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zolass · 2 days ago
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ㅤㅤㅤ𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁
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ㅤㅤㅤ···─NEW CONTENT with AJAX ILLAD
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCharacter by @yanderefarm
Popular Camboy Ajax x Popular Camboy Male Reader
Summary: Ajax and you were both rather famous, for the same yet slightly different content. While he fucked girls, with dark scenarios, you simply fucked guys with just a few dark additions. So it was a surprise that the other wanted to stream with you. wc: 1.1k
tags: smut, some fluff ig, poorly written, mentions of multiple rounds, breeding kink, pet names, +
Note: For the simplicity of this one, I didn't really go to the yandere side, just smut- I hope it's alr tho.
and mdni :)
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You were casually sitting on the luxurious couch,  in front of you was a male. To be precise a male with your cock buried in his wet and warm mouth. The camera was positioned in a way that showed just the perfect view of what was going on. You both were camboys, usually the one before you who goes by the name yourkiller on the platform the two of you streamed on.
He usually did content either solo but mostly with women with whom he enjoyed doing dark content with.
So it was a shocking surprise when he suddenly sent you a message wanting to create a video with you. You were popular even though your content contained of you fucking guys until they were only babbling and cockdrunk off of your dick.
You watched as Ajax bobbed his head, your entire length down his throat. Your hand grabbed onto his hair slightly pulling on it, making Ajax moan around your cock while his eyes rolled slightly back.
His cock was throbbing painfully inside of his pants, his hands were placed beside your legs as you ordered him to, “Such a good slut for me, ain’t ‘ya?” You groaned out, as you started to thrust up into his mouth. Something resembling a whine came out of Ajax, as tears built up in the corner of his eyes and god did he look beautiful.
The oh so familiar feeling built up in your groin, you quickly pressed his head down, “Swallow it all, baby,” you groaned before your cum spurted down Ajax’s throat, who could only sigh in delight as he swallowed it all. You let go of his hair, letting him pull back and show his empty mouth to you.
“I knew it, you are such a good whore for me,” you said to Ajax, grabbing his neck and pulling him closer, until you pulled him into a short and passionate kiss. As you pulled back, you patted the couch making him quickly sit on it, you made sure to place the camera to catch the next actions perfectly like before.
“Get your ass up, pretty boy,” you said, after you moved back to the big luxurious couch. Quickly doing that, Ajax soon was on all fours in front of you. You lightly spanked his ass cheeks, before pulling them apart to show his puckering hole. “For your first time, you are so– obedient, I like this side of you already a lot,” you teased him, before you leaned forward and teased his hole with your tongue before pushing past the rim. Ajax moans were like a melody in your ears, as you worked him until the edge. 
You pulled back before Ajax could release, smacking his ass yet again before pushing the whiny and needy Ajax down so his chest is pressed against the couch with a pretty arch of his back. “Don’t worry baby, you get to cum soon enough and definitely not only once,” you promised him.
Ajax couldn’t help the giddy feeling surging through his body, his cock leaking precum onto the couch. You teased his hole with the blunt tip, your attention on the camera, beside it a screen with a live chat going basically feral. 
“Be sure to look closely,” you said, before you placed your hand on Ajax’s hip, while the other hand guided the tip of your dick in. A groan slipped from your lips, while Ajax moaned at the feeling of being stretched as you pushed further until you bottomed out inside of him. “God you take me so well,” you gently kneaded his round buttocks, “Sure you never took a dick before?” You asked with a teasing voice.
“You’re m-my first, a–ctually,” Ajax brought out through a few gasps, the feeling of your pulsing cock, “Hmm I’ll take your word for that– definitely making it worth your while, darling.” You told him, before you slowly pulled out until your tip only to thrust roughly back into Ajax, with a groan.
A moan rippled from Ajax’s throat as he felt the slight burn. His eyes rolled back and continuously moans spilled from his lips as you started to fuck roughly into the couch. 
Donations flooded in, while the eyes of the viewers took in the sight greedily.
You pulled out of his hole that clenched around nothing, as you turned Ajax onto his back, before thrusting back into his tight hole, “God I could fuck you for the rest of my goddamn life,” you said, before your hand wrapped around Ajax’s throat, slightly putting pressure. 
The eyes of him rolling back as his moans got louder, his hole clenched around your throbbing cock, as a shudder went through his body and cum spurted out of his cock. With a few harsh and sloppy thrusts you soon came yourself with a groan, spurting your cum as deep as possible into Ajax.
Leaning down you kissed his sweaty chest, before you moved up and kissed up his neck, to his jaw only to claim his lips in a slow kiss. Your hips pressed against Ajax’s ass, “Gonna breed you real nice, shaping your hole with my cock,” you whispered against his lips, making it impossible for the viewers to hear what you said, exactly what you wanted.
Ajax’s eyes seemed to widen with lust at your words, before he nodded. With a chuckle you started to move your hips slowly again, small moans left his swollen lips, his cock uselessly laying on his stomach, “Give me everything you got,” he rasped out, before giving in to the long night that was ahead of you two with many different positions. At one point you shut the camera off, having a few rounds just for the two of you.
When the next morning came around, you laid in Ajax’s privat bed, with him cuddled up in your arms. You gently caressed his naked shoulder, as you were laying already awake in bed. Your eyes wandered over his marked skin, it was a really pretty sight for you. 
Soon Ajax stirred awake, he blinked his eyes, the sunlight blending him. He simply turned to your side, before his eyes focused on you. “Good morning, pretty,” you greeted him with a rather gentle voice, that Ajax got to know after the two of you shut the stream off. A kiss was placed on the top of his head,”Should I get ready to leave, or to make you breakfast first?” You asked teasingly, a pout formed on Ajax lips,”rather have you fuck me again, instead of leaving this house.”
Ajax trailed his finger over your chest, as he bit his lips. You possibly can’t say no to him.
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stormz369 · 2 days ago
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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 23
Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader
written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!
warnings/labels: getting suggestive again, and dealing with trauma
wc: 2.3 k
Chapter Selection
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“Are you sure you want to do this today, honey? You’ve already made a lot of progress today…” I frowned slightly. Jason was chewing on his lower lip, sitting in front of me on my bed. The lights were on, and he was in a tank top, showing me his arms.
