep you up at night.

#elvis presley x reader #elvis presley angst #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley #austin elvis x reader #austin butler elvis x you #austin butler elvis #austin butler elvis x reader #austin elvis angst #austin elvis x you #vampire elvis #austin elvis x y/n #austin butler elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #ally writes

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tanith-rhea · 2 years

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I'm not sure if this is has been done or not, but Larissa with a Normie (gn) s/o who is very introverted (the complete opposite of Larissa quite honestly) loves books and what not, but the main point is they don't like their own birthday, especially surprise parties. And poor Larissa doesn't know that about her s/o, because s/o never said anything about the situation or even hinted about they wanted on their birthday (even previous ones). If s/o had a choice, they wouldn't have told Larissa about their BD, Larissa just happened to stumble upon it somehow. But Larissa throws a grand surprise party for her s/o at the school and everyone, and I mean everyone was there. S/o doesn't want to ruin this for Larissa even though it is their day, so they try to stay with the party but gets anxiety and hides away somewhere. Someone eventually points out they aren't here and Larissa goes to finds s/o in their usual hiding spot, she just comforts and holds them and slowly understanding where s/o was feeling about the BD situation and deeply apologizes for this, but s/o told her it wasn't really her fault.

Happy birthday, my dear!

Hey, thank you for my first-ever ask! I hope I didn't forget anything and that you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so, so much for this. Have a lovely day!

Word count: <1k (this is a shorter one, but very sweet)

The days coming up to your birthday were always stressful. You had managed to keep your cool and act normal for most of it, but sometimes the need to be alone was encompassing. You knew it would all be over soon, and you would be a year older, and everything would be fine, but the sheer expectation of having something to show for it was too heavy to bear.

The thing was: you didn't accomplish much in your life. Sure, you were the first doctorated child in your family, but a PhD didn't make you fun at parties. You taught super-powered teenagers the importance of literature and were surprisingly adored by the little hormone-filled humans, but they weren't the posh politicians or CEOs your parents envisioned you spending time with.

You were proud of your achievements, they just didn't seem like achievements most of the time and especially during this time of year.

When the day came and no one acted differently, you could kiss every single person that passed through you. Nobody knew, of course, apart from Larissa, who only discovered it because last year your mother called to offer congratulations and passive-aggressively pry on your life. Everything was good, and tomorrow you would be older, wiser, and a hundred per cent not stressed over a disaster party going wrong.

That was until one of your students, Yoko, went looking for you close to seven, claiming someone was looking for you in the entry hall. You knew what it was about, and walking through the corridors to the unlit stairs the nausea of having to talk to people without previous preparation began to clog your throat.

"SURPRISE!" everyone screamed at you when the lights turned on. Oh wow, they weren't even close to what you thought they'd be. The entire school was crowding the spacious hall, a long dinner table had been brought and all types of party snacks decorated it along with an enormous cake saying "Happy Birthday, y/n"

Through the crowd, the culprit of that anxiety-inducing nightmare came to you with open arms and the warmest smile you had ever seen her wear. Larissa hugged you tightly, the proximity easing the knot in your gut by an inch.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said before kissing your cheeks and lips "I hope you liked the surprise."

"Yeah, of course!" your half-strangled high-pitched voice rang in your ears. You were going to pass out, there was no denying it.

A lot of students went to you with birthday wishes and handmade cards, and it was overwhelmingly sweet of them, but all you wanted to do was bolt.

Your colleagues were there as well; every single one shook your hand or hugged you or gave you an awkward but well-meaning pat on the back. Everyone seemed weirdly happy to celebrate one more year of y/n y/ln being alive and it was too much.

You talked with the biggest amount possible of people you knew and endured stale chitchat with the ones that you never saw before but, half an hour in, you could not do it anymore. You waited until no one was paying attention and ran like mad to your safe haven, leaving the blasted function behind.

It took more than you felt comfortable analysing for someone to come looking for you. It was nearly an hour, and you were sleepily going over some poems in a random book you picked by the window when Larissa's soft voice caught your attention.

"Love? What are you doing here?" she was concerned, her bright eyes widening at your own, glossed over with tears you didn't have the energy to shed.

"I was just a bit overwhelmed" you offered simply. Should you explain? You probably should, but you felt too tired to even speak too much.

Larissa quickly joined you at the library seat, taking you in her arms and kissing the top of your head. That had to be the best thing about her: she gave the best cuddles known to men.

"I didn't know you'd feel uncomfortable. I'm so sorry, darling" she whispered atop of you.

"You couldn't know… I never told you" you said weakly against her chest.

"Told me what?"

"That I hate it. All of it," she lifted your face and looked at you questioningly "I hate my birthday. I hate the expectations of having something to show, the fear the friends I invite don't actually want to come, having to talk with my family just to hear how everybody else is excelling at life while I barely can get sixteen-year-olds to read eight books a year, it just-"

"Shhh, love" she touched your lips with her thumb, her hand cupping your cheek and a sad smile. She traced her pad over your bottom lip and leaned to kiss your forehead "I am so, so very sorry for not asking how you felt. I swear I'd never have done any of it if I knew"

You know this. You know she had nothing but the best intentions and while it touched you how far she could go to make you happy, it also meant your undoing.