He nodded slowly, reaching for my hand. “I want to do this. I just … need a second.”
I squeezed his hand, nodding. “Anything you want. … Do you know how much or how little you want me to react?”
“... No … Um … just your natural reaction, I guess? … Don't touch though. Not yet.”
I nodded, holding his hand in both of mine. “Ok. Whenever you're ready.”
He nodded, looking at our hands for a second before sliding his hand away, shakily taking his shirt off. I sat back, watching as he slowly revealed his muscular chest and stomach. He had a little bit of hair trailing from his belly button to the hem of his pants, and scars peppered his torso. Something short-circuited in my brain as he dropped his shirt to the side; a primal growl poured out of my throat and I slapped my hands over my face.
“... What on earth was that???” Jason squeaked, staring at me wide eyed.
“... I'm so sorry…” I hid my face against my knees, blushing bright red.
“... Did you seriously just growl??”
“Do you seriously look like that?!” I shot back, blushing bright red. “Oh my god, Jay… how the hell am I supposed to function now??”
He blushed bright red, grabbing his shirt again. “Is it that bad?”
“No!!” I held a hand up to stop him; “no, it's not bad! … Why would it be bad???”
He blushed more, gesturing to a thin, pink line down the center of his stomach. I followed it up his chest where it split between his pecs, frowning a little. I hadn't noticed it until he pointed it out. “... That is not at all what I thought we were talking about here.”
“What were you looking at??”
“The muscles??? … My love, do you not realize you are shaped like Hercules after the training montage?”
He blushed bright red, staring down at himself. His chest and stomach had dozens of more prominent scars, but he seemed fixated on the one in the center. “... I … guess?”
I groaned softly, flopping backward to lay down. “Mhhh, fuck … can we be Hercules and Megara for Halloween next year?”
He chuckled softly. “If you want. … It's really not that bad?”
 I looked up at him, biting my lower lip softly. “Mhh~ not bad in the slightest. … I think this is one of those things where it's more noticeable to you, because it bothers you, than it is to others.”
“... Oh…” he frowned a bit, staring at it more.
“... Why does it bother you so much?”
“... I'm a zombie …” he whispered sadly.
“... Oh….” I frowned, sitting up slowly, finally understanding. That was an autopsy scar. “... Can I have your hand?”
He nodded, holding it out to me. I stroked the palm gently. “Do you feel that?” He nodded, and I held his hand to my cheek. “Hm, … feels warm.” I pressed two fingers to his wrist. “And that's a pulse. Nope, I'm sorry sweetie, but I don't think you qualify as a zombie.”
He blushed a bit, chuckling weakly. “... I was brought back from the dead…”
“You're the classics nerd in the room; how many demi-gods, heroes, and men of myth have been resurrected?”
“... A lot.”
“Were they zombies after?”
“... No… not usually.”
“Then why are you any different?”
He blinked a bit, frowning. “... I'm not … I'm not like them.”
“No, you're better. You're right here in front of me.” I kissed his palm, stroking his forearm gently. “You're all mine, and I'm all yours.”
He nodded slowly, blushing brightly. “... Ok, … you … really like the muscles?”
“Ohhh baby, yessss~” I purred softly, already imagining getting my teeth on his pecs. “You have no idea the things I want to do with you~”
He blushed brightly, hesitantly grinning. A shocked chuckle slipped out of his mouth as he looked down at his chest again; “... Ok, … you can touch now.”
“I can??” I blushed brightly.
“If you want,” he smiled shyly at me.
I grinned, nodding. “Oh, I want. But do you want?”
He chuckled softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. He slowly pulled me closer, whispering; “Why don't we start with this?”
I nodded, shifting closer, and he pulled me into a soft kiss. I rested my forearms on his shoulders, letting him lead for now, and he wrapped his arms around my waist. His thumbs caressed my sides, sliding under my shirt a bit as he pulled me closer. I sighed happily against his lips, letting one hand rest on his shoulder. The other slid into his hair, tugging gently.
Jason groaned softly, laying on his side and pulling me down next to him. I slowly let my hand trail down his chest, tracing the outline of his pec and down his abs. He breathed in deeply, squeezing my side a bit. “Ah~ d- doll~”
I grinned, kissing down his jaw. “That feel ok, pretty boy?~”
He shuddered, gasping; “Nguh… p- pretty?”
“Mhh-hm~ my pretty boy~” I purred softly, kissing his neck. I could feel his pulse racing under my lips as I slid my hand along his muscular chest.
His breath hitched as my fingers slid delicately over a bullet scar on his hip. “Ah … N- no one's ever called me pretty before…”
“Not to your face at least…” I purred softly, licking the soft spot where his jaw met his neck.
He gasped sharply, groaning softly. “O- ohhh fuck~ a- are you gonna eat me?”
“Mhhh, I might have to~” I gently nibbled on his Adam's apple, moaning softly; “you just look so tasty~ Is that ok?~”
He shuddered, pulling me so our chests pressed together. “Ahh~ fuck, ma~ … y- yeah~”
I chuckled softly, kissing down his throat to his collarbone. My fingers trailed across his chest, delighting in the way his muscles twitched and quivered under my touch. I watched his face as I kissed and licked more. He laid back and whimpered softly, squirming a bit as I explored his chest. I gently bit down on his nipple, reveling in the startled moan that poured from his lips.
“W- wait …” He covered his face, whining softly. I pulled back, gently stroking his side.
“Too much?”
He covered his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I … I want … Um …”
I nodded, stroking along his abs gently. “You can have anything you want, baby. You just say the word, and it's yours~”
He squeaked softly, peeking at me from between his fingers. “I wanna … make you feel good…”
I giggled softly, nodding. “How would you like to do that?”
He chewed on his lower lip, frowning a bit. “Um ... can … can I …”
He slowly pushed me to lay on my back, and I happily fell into the position he wanted. He leaned over me, kissing me gently, and I cupped his cheeks. His hands trailed down my sides to the hem of my shirt. “Can I … take this off?”
I nodded, shifting to help him slide it off. He moaned softly, fondling my soft tummy and kissing my chest. I groaned softly, gently tugging his hair. “Ah~ Jay~”
He moaned softly, kissing and nipping at my breasts. I whimpered and moaned, shivering. “Ohh fuck, Jason~”
He grinned, stroking my hips as he kissed down my chest. His lips finally met my tummy and he purred softly, squishing my soft curves between his hands as he pressed kisses all over me. I blushed bright red, shivering.
“Mhhh~ so soft~” he purred, pressing against me firmly.
I blushed bright red, shivering. “Ahh … y- you like that?”
“Love it~ you're so cozy and cuddly~ just wanna bury myself in your warmth and never come back out~ … love you so much, my sexy girl~”
I whimpered softly, blushing more. “Ahh~ I love you too~”
He sighed happily, kissing and nuzzling my tummy more, stroking my hips absentmindedly. I squirmed a bit under his touch, gently tugging his hair. We laid like that, his hands and lips exploring my chest and stomach, my hands in his hair, for what felt like hours, just enjoying each other’s touch.
After a while, my fingers slid down his neck and across his back. He shivered a bit as my ring finger slid against a divot in his skin; a small, oblong burn scar near his spine. Jason pulled back a bit, staring down at me with wide, far away eyes. His breath came in short, rapid pants, and I carefully moved my hands away.
“Jay? Baby, can you hear me?”
He shuddered, gasping softly, and slowly nodded.
“... Do you know where you are?”
“... 'm home … with you … we're in your room …” I nodded, carefully resting a hand against his. He fumbled to grasp my hand, squeezing tight. “... I … I can hear him …”
“... What do you hear, baby?”
He whined softly, his forehead falling against my chest. “... H- he's laughing … I … I can't …”
I frowned deeply, squeezing his hand firmly. “I'm here, baby. He can't hurt you anymore. I'm right here; you're in my home, you're safe…”
He gasped sharply, collapsing on top of me. “... Please …. Please, make it stop … I … I can't … I can't …”
I stroked the back of his head, holding him tight to my chest. “I'm here, Jason. Feel my heart beating?”
He grasped for me, crying softly, and slowly nodded. I took his hand, pressing it firmly to my chest, so he could feel my heart. “You are safe. You are here in my arms, and I won't let anything happen to you. I'm here. We're in my bedroom. It's almost dinner time. We're gonna order from that little Chinese restaurant on the corner. Nothing’s gonna harm you.”
He panted softly, slowly wrapping his arms around my waist. I held him tight, stroking his shoulders. “... Deep, slow breathes, baby. You can do it…”
Eventually, his breathing evened out a bit. “That's good. You're doing so well for me, baby~ … can you name five things you see?”
“... You. … Blanket … bookshelf … window… tree.”
I nodded. “Very good. Now four things you can touch?”
His hands slid across my back, trembling; “mhh … you … bed … pillow … my shirt.”
I nodded. “And now three things you can hear?”
“... Your voice … the heat kicking on … um …” he burrowed his face into my chest; “... I can't think of anything else…”
“Hmm … do you hear … the bird on the tree?” I pointed toward the window and he listened.
“... Yeah, ok, the bird…”
I nodded, kissing his forehead. “Very good. Now, how about two things you can smell?”
“... Your perfume.” He sighed happily, kissing above my heart. “... And … the laundry detergent on the blanket.”
I nodded, stroking his hair. “Well done, my love~ now something you can taste?”
He frowned, thinking. “... Um …” he looked up at me and slowly smiled, kissing me gently. “Mh~ your chapstick.”
I giggled softly, nodding. “Good one. You feeling a bit more stable now?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I'm stable. … I … I'm sorry, that was-”
“No, no sorries. You have nothing to apologize for.” I stroked his hair, kissing his forehead. “I’m sorry you got sucked back there like that.”
He snuggled against me, sighing softly. “... You didn't do anything wrong, doll. … I just … got stuck.”
I nodded, stroking his hair more. “I've got you, baby…”
He caressed my side, kissing my shoulder. “You take such good care'a me… I … I don't understand it.”
I held him close, “What do you mean, sweetie?”
“... I … I don't understand how you so effortlessly make space for my brokenness. … We were having fun, and then my past got in the way … And you aren't mad. … You see my sharp edges and accept them without even a moment's hesitation, like you're not afraid to be cut… I don't understand how you're so strong … You do it for Damian too, you know. … We're both so used to being people's projects. Just … things that need to be fixed. We're dangerous. We hurt those around us, like … ice in your lungs, and fire licking your heels, …. We are death made flesh …And you embrace us without reservation. … Don't you realize, there are monsters in our shadows? Don't you hear them howling, determined to consume everything in their path? … Your gentleness will make you their first target. The monsters will make puppets of us, they always do eventually, and they will feast on your flesh.... You are so clever, surely you know, if you don't flee, someday soon my monsters will eat us both alive...”
He sniffled softly, arms and legs entangled with mine, as if he was afraid I might agree and run screaming. I stroked his hair more, holding him close. “... You're not the only one with monsters, my love. … My monsters scream for blood; they cannot fathom how anyone who loves you could know what you've been through and just … let it be. … They want vengeance, and they make it sound so easy … I … I want to make you safe. I want to fight whatever darkness tries to sink its claws into you, … I want to make it bleed…”
He blinked slowly, pulling me closer. “... Y- you have to promise me you won't do anything stupid … I need you to be safe.”
I nodded, cupping his cheek. “I promise, nothing stupid. As long as you promise to always come home to me.”
He nodded, pressing desperate kisses to my lips. “Promise. Always gonna come home to you, princess~”
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silcoitus · 2 days ago
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He's My Man
Masterlist
AO3 link
Rating: Mature 
Tags: Silco x gn!reader, soft Silco, established relationship, angst, fluff, character study
Word count: 840
Beta Readers: none.
As Silco's partner, only you are privy to the vulnerability he hides from his empire. Dutifully, you stand at his side and lend him your strength.
A/N: Reposting so it's discoverable in the tags. This is based on the song "He's My Man" by luvcat, as requested by @h2pinky in this post! ! It's a beautiful song and I've swiftly become obsessed with it.
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Only you can see his exhaustion.