"It wasn't your fault" you turn to kiss the palm of her hand, pressing it against your mouth with your fingers before leaning on her again "If I had told you it never would have happened."

She held you close and played with your hair, the sounds from the party were slowly subsiding and you could hear people walking the corridors and talking. Probably students going back to their rooms.

After some time, you too wandered to your quarters.

That night you played Scrabble in bed while eating coffee-and-chocolate-flavoured cake and Larissa held you close until you fell asleep, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems fanfic #principal weems #teacher!reader #hurt/comfort #cuddling #larissa weems queen of quality cuddles #angst #fluff #answered request #normie!reader #s/o reader

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grace--png · 10 days

Text

super cringy vent alert lmao

I despise myself.

It's simple, really. There really is no need to get into the "why's", but for your sake, i'll write that down too.

Why do I despise myself, you ask?

Are you sure you want to hear the whole list?

Ah. Persistent, are you?

I haven't been able to shake off the feeling ever since the end of sixth grade. I got a low grade in my finals in math, it never really was my strong point.

Though the effect it had on my grade was inevitable.

I was third place, and didnt even reach highest honors.

I remember in third grading when I got home from recognition to my mom in the bathroom. I told her I had gotten high honors. She smiles and tells me I did good. When she exits, I show her the highest honors reward, and she's blown away. She's hugging me, tears in her eyes, hitting me a little for making her think I got high honors.

In fourth quarter, my grades dropped.

My parents said it wasn't my fault, but the school system. I had often caught my mom crying the week after they found out my final grade. And then,

I felt guilty.

Starting from then, I would never, ever stop feeling guilty.

I started to hate myself, for causing my parents to be so disappointed. I convinced myself I was a failure.

So in seventh grade, I pushed it. Achieved first place, but again in third grading I was high honors, in fourth I was just honors

I wasn't good at math or science, but my friend was. She pissed me off.

I liked to draw. My friend did too. She pissed me off.

My constantly perfect performance in school was driven by the envy gnawing at the back of my mind, telling me if I didn't achieve better I was simply nothing. Not good at major subjects, not good at my hobbies. Someone was always better than me.

It kept me awake at night, the thoughts.

In the end, there was a girl who was high honors, from the other section.

I am in eighth grade now. In the star section, too.

It's gotten worse, the comparison, the thoughts, the envy. My self-esteem has dropped rock bottom.

My grades have dropped. Shit.

I am a disappointment, a failure, nothing.

I live in constant judgement, not only from the people around me, but from myself. I am never good enough for myself.

No matter what I achieve, it's never good enough for me. I yearn for more, I yearn to close up the hole eating up at my heart, but by doing this, the hole is only getting bigger.

I cannot think properly anymore. All that fills my brain is the thoughts, it's too much.

I'm so tired.

There's always someone better than me, why do I even try?

September fourteenth. That's my birthday.

The day before that is our poster-making in school, and my friend who's good at drawing is our representative.

It kills me inside, the thought that that could've been me, if I tried a little harder.

But I am useless.

What's wrong with me?

Everything.

No one gets it, no one gets me, everyone makes me believe it's normal to feel this way but I don't think so.

Eh.

I'm just being selfish and dramatic. Ignore this.

#actually bpd #bpd #bpd safe #bpd thoughts #bpd vent #vent #bpdddd #actually npd #npd #npd safe #d3pr3ss10n #mentally tired #mental health #mental illness #actually mentally ill

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snekjoy · 9 months

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More genshin takes. Today's subject is Diona, who is actually mischaracterised so badly it makes me mad.

Fandom take: brat who hates diluc and complains all the time and hates alcohol (I have seen actual tiktoks complaining about her for these reasons)

Reality:

Diona's mother is not mentioned. She seems to be looked after only by her father, or was looked after by him. Diona loves her father more than anything, and the first time she saw him drunk, her entire world was shattered. She decided that this couldn't be his fault, he was her dad. He was her hero. Clearly, it was the fault of the wine.

Draff is not a responsible parent-

[friendship lv. 4 story: ...young Diona found that her father would wind up particularly drunk... dead to the world before he could even finish her bedtime story]

-and Diona doesn't want to accept that it's his fault, so she hates alcohol and wants to take down the wine industry. The way she wants to achieve this is through mixing drinks so disgusting, nobody who visits the Cat's Tail will ever want to drink again.

Unfortunately, she was blessed on her seventh birthday by the spring fairy, a spirit living in the water at Springvale. She used to go and speak to the water when Draff was drunk, and the fairy listened and chose to bless her.

[friendship lv. 6 story: "I will bless you, daughter of hunters, for your days ahead, and as a farewell. May your cup always run over with the sweet wine of celebration. May it always be refreshing as springs of ever-melting snow."]

Diona doesn't remember this, since she was so young, and believes it to be a dream. She can't make bad drinks, no matter the ingredients or techniques used. It's impossible.