In the quiet mornings when he returns home. When he sits at the table, dinner prepared for him, his shoulders slumped forward as his rigid posture gives way to every burden of the Undercity. Oh, how curved his spine becomes when no one—no one but you—is around. 
As Piltover awakens from its slumber to start a new day, faces warm in the bright sunshine, Silco retreats after a long night of work. Of toiling. Thanklessly. Day in and day out. In the home you’ve painstakingly built for him, he finds his refuge.
But he’s getting thinner.
This is not some work-induced starvation. Silco has had bouts of self-inflicted fasting, his mind feverish with the work left undone, too focused on his goals to listen to the hunger signals that cry out to him. And every time, you dutifully remind him—he cannot run an empire if he continues to ignore his body’s needs. 
So he’d eat again. 
And his weight would return. 
As you watch him eat the meal you’ve made for him, your own untouched, you see the bags under his eyes and the way the long scars on his face seem deeper, like the rivers that carved the plains of his face into valleys have doubled their efforts, raging and consuming.
This…
This is different.
Silco was clear when you joined his family; he lives on borrowed time. He should have died in that river. And if the toxins that run rampant in his veins weren’t enough, his line of work certainly has its share of occupational hazards.
Assassins.
Power-hungry Chem-barons.
And yet, those threats all seem so microscopic, so intangible, when the largest attacker Silco faces lies in his very cells, his very being. Everyday he fights an endless war. Against Piltover. Against his competition.
Against himself.
And while he gains ground in the battles of the Underground, he’s losing on his homefront. The enemy is laying claim to everything he has. It’s evident each morning when he retreats to the bedroom and disrobes to reveal new bruises that blossom along his skin, deep purples and maroons, sickly yellows and greens.
His arms. His legs. His back. Everywhere he carries the weight of his mission, death stakes a flag and claims it as its own.
It’s no wonder his attire covers him so completely, not out of some prestigious formality but out of careful necessity—the second he shows any weakness, his empire will crumble to the ground.
While it pains you to see his state, to see him sacrifice his body in the name of his Nation of Zaun, you cannot help but be thankful for the opportunity.
To love the man behind the ideal.
You savor these quiet moments, this invitation behind the curtain. Each show of vulnerability an expression of trust. Of utter faith that you will stand by him. 
You get to your feet, padding toward the gramophone in the sitting room. After carefully selecting a record, you place the needle gently into the indented line.
A little static, and then—
A melody. Soft and eerie. Haunting in its beauty. 
A bittersweet smile adorns your lips and you return to the kitchen to see ocean green and volcanic orange eyes looking at you behind a furrowed brow. 
His good eyebrow lifts in silent question. 
You answer with an offer of your hand.
Wordlessly, he sets his fork down and rises to his feet, pulling back his shoulders to tower over you. His hand in yours, he allows you to pull him toward the open space of the sitting room, footsteps light on the worn rug. You bring your free hand up to his shoulder and he follows your cue, placing his hand at your hip.
A gentle sway. Back and forth.
Unhurried.
Frozen in time.
At last, he speaks.
“What are you doing?”
You smile with your eyes up at him.
“Dancing.”
The scar on his upper lip quirks as he gives you one of his familiar smirks.
“I don’t have time for dancing.” His voice is somber, his head hung low. “I have so little of it as it is.”
You squeeze his hand.
“All the more reason to.” 
He clings to you at that, pulls you closer to him. The arm at your hip snakes around your back, pressing so your torsos are flush and his breath is in your hair.
Your eyes flutter closed and you let out a content hum, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
His hand leaves yours in favor of coming up to tangle in your hair. As you cling to each other, your bodies still swaying in time to the melody, you think of nothing else.
And when you feel his shuddering breath, a small broken sound escaping his scarred lips, you squeeze him a little tighter. The tears that fill the valleys of his face are a sight only for your eyes. Your hands alone can wipe away the flood.
He’s your man.
To hell and back.
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sleepyparalysisdmon · 13 hours ago
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Ready to Love
The three times that Chan uses bad pickup lines on you, and the one time it finally works.
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption. Bad pickup lines lol
This is part of the Three Times series. This one is inspired by this reaction.
One
Some would say you’re a bit of a wallflower. You like to stay out of the chaos, like to keep to yourself a little bit more than most. Your friends, like Wonwoo, tell you all the time that that’s not a flaw, but it certainly feels like it is at parties like this when you both blend in and stick out like a sore thumb simultaneously. You’ve tagged along with Wonwoo but have faded into the wallpaper for most of the night. The drinks are bad in a way that the more you have the better they taste. And a refill is where you’re headed to right now to get through the rest of the night.
You’re pouring some more mystery punch in your cup when Lee Chan approaches you, smiling. You give him a polite smile back because you’ve met him a handful of times at things like this. “Hey Y/N,” he’s grinning wildly. “You can get off the dating apps, because I’m here now!”
You blink once, twice, and spill a little punch on your hand. “I’m… not on any dating apps.” 
“Oh, good!” He says, overjoyed. 
“Oh… okay, then. Will you excuse me?” You squirm away from the counter and beeline for Wonwoo, who raises an eyebrow at your speedy return to hide behind him.
“Are you good?”
“Lee Chan… hit on me?” You pose it as a question because it sounds crazy. 
Wonwoo looks entertained. "Did he now? Then why are you hiding behind me?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” You ask blankly. 
Wonwoo sighs, tossing an arm around you. “Dare I say that you’re more awkward than me. That’s quite a feat.”
Two
Wonwoo and Mingyu are hosting a game night at their place. You aren’t competitive and have no bad feelings about being the first out the game. It gives you an excuse to raid the dessert that was brought in. You’re sneaking a fork into the slice of cake as Chan sneaks up to you. “Hey, Y/N!” Chan says cheerfully. You jump, gripping the fork like a weapon, huffing up at him. 
“Hi, Chan,” you mumble.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 9, and I’m the 1 you need.” He’s got that stupid grin on his face again, and you blink at him some more, just like last time. Then you're just confused. 
“Chan, at no point as anyone ever said you’re a one.”
His grin somehow gets wider. “Oh? What would I be then?”