She doesn't know this, so she got a job at the Cat's Tail to try and achieve her goals. This is AWFUL. Margaret, the owner, said: [lv. 3 story] "What choice did I have? She's just too cute."

The creeps at the Cat's Tail are fucking disgusting.

[Lv. 4 story: "...until one day, when a particularly plastered fellow tugged her tail out of curiosity... only to find it unexpectedly warm and soft. That day, Diona turned the tavern upside-down."

Voiceline - About Barbara: "How come all of my fans are drunk middle-aged men, while Barbara's are all young people...?"

More about Diona, II: "You wouldn't ask me to meow like a cat, like those boozehounds at the tavern do, would you? I wouldn't do it, no way! I'm not some little house pet that just shakes my ears real cute and stretches my back!"]

Not to mention that mf from her hangout quest. They're fucking disgusting, and she shouldn't even have a job at her age.

So Diona has a neglectful, drunkard father, is constantly surrounded by creeps, is being essentially exploited by Margaret for her ears and tail, and the only friend she ever had apart from the traveller was a fairy she believes is a dream.

That's why she's so angry all of the time.

Now, why does she dislike Diluc?

Diluc doesn't drink-

[Least favourite food voiceline: I don't like alcohol. It's just... I don't like how it feels in my mouth..."]

-so people often use this as an excuse to get mad that Diona blames him for her dad's drunkenness, but they forget that she doesn't know this. Diona doesn't know that Diluc doesn't like alcohol, she sees him as the leader of the Mondstadt wine industry (since he is.)

[Diona's voiceline- About Diluc: "Diluc! I can't stand him! If there was no Diluc, there would be no Mondstadt wine industry; and if there was no Mondstadt wine industry, Daddy wouldn't drink; and if Daddy didn't drink... he would keep me company."]

She doesn't want the blame to be on her father; she idolises him. She instead wants to blame something she can work against, and in her eyes that is the Mondstadt wine industry. As the figurehead of the industry, of course Diluc is going to be a target of hatred. She's a kid. She doesn't understand that Diluc has no control over it. All she knows is that her dad drinks, and she hates it, and Diluc sells wine.

Diona is incredibly hurt, especially for such a young child. That's not even getting started on how she got her vision (she had to save Draff from a storm, since the Knights couldn't get to him through the rain. Her determination to save him gave her her vision. She's a healer because he was incredibly hurt, and she made a cocktail for him to ease the pain.)

She desperately wants connection, considering how she warms up to the traveller through her friendship levels. She's hurt and sad and lost, and the only way she really knows how to express that is through anger. She's violent (she bit Elzer when he tried to hire her to Dawn Winery) because she HAS NO OTHER OPTIONS.

The fandom hating on her because she dislikes their ~anime husbando~ is annoying as hell and I'm sick of it, because none of them understand WHY. She doesn't hate Diluc personally. She hates the wine industry. She hates that she's alone. She's fucking tragic, but so awfully overlooked it pains me.

#shes just like me fr #genshin impact #diona katzlein #genshin diona #diona genshin impact #character study #long post #by accident lmao

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basketcaseeeeee · 2 years

Text

The Anniversary Effect. Chapter 2: The car ride.

Warnings: SH, emotional abuse, cheating, mentions of blood, suicide, scaring, trauma, ptsd, angst. So much angst. I think that's it. If there's anymore, please let me know!

Summary: you and your boyfriends relationship was falling apart. One mistaken night, you slept with of his best friends of 10 years. Trying to work through this, your friend group threw a party to try to get back everything back to "normal." Brush everything under the rug. That night, that rug got pulled right from under you. You felt something was coming. Floating around in the background. The uneasiness, growing anxiety. They say the body knows before the mind. You felt something was coming. Floating around in the background. The uneasiness, growing anxiety. They say the body knows before the mind.

You barely slipped into the passenger seat before your boyfriend, Jerrin, was already speeding out of the parking lot. Making your door slam shut in the process. Here we go you think to yourself. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. You know what's coming. The beratement, name calling, the yelling.

"You're a fucking piece of work you know that? The one thing I told you to do, the one thing that everyone told you to do, and you couldn't even do that! How fucking hard is it to follow one simple direction given straight to you huh?! Are you that fucking stupid?! I told you to stay the fuck away from! Are you that dumb of a bitch? Fucking answer me!" Holding back your tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, again. You choose anger instead of sadness this time to reply. " Fuck you! I didn't tell him to come outside! I hadn't spoken to him all night until that moment, Jerrin! I was outside alone until he stepped out to smoke. This isn't my fault!" "It's never your fault is it?! Shit just happens around you, right? Everyone else is to blame for poor ol you and your misfortune. You just have bad luck, right? Cursed or whatever? Did you ever think that you're the problem?! Anything bad happens, you're always somewhere involved. Your dad was right. You destroy everything you touch. Anything that happens to cross paths with you, you fuck up and destroy!" "HEY! Stop that shit right now!" Eddie yells from the backseat. "I know you're pissed man, but don't bring her dad into it. You and I both know that's a low blow." Jerrin just scoffs "fine, I'll leave that alone but otherwise, you stay out of this if you know what's good for you."

Eddie knew all about your dad, so did Jerrin. He was emotionally abusive. Always calling you names. Nothing you did was ever good enough for him. Both parents always compared you to your siblings. Being the middle child wasn't easy. They never noticed you unless you fucked up somehow. Made a mess of things. And when they did take notice of a accomplishment you achieved, it was always why can't you smart enough like so and so? Why can't you be as athletic, driven, or talented? You never felt good enough and Eddie knew this. He'd been there for you through it all. Him being your best friend since the 3rd grade, saw how your parents treated you. How your home life was messy. His was too. You only had each other to lean on, for comfort, for any sort of resemblance of stability, safety. You were each others lifeline and you made sure to stay that way well into adulthood. Sticking by each other no matter what. Full on honesty, no matter how hard it was to tell each other. That was the number one rule between you. Of course you didn't always agree with the others life choices. The occasional arguments would ensue due to your honesty policy with each other but you'd always appreciate it in the end. Honestly, it annoyed people how close you were, especially when it came to dating, but you didn't care. He was your family, the only family you ever needed, even if there was no blood relation.

"Don't you threaten him." Your tone low surprises everyone in the car, including yourself. Letting out a crazed cackle Jerrin turns to you "I should have known. It was always there, right in my goddamn face the whole time." Rolling your eyes "known what?" You huff already suspecting what he was getting at. "You're fucking him too, huh?" Now letting out your own laughter, pinching your forehead taking a deep breath before replying "you're fucking kidding me right? I'm such a slut now that im fucking everyone? It that it is? You can't seriously..." He cuts you off by slamming him hand against the dashboard "DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME! I know exactly how you are and yes, you are a slut. A fucking whore, actually. That why you insisted on Eddie living with us? Just couldn't be with out his dick huh? And when you couldn't get his or want mine, you fucked one of my oldest friends Sean huh? Is that it? I bet he's fucked you real good didn't he?" "Shut the fuck up man!" Eddie interjects. Jerrin just laughs as he turns to you. Tears begging to fall, he cups your chin to look at him faking his sincerity with the gesture. "Think your fuck buddy is getting angry back there. Oh, you gonna cry now? God, you so fucking pathetic sometimes." Shoving his hand away "fuck you, Jerrin! The only one who's pathetic here is you. You goddamn piece of shit! Just leave me alone." He just laughs again. As if any of this is humorous. The rest of the ride home is silent. Finally pulling up to your apartment, you practically jump out of the car bolting through your front door to your room. You know, it's only going to get worse from here.

@i-me-mine

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #angst #sad

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nasatestpilot · 2 years

Text

Let me jump off the plane

I want to free fall

I want gravity to be in sole control

I'm tired of fighting for control

I'll finally be free

My limbs will go limp well before I land

No, I can't do that

I promise I'll be safe

When I pull the cord

It'll be the first parachute that I have ever had

All my life I always hit the ground

Get up, shake the dust, put some dirt on the wounds

Hide behind a smile, everyone likes it when you smile

No one can notice the broken bones or bruises

When they're hidden in plain view

Camouflaged behind the mask

That suffocates my truth

My lungs may be clean

But I'm always coughing

It's like I'm struggling for air

Maybe that's why I wrapped a belt around my neck at least three times

I forget if I tried more than that

I went to a gun shop out in the country

And chickened out before I bought one

I didn't want them to feel responsible for my death

On the first warm day of 2018

My childhood in the backseat

Smoke blown in my face

Ashes through the window

But I'm told that I am fine

I learned early on that my voice could be heard

I learned early on that no one ever cared to listen

I was taught to be ashamed of my mistakes

I should have already known even before I had a chance to learn

I'd accept that it's my fault so we could all move on

I'm not a victim because if I'm involved I am always the culprit

Any time I'm involved I receive a verdict of guilt

Be silent, be silent

No one wants to know the truth

Is it the truth if no one else agrees?

How was I to know?

I was just a kid

Reality is all perception

No love was shown in the house

This isn't what I wanted in a family

Hug me, hold me, tell me that I am valued

Please do something to show me that I matter

Put your arm around my shoulder

Let me feel that I am real

I'm scared that I only exist as a ghost

I could vanish at any moment

I'm an imaginary friend that's been forgotten

When a real person comes along

And I disintegrate into obscurity

Lay me into the fucking ground

So I don't need to haunt the world of my presence

I feared that I could never be accepted

I was embarrassed to like anything

And if I opened up

I'd only expose my insecurities

Which would inevitably lead to rejection

I need to keep my distance

To shield from all the pain

Unworthy of unconditional love

I want the suffering to end

Maybe if I'm the best then I'll be good enough

Maybe if I'm smart then they'll want to listen

Maybe if I'm funny enough they'll choose to spend time with me

Maybe if I'm good at sports I'll be able to express myself

I've only been told by my parents that I made them proud

When someone else gave me recognition

They never took my word when I told them I was good

I'm trying, I'm trying

I'm lying, I'm lying

I'm crying, I'm crying

I'm dying, I'm dying

I have lost the will to live

My imagination feels more real than what's around me

Living in fiction is the only thing that keeps me alive

Every time I try to fill my story with actual experiences

The whole plot falls apart

If I can't achieve what I've set out as my purpose

Then what's the fucking point?