You stammer with no answer rattling around in your head. There’s a large crash from the other room and game pieces are scattered across the floor from Seungkwan swiping everything off the table in a fit of rage. “New game!” Jeonghan cries. “Y/N, Chan, are you in?”
You scramble back to the table and are so relieved that you’re sitting nowhere near Chan and can hide your red face behind Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo pats your shoulder, saying ‘there, there’, though you know he’s not sympathetic at all based on how entertained he looks.
Three
You’re attending one of their concerts. Wonwoo regularly gets you tickets when you’re free and often invites you to hang out with them backstage before and after the show. Security at this venue already knows you well, so they send on you on back to the green room when the show is over. 
Chan is standing out in the hallway when you approach. He looks up and smiles at you, waving. “Hey, Y/N.”
You brace yourself, because you can never predict what’s going to come out of his mouth lately. Still, you smile a little and say, “Great show, as usual.”
“Eh, I was a little distracted. I saw that you were in the crowd tonight.”
You give him a wide look. “Oh, why? I’m at a lot of shows.”
“I know,” Chan snorts. “You spend so much time in my mind that I should charge you rent.” He’s reduced you to furious blinking yet again. 
“I’m… sorry? I’m too broke for that.”
Chan belts out a laugh. “I said I should charge you, not that I would. Ready to go in?”
You blankly nod, following him into the green room. 
Four
It’s another party tonight and you are not really feeling it. You’re sitting out back by the pool to escape the crush inside. “Aren’t you cold?” Chan joins you, sitting by the pool. 
“No. What are you doing out here?” You ask, voice a little chilly. Besides the crowd, seeing him talk to another woman inside with his wide grin makes you sad in a way that you can’t explain. You can imagine the horrible pickup lines he might be giving them and whatever you thought might be just for you seems to not be. You have no right to feel upset about it so you’ve retreated to the backyard.
Chan shrugs. “You weren’t inside.”
“You have plenty of company inside. It’s okay, you can go back in. I might just head home.”
He’s smiling at you still, but looks confused. “Are you ready for another one?” You give him a blank look. “If I were a cat, I’d spend all of my nine lives on you.”
It’s just as ridiculous as any of the others he’s given you over the last few weeks, but there’s something sweet about this one that makes you burst out laughing. “Where do you get these?” You ask, wiping your eyes. 
“Google,” he says simply, wide smile on his face. It makes you giggle again.
“And you decided to try them on me? What, am I a tough nut to crack or something? If it works for me it will work on anyone?” You don’t mean it negatively, in fact you’re seeing a lot of humor in it now that you’re past some of the confusion. But his smile drops, looking confused again.
“Oh no. I save them all for you. I have many more to try if you want to hear them.”
Your confusion is back. “What’s the end goal here?” 
“To get you to like me, maybe go out with me.” You’ve always admired his confidence, especially right now when he says something like that so boldly, without an ounce of nervousness.
“How many more do you have?” You ask eventually, lips quirking up in the corners. 
He’s laughing somewhat maniacally, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “How long do you have?”
“As long as you can keep them coming.” 
You two are some of the last people to leave the party and you wake up to a pickup line in your unread text messages the next day. And the next. And the next…
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angel-shaw · 3 days ago
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OK! TMA child AU! Cuz some people showed interest!!
Ok so the basic idea is that a bunch of the TMA crew are kids under Elias and Gertrudes care.
In order of adoption we have
-Michael Shelly. Gertrude adopted him at a very young age and he has no memory of his birth parents or how exactly Gertrude found him
-Gerry, Gerry is an slightly older teen who still technically lives with his mom but he spends most of his time at the manor (the manor is basically just a big house idk). Gertrude knew Mary but lowkey hated that bitch so she stole her kid.
-Jon. Again Gertrude knew Jon’s grandma so when she couldn’t, or didn’t want to, take care of Jon she took him in. He still visits her.
-Martin, Gertrude was very close to Martins mom so she already knew Martin, when his mom got hospitalized she agreed to look after him. He vists as oftan as he can, even some of the other kids do.(his moms not a total bitch in this btw…yet)
-Sasha, she lived on the streets and tried to mug Elias. She did fail but only cuz Elias is who he is. He thought she was adorable and was tired of the other kids he needed to care for so he brought her home and legally adopted her.
-Tim + Michal(distortion). Tim and Michal were found together. They both were found by Gerry after excapeing their situation. At first they were very hesitant but recognized Sasha from her time on the street so they agreed to stay there. They are very close to each other and don’t trust easily (well Tim doesn’t, Michal has no sense of danger)
-Jane, Martin found her under a bridge wejile playing with bugs one day, she looked cold so he brought her back to the house. Gertrude helped clean her up, she had extremely matted hair and a lot of bugs attached to her. She wouldn’t let go of Martin until hours later.
-Melony, idk when she showed up or how or what her family situation is, she is here tho and I love her.
-Georgie is friends with Jon but doesn’t live with them, she has parents and house. She does come over often tho because Elias is rich.
-Basira also doesn’t live there, but no one except Daisy knows where she lives. She’s really only over if Daisy is.
-Daisys dad is a cop who works by the manor, she goes with him to work and wonders as she likes. She ends up at the house a lot because there’s always something interesting going on.
Then there’s Michael Crew who’s dateing Gerry. (I saw a tictok and I love them together now, leave me alone)
-Not Sasha is also here btw, the kids say her name in a very heavy American accent and that’s how they differ the names between Sasha and her, I will just say it’s not Sasha cuz idk how to show it’s different 💀. I don’t have a very solid idea for how she got picked up but I think she would be trying to impersonate Sasha in someway, maybe online or something and somehow just ended up moving in
Elias is dateing/married to Peter. He’s around sometimes
There is everyone who is included this far!
I do have a separate house that is run by The Angler fish (in a human form obviously) and he cares for kids as well, like the med students, Nicola, N!Sasha (kinda), Jane(eventually she walks between the two places to just hang out so he cares for her when she’s with them), and one suprise kid! :D (Guess who!)
I haven’t actually written anything but I have a lot of story and head canons:) but I don’t wanna make this to long so if y’all like this I’ll post more!!