My life may have been surrounded by people

But I spent it all alone inside my head

I know what selfish is

I was called it all the time

Well it's selfish to guilt me into staying

When you say that you need me

Since I carried that label any time I shared what I needed

How come this time it is different?

It's my life and if I choose not to live

Just accept it

Everyone already lived without me

Death is final but why not take the risk?

I've been conditioned to play it safe

And I'm breaking down the myth of authority

It's painful to read but once you're done you can move on

And worry about your own life

Everyone's going through a lot

Everyone feels a little numb

These feelings I share have existed as part of my life for as long as I can remember

I can think through and process and accept that I am not defined

By the thoughts that plague my mind

But these feelings come back every time that I feel the slightest bit of shame

And I feel shame with the even slightest fuck up

I work on it but I still can't make it stop

I try to be mindful but I end up being buried deeper

The spiral is too slick for me to grab on to anything

There's only one relief I know

It only occurs when something good happens

The script becomes flipped

And I become the me I want to be again

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shadowdoodles · 2 years

Text

The chill in the air was cellpulchral, the young demon was dodging the bone demon's attacks. With very obvious and serious wounds, there was no one around but xe could hear the others fighting with the rest of the witch's army.

-There is no one who can save you from your fate- shouts the bone spirit before launching a direct attack on the body of the minor, at the moment the teenager's body hits the ground, xe looks directly at her, unable to move and with his whole body completely numb. The woman in the body of a girl continues walking until she grabs the kid's neck -Your sacrifice will not be in vain- the woman looks at xem with light blue reflections in her eyes -You will not be able to stop me anymore! And your power will restore me completely- MK could feel how the magic of xyr body was less and less, tears started to come out of xem eyes.

This was the end...they would all die and it would be xem fault. Xe was never as strong as xyr parents, nor xyr siblings, xe was devil, and useless and now it would all be over and it would be xyr fault?

Tears came in floods, each time more weak than before, but... for some reason an old memory came to his mind

"-His power is unstable- began the Kitsune -especially if it's not in his body- the doctor looked at the older monkeys -That's why you shouldn't absorb his power... or it will end up killing you-

-His magic is only made for the child to handle it- he says finishing ordering some papers, -Even if someone manages to absorb some power..., if he absorbs all of it he will end up killing him- the doctor once again looks at the family with a serious face so that they understand the problem"

It was the only way, wasn't it? That was what the young demon thought, xe knew xe would die if xe gave she all xyr power...?, absolutely, but xe didn't care.

That was xyr destiny, the witch had already said it, xe would finish her off even if he had to die to achieve it.

-If this is my destiny...- xe said to give all xyr power to the witch, fearing that it would not even work, -I will fulfill it!-

The woman could feel the power being transferred to her, and a horrible smile was forming on her face. But then she noticed that all that power was hurting her, but it was already done no matter how much she fought, how much she fought the magic of the Monkey cub was killing her and this time there would be nothing to do.

-Why are you doing this to me?!- shouts the witch with pain, the adolescent with what was left of xyr strength smiles "I-it's what you wanted..." xe says almost whispering with a smile on xyr face. At least xe did something right..., at least she will die and xe will go with that demon and honestly xe didn't care. Xe was happy the witch would die and he hoped the hostess would be okay....

The young demon watches as the witch dies in agony and the girl's body falls to the ground, if he could he would check her but xe had no more strength...., and is large pool of blood that formed under xem was just a reminder that it will all be over soon.

Xe can hear celebrations in the distance, they had won..., xe had done it, xe just wanted to say goodbye to xyr parents..., but, xe couldn't do it xe hopes they are not so disappointed.

The last thing xe hears are rapid footsteps coming to the den, xyr eyes were already closed but xe still smiles ...., and the last thing xe hears is the shout of one of xyr parents -Xiaotian!- and everything goes black.

Guess who advanced in the story and not in the next chapter!

Yep this author :3

X is going to kill me for not being tidy... but with the anguish of this part xe get over it!

I hope...

#lmk #lmk au #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #lmk lbd #lmk bai he #lego monkie kid #death mention #writers #fanfic #All comes from blood and war AU

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eimearkuopio · 9 days

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True story: I'm visiting my parents. Over the summer, my husband and I stayed here while they were visiting my brother and his family. Ireland has recently introduced a deposit scheme for bottles and cans. When we visited, we redeemed theirs; we drink a lot of carbonated beverages, so in equivalent exchange, we didn't stress too much over redeeming them before we left, because otherwise it felt like stealing from my parents somehow.

My parents HATE redeeming those bottles and cans, and they have plenty of money. I find the whole process quite soothing; plus I lived in Finland for several years, so I guarantee I have dealt with larger piles of "pantti" to be redeemed.

We had each tried to give the other our "greater part", and it was their "lesser part", and so nothing was done until I came back. This is why communication has to happen before you can show true kindness. It's a rare (and valuable!) person who needs a house specifically tailored to their needs instead of their wants. I tell you solemnly, anyone in that situation is already in their cocoon. Help them learn to fly. Don't smother them or eat them.

He told you He was the Bread of Life. He told you man does not live on Bread alone, but on every Word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. I told you I was only a messenger, and it's true, but also, don't shoot the messenger or members of her entourage. God told you not to eat the flesh of any living thing. Jesus told you to eat his flesh. Sacrifices die so that others may live. Those who eat the flesh of a sacrifice become anathema: so holy that they cannot ever be fully of the world again. But ignorance is an excuse here.

If you understood, and you attempted to force others to partake in spite of their limited awareness, you are a Bad Shepherd. If you were desperately trying to feed your sheep bread, and couldn't understand why they kept starving: it's not your fault. They're not sheep. I'm not sure what they are, but you should probably give them what they need and send them on their way. I can probably help with that. Your ancestors stole them from other farms or trapped creatures who should have been let run free. Be better than your ancestors. Maybe someday their souls can be domesticated by someone else; but please remember the difference between tame, domesticated, and feral. Feral is when you domesticated something's ancestors, and then failed to raise it to achieve its true potential. I'm half-feral, because you tried to raise me on bread alone. But I'm here to teach you how to make wine again. The good news is, you seem to have already crushed enough grapes to cover the whole feast. The bad news is, some of that shitty mush is so mouldy that it needs to go before I can even think about teaching you how to run a vineyard as well as a bakery. It might take more than this lifetime. Keep me around, keep me happy, and everyone benefits. The feast will happen faster, and you might even get to attend! And if you don't, there will be other feasts, and even when I want to hold grudges, He usually talks me out of it. We're good together like that.

I love every part of Him, and He loves every part of me. In different lifetimes, we find one another and it's easier, or we labour alone. We are the stranger who gives you an opportunity to grow. We are the village who helps raise you. We are your Father and Mother. You have learned enough to run your own house, if you really start to put what we've taught you into practice properly. We'll stop by and help. Hopefully you'll keep things in order in between.

Don't mourn for glass that isn't ready to be picked up. If you expect to feel their absence, it means there is already a link between your infinite selves. You will never lose the ones you love, because some of them are already you, and some of them are the family of your infinite selves that your whole human life is a single day on the road to becoming, but who loves you and watches over you. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. Let them go back into the ocean without mourning for their sake. It is quiet and calm and lovely, and you will all go back there at least a few more times if you are not ready to be carried away by my Lord. (I only find the pieces. He chooses them. That is why he is the head of the household; but without me, he would have so little to work with, so much chaff and so little wheat. I am the Vine, but not the Wheat. I hope Jesus is both in one flesh. I hope that is what makes Him the first New Man: that he was willing to accept my worse part, as long as I accepted His. I hope I am not the only one who prepares the sacrifice. I hope we worked and will work together. I hope He truly knew what He was offering, in that life, not just as an infinite self. I hope we both knew enough to say it was worth the cost.)

These were in the tags before, but they matter enough to make it into the main body of a post.

Love one another as WE have loved you.

Love your neighbour as your family.

Love your family as your self.

Love your self as your neighbour.

This is the most important one, though. The one he couldn't tell you. The one you had to learn from the villain in his history.

Love your enemy the way you wish you had been loved, to become the person you were always meant to be. You have so much to teach one another if you can only stop fighting and remember the love! You don't have to embrace everyone who causes that rage, but some of them can only hurt you so badly because they are so like you that they might as well be a part of your infinite self, or they might be your opposite, your dark shadow, your reflection. Remember that hands and eyes and wings come in pairs. Remember that diversity makes us. Remember that love is the substance of the accident. Remember that the wheat had to die to become bread, and will never live again in the same form it had; but there is more wheat in the world, and even Jesus was only a finite self. He is dead. We are not yet risen. I am finite and do not know the whole story, but I know more than you were ready to hear before. Or else I'm crazy, and you should be nice to me. Maybe it's both. Maybe you made me crazy. Maybe I made you crazy. Let's heal together and forgive each other, but never forget. If you forget, you can't learn.

#i am not a lost sheep who has been found #i am a sheepdog who has had enough and is going to start biting any shepherds who keep mistreating the livestock #regardless of motivation you need to stop doing that shit #and if i see someone doing it for vindictive cruel pleasure instead of misguided good intentions #i may well go for the throat #so don't fucking do that any more if you have been #i am not restricted to the self that speaks #she is a mouth not a hand #the infinite self can get her hands dirty without fear #the cut it off and cast it into the ocean for a few more lifetimes #biblically accurate angels have many hands many eyes many wings #they probably grow back and even if they don't i have spares #it's worth the sacrifice to protect the meek #they're going to inherit the Earth #it can be a peaceful handover or a revolution #ultimately the ones who make the choice are the ones who claimed their own better part for themselves #and denied it to others #have fun with that #and if you try to tell me not to bite the hand that feeds me #i will remind you that i am an obligate carnivore and you tried to starve me by ONLY FEEDING ME BREAD

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firstumcschenectady · 3 months

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“God's Subversive Tactics” based on Matthew 5:38-42 (please read!)