Tag list for those who responded to my original post so y’all can see this!!! :D
@frontflip-somersault-express @jubjubbird @thehistoryone @aboxisonmyhead @nonbinarytoast @moonvalley94 @pigeons-with-jello @riddle-on-the-milk-carton
I hope I got y’all’s tags right!!! Please leave comments and suggestions!!! I love reading and hearing input!!! Plus if you wanna ask questions about the AU that will help give me something the jump off on!
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tuttle-4077 · 2 days ago
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Last line meme
rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
Tagged for this by @benevolenterrancy -- thanks for the tag!
So I've been writing a lot lately (or, at least, way more than I have this year). Mostly working on Inktober and Hochstetter's Revenge. But, once you start writing and the juices start flowing, it's hard to limit yourself and stay on track. So I've also been writing a post-war story on the side. Like, they just arrived back in England three weeks ago type post-war story. Here's the last thing I wrote:
“Hey.” Kinch stopped dancing and she looked up at him, tears in the corner of her eyes. “We’ve all been scared, and we’ve all made mistakes.” Mavis nodded. “I know. I just…” “It all turned out,” Kinch said and, despite himself, held her closer as he started dancing again. “Just look around. It all turned out.” Maybe it was just his imagination but it felt like, as she relaxed, she snuggled into him. “Yes. Yes it did.”
Get ready to find out just what Schultz knows, a love triangle, and a race against time to save our favourite heroes and guards from a murderer!
Buuuuuut, this might actually have to sit on the shelf for a while until I write some other stories to back it up. Or I can just reference stories that haven't been written yet but are on the docket so when those stories do crop up anyone who has read this story will be like, "Oh, hey, that's what that was referring to." Dunno. I guess we'll see how it goes.
Okay, who to tag. Ermm... @radarsteddybear, @hogans-heroes, @anna-pineappel, and @annieslytherpuff21 (and of course anyone else that wants an excuse, consider this my tag for you to talk about your writing!)
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icarusredwings · 2 days ago
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Prolouge to "Dog Tags" :)
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I like to think- At least in my Finding home au- That Worst wolverine IS orgins Logan minus a few changes so he literally had to fight his Wade, which he feels really bad about but man they made him do all sorts of stuff that Wade would never do. Wtf you mean his Wade has kids in cages? This Wade would never. And it only hurts him the MORE he learns about wade, that he was under someone elses control to kill his parents and how Francis threatened to sew his mouth shut.
Theres so many similarities yet.. he's different. But at the same time he's not? And hes so greatful. He's still got the quips and the skills, sure his face is a little different but yeah thats definitely Wade.
So he's really not shocked to know he was a soldier, but when Wade first brings it up, Logan frowns, his eyes get a little wide as if they just entered a touchy subject.
"And.. you left?" You can actively see him internally begging."Please say you left. Please say you left. Please say you left" so when Wade, whos doing something simple like making mac and cheese turns with a smirk like "Sure- if you think getting handed the pink slip and being told you're never allowed to work for the canadian government ever again because I couldn't follow orders is 'leaving' then yeah. I left."
And a large relief falls over him because one of the main reasons stryker liked wade was because he was "the perfect soilder except for his mouth" "does what he's told" etc. So to hear that this wade didn't get picked up because he didnt do what he was told is a massive relief.
".. you got your tags?"
"Well.. yeah. Somewhere around here. Ness might have'm still.... why do you ask?" And it makes wade really nervous because no duh - hundreds of people have betrayed him. He wouldn't honestly be too shocked if Logan suddenly decided he wanted him dead for whatever reason.
Logan just smiles and tries to make a joke "Ill show you mine if you show me yours"
This eases Wade a bit so he laughs and is like yeah sure. Goes in there, digs around for a bit, brings back out the tags, his patch nametag, and a picture of his platoon but most of them are either scribbled out or ripped off.
"Turns out- when you leave special ops- You become a person of intrest to your ex friends" though the way he says this makes Logan want to hug him because OUCH- Yeaahh he felt that way too much.
So, he assumes that wades killed them for trying to kill him instead, runs his thumb over the emboardered lettering of the name tag and of the imprinted metal with a soft smile.
Now wades not dumb. This was rememberance.
"...Didn't you mention you had a wade in your universe? Crazy fucker? No cancer? Lucky bastard-" he grumbles, a little jealous, assuming that Logan had something with that wade too. Part of him is estatic because of the thought. Like yay! But the other part is "I would so ☠️ myself if another me flirted with my man"
"Yeah.. poor guy had his mouth completely removed."
"Well shit. Merc WITHOUT a mouth isnt a very good name now is it- Wait second. Lines all over him? Look like a weird egg? Warehouse fight?"
Logan looks at him like 'how the fuck did you know that?'
"Yeah! Ugh poor guy. Put him out of his misery like old yeller. Put a whole load into his head. Was that you- or? A different wolvie?"
Logan blinks, trying to process the fact that Wade just cassually admits to ☠️ing himself in another timeline, but also He didn't remember that which implies that this happened not only in his old universe but other universes too.
"No.. that wasnt me."
It makes him upset to think about anyone wanting to take away Wades right to speak. He understood that being yapped at, at 6 am wasn't the funnest thing in the world but he would never in a million years want to take away his ability to say such beautiful things. The way he spoke so passionatly about things, how smart and caring he was. Even when he said stupid shit like "Thats what she said" after the most random sentence.
"Hey wade? Were out of milk"
"Thats what she said."
"Huh??"
His grip tightens on the tags as he sighs heavily, digging out how own and hands them to wade, who by now has finished cooking the mac and cheese, successfully not burning down the apartment.
Wade, of course, becomes excited giggling and going "Oooooh! Special! Old as hell too- damn wolvie whens the last time you washed these? All scratched up and- they stink!"
Logan smiles. "You're more then welcome to clean'em."
But this is said to be bad luck. To clean someone elses tags implies that theyre dead because they cant do it themsleves. Wade immediately shakes his head, trying to hand them back.
"No! I-.. you clean them."
Logan dosn't even look up, still fiddling with wades, looking at the numbers and such. "Eh. Keep'em."
"You.. why do you want me to keep your tags? Theyre yours. You can't just give me your tags thats-"
"Wade... Keep'em. Im not that man anymore. And I never want to be."