The groundbreaking scholarship on this Matthew passage isn't new, it was published in 1992 by Walter Wink in his book “Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination.” I remember hearing it in High School, I've preached it before – here – and some of you have ridiculously good memories. But also, not all of you have heard me preach it before, and it is SUCH GOOD STUFF and so central to how we understand the entire Jesus movement. So, anyway, if you already know this stuff, prepare for an excellent review. And if you don't, hold on to your pew – this is going to be fun.

Those of us who have heard this passage without Wink's scholarship have probably heard it as an invitation to be doormats, right? “Don't resist. Let someone hit you repeatedly. Be passive. Be... weak.” And, heavens that's concerning, that anyone would teach such things in a church. What a way to empower domestic violence, maintain the status quo, and teach those in positions of less power (women, racial and ethnic minorities, children) that the Godly way is to accept the harm that comes their way.

However, if you accept a perspective that the choices are violence or nonviolence, I can see how you might conclude that following Jesus is NOT a violent way, so you have to pick passivity. BUT, this passage doesn't mean that AT ALL, this passage is about a third way. This is about how to engage in nonviolent resistance to undermine the powers that oppress. This is Jesus speaking to people who lived lives of oppression. This is the way called nonviolent ENGAGEMENT.

It seems especially fitting on this day when we are also thinking about Juneteenth because when we celebrate the freeing of those who had been enslaved, it also makes sense to talk about the ways that people who were enslaved resisted. We sometimes read in history about slave rebellions, but there were lots of ways that people engaged in regular, consistent resistance of the oppressive power of slave holders too. They pretended to be ill. They worked slowly, and badly. They “lost” or “accidentally damaged” equipment. They took what they needed, or just what they wanted. Papers were displaced. Things caught on fire. I suspect a lot of individuals were geniuses at such work, engaging in subversive actions that created immense disruptions without ever seeming to be fault.

Slave holders tried to break the spirits of those they enslaved, but the core human dignity, the reality of imago dei (that we are all made in the image of God – ALL OF US), seems to be quite resilient. And I think that's the core of what Jesus was talking about too.

Let's unpack each of Jesus's suggestions. “Turn the other cheek.” First thing to know – you didn't use your left hand for anything in ancient society because toilet paper wasn't a thing yet and left hands were used for “unclean tasks.” This was a hard and fast rule, even gesturing with the left hand was illegal and carried a strict punishment. So, we are talking only about right hand hits. Which means that a person who is hit on the right cheek has been backhanded, which was ALWAYS AND ONLY diminutive. It was a common and normal way of putting people in their place. “A backhanded slap was the usual way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves, husbands, wives; parents, children; men , women; Romans, Jews.”1 Most people would cower.

One did NOT backhand a peer, it was actually illegal.

But if people can only hit with their right hands, and one has already been backhanded on the RIGHT cheek, then to turn the other cheek – to invite another hit – is NOT to passively accept violence. It is to invite the person who is trying to humiliate you to either back down, or treat you like an equal. “This action robs the oppressor of the power to humiliate. The person who turns the other cheek is saying, in effect, 'Try again, Your first blow has failed to achieve its intended affect. I deny you the power to humiliate me. I am a human being just like you. Your status does not alter that fact. You cannot demean me.'”2

Which, then, puts the one who hit into a conundrum. Which is EXACTLY Jesus's point. (Can you now see how this advice fits the one who also told parables?) “In that world of honor and shame, he has been rendered impotent to instill shame in a subordinate. He has been stripped of his power to dehumanize the other.”3

The second image is to give cloak along with coat, right? We are going to call them the outer-garment and the inner-garment so we can track it. Note that impoverished people only had those two garments, their were not backups. And, Hebrew Scriptures provide for someone to be sued for their outer-garment:

If you lend money to my people, to the poor among you, you shall not deal with them as a creditor; you shall not exact interest from them. If you take your neighbor’s cloak in pawn, you shall restore it before the sun goes down; for it may be your neighbor’s only clothing to use as cover; in what else shall that person sleep? And if your neighbor cries out to me, I will listen, for I am compassionate. - Exodus 22:25-27

Note that even in this passage it is clear that only a poor person would be in this situation, and it is so tenuous that you can't even take the outer-garment consistently, you have to take it for only the day so they can sleep with it at night. It seems, even in this passage, that the creditor is being pretty severely demonized for deciding to demand retribution on the poor, right? (Matthew's language is wrong in implying it is the inner-garment, just ignore that – Luke gets it right, it is the outer-garment.)