This seems like a new light for wade as he realizes that he too isn't the same man who wore the ones in those rough hands. He looks at Logans tags again, the cogs in his mind turning only to be interrupted by a small..
"..Can I keep these?"
"What?"
"Your tags... can.. I keep them?"
Immediately, a lightbulb flashes in wades head.
"You wanna swap tags with me!? Oh my god really!?"
Logan shrugs, oblivious to what this means. "I mean.. I dont want mine. And if you dont want yours.."
"Yes!! I'll keep them safe I swear!"
He then runs off, leaving the stove on to go tell Al, giggling as he puts them on.
Blinking, Logan sighs heavily, shaking his head with a smile as he turns off the oven, having a bad feeling that he just did something far different from what he was trying too.
Turns out... that's how they got engaged..
Everyone forgets that Wade was a soldier. A fucking good one. The reason he is so good at being Deadpool is because of that. Yes, he doesn't have to worry about dying, but he strategically takes hits to stun the enemies.
I think Logan would love to see Wade planning out a mission for the first time.
He expects Wade to just go in guns blazing, but he doesn't. Wade pulls out a blueprint of the building, marks areas he knows have security, shows Logan exactly where the target is and how to shut down the villains evil machine of the week. He tells him exactly where he needs to go to pull it off and doesn't make any jokes the entire time.
Logan is alittle surprised, but he can deal with that after the mission.
And after the mission- that goes smoother than any X-Men mission he'd ever done- he can't help but ask Wade why he did all of the prep and how he knew so much about where they were going.
And Wade just shrugs and says "that's how we did it in the military, why? Not how fancy Cyclops did it?" and now he's even more confused because- huh? Wade was in the military??
And so that night Logan just asks him loads of questions, they share a few war stories, and Wade tells him all about how he scouted the warehouse out for a few days and planned the mission.
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crash-and-cure · 2 years ago
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Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.
A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story. 
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit.  Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)
My Masterlist
Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not
Men are kind, Until they aren’t
Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart
                 Flowers, Hadestown
Demi has never feared a single man in her life. 
Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them. 
That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow. 
And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard. 
Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.
Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.
She was perfect.
Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.
Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.
As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before. 
But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs. 
Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home. 
Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy. 
When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became. 
All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”
Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.
It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes. 
Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself. 
But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct. 
‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.” 
It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable. 
Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper. 
It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.
She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home. 
He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch. 
He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding. 
“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face. 
“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently. 
Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says. 
“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”
He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands. 
“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking. 
“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”
“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.
“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.
That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat. 
“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify. 
“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”
Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again. 
The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.
“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her. 
“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”
Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster. 
She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.
Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.
Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of. 
Demi fears no man.
But she does fear Elvis Presley.
—------------------------------------
Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away. 
To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant. 
You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.
It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed. 
But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own. 
So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.
She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life. 
You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.
And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow. 
He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.
He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear. 
“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”
“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands. 
If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.
“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand. 
You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved. 
But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”
He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.” 
It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.
“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.” 
“Really?”
“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”
“...Flowers talk to each other?” 
“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them. 
You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.
He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you. 
You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both. 
“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”
“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.
“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,” you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.
“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.
“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy. 
“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”
“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name. 
Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.” 
Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”
Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip. 
Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.
But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.
“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.  
“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do. 
She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving. 
“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.” 
“Ok Mama.”
When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar. 
After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.
You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you. 
“An onion?” he asks skeptically.
“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement. 
That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.
You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar. 
“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red. 
“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind. 
“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.
“Oh…This.” 
“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”
“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”  
“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.
You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”
“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”
“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer. 
“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”
“Ok.”
“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.
That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.
Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again. 
So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.
Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose. 
Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her. 
Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert. 
Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.
“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner. 
“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.” 
You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.
“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”
“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”
She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality 
You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her. 
Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”
If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town. 
Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.
In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is. 
He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love. 
On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.
He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.
“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke. 
He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back. 
“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief. 
He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.” 
“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words. 
“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.
You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made. 
When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud. 
Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby? 
You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do. 
You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home. 
Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)
The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that. 
You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly. 
There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself. 
For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.
And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived. 
You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop. 
Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color. 
You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him. 
It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in. 
He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious. 
But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant. 
You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?
It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.
And then one day
I had my love as perfect as could be
She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried
And it was all for me
There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields. 
It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another. 
His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you.  It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat. 
He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.
You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.
Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.
Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did. 
Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.
She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.” 
You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“But Mama-”
“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands. 
“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.
Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.
Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.
You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now. 
“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”
Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her.  She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name. 
You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.
These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly. 
Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.
Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.
It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running. 
Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.
Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.
About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.
They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.
Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you. 
You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.
But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all. 
It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away. 
The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble. 
You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place. 
The house is in desperate need of that these days. 
But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.
Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last. 
Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you. 
“Elvis?”
A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”
You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity. 
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could. 
“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.
“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.  
You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.
With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach. 
“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.
He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.” 
You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”
“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”
You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.
He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.
The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes. 
“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.
“Who?”
That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did. 
“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.
“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”
“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought
“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”
“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”
“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?” 
“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary. 
“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you. 
“Oh.”
“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.
“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. 
“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”
“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare. 
“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?” 
You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much. 
“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”
“Graceland?”
“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.
There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”
“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”
“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?
Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days. 
“This-this is just for six months of work?” 
“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.” 
You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part. 
“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.
“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.
“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you. 
“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.
This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly? 
You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.
Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done. 
But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.
You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”
“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him. 
It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket. 
But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile. 
“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.
“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”
And just like that you’re off. 
You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.
Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much. 
“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.
Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway. 
But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.
That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie. 
As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake. 
Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome. 
You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment. 
“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning. 
“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.
“Oh do I know your Mama?”
“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”
Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”
“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there. 
There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there. 
That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.” 
Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama. 
It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.
You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.
But it never comes. 
That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply. 
Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted  and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.
“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.” 
This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses. 
“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with. 
Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need. 
“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’
It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.
You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system. 
He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.
You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.
“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had. 
“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.
“Really all of ‘em?” 
“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.  
He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”
“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip. 
“A flower farm?” 
“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.” 