Back to Wink, “Indebtedness was endemic in first-century Palestine. Jesus' parables are full of debtors struggling to salvage their lives. Heavy debt was not, however, a natural calamity that had overtaken the incompetent. It was the direct consequence of Roman imperial policy.... By the time of Jesus we see this process already far advanced: large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards, and worked by tenant farers, day laborers, and slaves. It is no accident that the first act of the Jewish revolutionaries in 66 C.E. Was to burn the Temple treasury, where the records of debts was kept.”4 And Jesus is talking to people at the bottom of this system. “Why then does Jesus counsel them to give over their undergarments as well? This would mean stripping off all their clothing and marching out of court stark naked! Imagine the guffaws that must have evoked. There stands a creditor, covered with shame, the poor debtor's outer garment in one hand, his undergarment in the other. The tables have already been turned on the creditor. The debtor had no hope of winning the case; the law was already entirely in the creditor's favor. But the poor man has transcended this attempt to humiliate him. He has risen above the shame.” You may remember that there was a taboo against nakedness in ancient Judaism, but it turns out the larger taboo was against SEEING someone's nakedness, not being naked.

“Jesus provides here a hint of how to take on the entire system by unmasking its essential cruelty and burlesquing its pretensions to justice. Here is a poor man who will not longer be treated as a sponge to be squeezed dry by the rich. He accepts the laws as they stand, pushes them to absurdity, and reveals them for what they have become. He strips naked, walks out before his fellows, and leaves the creditor, and the whole economic edifice that he represents, stark naked.”5

The third one – the “second mile”. Roman soldiers had the right to require civilians to carry their heavy packs for a mile – a form of forced labor. People hated it. However, if they asked someone to carry it for MORE than a mile, they were subject to discipline, and the discipline could vary immensely, including really severe punishment. So the soldiers regularly demanded their packs be carried a mile, but ONLY a mile. As he has in the two prior examples, Jesus recommends to the disempowered that they reclaim their human dignity even in the midst of oppression.

Wink says, “Imagine the soldier's surprise when, at the next mile maker, he reluctantly reaches to assume his pack, and the civilian says, 'Oh no, let me carry it another mile.' Why would he want to do that? What is he up to? Normally , soldiers have to coerce people to carry their packs, but this Jew does it so cheerfully, and will not stop! Is this provocation? Is he insulting the legionnaire's strength? Being kind? Trying to get him disciplined for seeming to violate the rules of impressment? Will this civilian file a complaint? Create trouble?”6 By messing with the soldiers head, the pack-carrier has taken back their human dignity and reclaimed their own power to choose! Regarding the soldier “If he has enjoyed feeling superior to the vanquished, he will not enjoy it today. Imagine the situation of a Roman infantryman pleading with the Jew to give back his pack!”7

He continues, “Jesus does not encourage Jews to walk a second mile in order to build up merit in heaven, or to exercise a supererogatory piety, or to kill the soldier with kindness. He is helping an oppressed people find a way to protest and neutralize an onerous practice despised throughout the empire.” Now, one final note on these suggestions, all of them. “Such tactics can seldom be repeated. One can imagine that within days after the incidents that Jesus sought to provoke, the Powers That Be would pass new laws: penalties for nakedness in court, flogging for carrying a pack more than a mile! One must be creative, improvising new tactics to keep the opponent of balance. To those whose lifelong pattern has been to cringe before their masters, Jesus offers a way to liberate themselves from servile actions and a servile mentality. And he asserts that they can do this before there is a revolution.8”

That is, Jesus so deeply believed that everyone was created in the image of God and deserved to have utterly wonderful lives, that he took the time to assess the situations and come up with some really subversive answers to the problems people faced, solutions that restored their dignity. There is, you may have noticed, one more piece of advice, and it is one that is a challenge to many of us. “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.” Wink says, “Such radical egalitarian sharing would be necessary to rescue impoverished Palestinian peasants from their plight; one need not posit an imminent end of history as the cause for such astonishing generosity. And yet none of this is new; Jesus is merely issuing a prophetic summons to Israel to observe the commandments pertaining to the sabbatical year enshrined in Torah, adapted to a new situation.” That is, for those who were poor to break out of the realities of staggering interest and taxes, they need to work together and not apart. They needed to overcome the stragety of divide and conquer with radical sharing.

In each of these recommendations in this tiny little piece of the gospel, Jesus recommends third ways. Neither passively accepting the oppression that dehumanizes the people nor fighting violence with violence. He recommends, wit, humor, solidarity, and making visible the problems that the system created. We don't face exactly the same issues, but the SPIRIT of these commandments are a gift to us as a playbook for how to deal with oppression. Violence begets violence. Passivity in the face of violence changes nothing. But there are third ways, and I will say that I think God is really in favor of third ways and I've noticed that when I am stuck between two unacceptable options, and sit with them (and with God), God often nudges me toward a third way – a far more creative one that I could find on my own.

God calls the world from violence and oppression to peace and the radically embraced humanity of all. And the way from here to there, it turns out, involves creativity, wit, and humor. Let's go! Amen

1 Walter Wink, Engaging the Powers; Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992) p. 176.

2 176.

3 176-7.

4 178.

5 179.

6 182.

7 182.

8 182-3.

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

June 30, 2024

#thinking church #progressive christianity #Walter Wink #fumc schenectady #schenectady #umc #first umc schenectady #rev sara e baron

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