“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters. 
“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.
It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now. 
You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.
It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.
The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.
A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.
“You’re early,” you casually remark to him. 
“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”
“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.
A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him. 
 “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.
“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.” 
His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.
“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.
A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.
“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter. 
The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much. 
It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.
Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.” 
You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.
That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss. 
But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?
But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse. 
Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.
Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words. 
It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.
You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast. 
Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating. 
But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.
Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it. 
Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand. 
“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no. 
“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from. 
“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch. 
“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.
In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes. 
“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh. 
As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.
That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst. 
“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.
Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly. 
“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”
“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.
“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions. 
“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob. 
You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream. 
You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself. 
You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet. 
“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.
A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good. 
“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.  
You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts. 
You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man. 
He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you. 
He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.
An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.
“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss. 
“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you. 
You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.    
His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.
As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep. 
The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.
Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis. 
Scratch that.
You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.
It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it. 
“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip. 
“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”
His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore. 
After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed. 
“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him. 
“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”
“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”
“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.
“What?”
“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”
“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”
“That doesn’t answer my question E.”
His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it. 
“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?
“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”
“What is it?”
“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.
“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.
You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving 
But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt. 
Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left? 
Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done.  All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?
You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder  to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the  home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep. 
But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go. 
“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”
You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.
Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.
You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you 
“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before. 
“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be. 
When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours. 
You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.
“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”
“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.
You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most. 
“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here. 
Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart. 
The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back. 
She doesn’t reply.
Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.
He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you. 
That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.
The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once. 
She doesn’t respond. 
You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.
The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind. 
These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.
You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…
Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.
Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings. 
You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers. 
You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him. 
As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.
With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front. 
And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope. 
And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters. 
You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be. 
She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these. 
You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him. 
Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.
Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home. 
You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.
It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders. 
You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door. 
You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.
It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot. 
You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly. 
“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.
You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.
But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”
Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse. 
“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back. 
You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time. 
After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.  
“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.  
It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.
He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.
This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!” 
“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation. 
He may still very well be, you think. 
Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder. 
“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.
Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?” 
“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…” 
You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice. 
“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.
“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue. 
No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.
That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.  
You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?”
You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”
“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand. 
“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face. 
You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him. 
She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life. 
Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already. 
“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars. 
He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her. 
If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity. 
“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do. 
“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.
You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 
“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest. 
“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.” 
“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that. 
“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.
“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated. 
“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”
There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you. 
He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t. 
Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you. 
You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so. 
With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home. 
You close your eyes and you don’t look back.
Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.
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bacchuschucklefuck · 4 months ago
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pygmalion and galatea for aroace people
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you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.
#fantasy high#fantasy high sophomore year#fhsy#riz gukgak#baron from the baronies#fh class quangle#class swap babeyy! bard!riz that's whats goin on!#I really need tags for these now I think lmao#ask to tag#I feel like this should be tagged something. but I dont know what#in my brain after the initial kidnapping class swap baron's thing is every time riz keeps his story abt them up in front of his friends#they get a little bit closer. they send him pictures of where they supposedly are n stuff#theres a scene in my brain only of kristen and riz on top of the van and kristen is like everything kinda sucks rn can u tell me abt baron#cause what you guys have is so nice and beautiful. and riz almost doesn't but he ultimately can't deny kristen a little peace#lmao I feel like dipping into baron stuff with the class swap is like showing my whole ass online again I just. I'm a#horror person before all else... I cant stop myself. canon baron is Great and Cool but that is kind of the thing. for a horror thing theyre#Too Cool. I think cool is kind of the neutralizer of scary. when a monster is a certain amount of cool it overrides the scary#and now u just have a Cool Monster#its so fucked for bard!riz this year bc he doesn't have an office (he's mooching off the school wifi from the AV club room lol)#so there's no buffer between adventure and home life. so baron just shows up in the strongtower apartment lmao#sophomore year bard!riz looks like a slasher protag so I just leaned into it I guess. he gets a mr. x if mr. x is made up by leon kennedy#well. its worse actually. they can show up where he is at any moment theyve proven this. but they dont#they choose to punish him slowly as he lies to his friends instead. baron is mr. x if mr. x is made up by leon and also a bitch#I think its gonna pop up if class swap baron ever speaks in a comic I do but their voice comes from like. inside their hollow face#it sounds like it's a lot deeper in there than that skull should be#tbh what I have rn is kinda like a bag of loose pieces that Can fit together into something great but I dont have the energy to#really sit down with them yet lol. Im doing this inbetween other things#it comes or it doesn't! it's fine. funny how today's bad comic day also. I wont say this is for bad comic day bc all my comics are#flawless and beautiful and perfect and awesome and beautiful and the best#but u should. if u havent drawn a comic today or at all ever u should draw a comic
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luck-of-the-drawings · 2 months ago
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OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#cw blood#cw gore#jrwi suckening#jrwi suckening spoilers#vex waylin#viv waylin#MY FAVORIT EP!! HAVNT SEEN IT IN FOREVER THO BC WELL. IM BUSY. SO BEAR W ME IM RUNNIN OFF ALOTTA MEMORY FUMES#ALSO EDIT BC FUUUCK I HADMORE TAGS BUT TUMBLR FUCKEN ATE EM. OH WELL. MY DMS R OPEN IF U WANNA UNLOCK RAMBLES.#I LOVE THE WAYLIN TWINS SSSOO FUCKING MUCH IM SO!!! CURIOUS ABOUT THEM!!! WHO WERE THEY WHEN THEY WERE HUMAN? HOW LONGVE THEY BEEN ARND?#I LOVE IT WHEN PPL SAY ITS LIKE THESE TWO WERE MADE FOR MMEE BC YES!! YES!! ITS EVERYTHING I COULD EVER WANT FROMA CHARACTER!!!#I LOVE THEIR RED WHITE N BLACK COLOR SCHEME. I LOVE HOW THEYRE BOTH SO INTELLIGENT AND GENIUS N YET THEYRE DUMB AS FUUUUCK#COOOMICAL SUPER VILLAINS. OOH ILL GET YOU NEXT TIME SHAMIA SHAMAI!!! HOW DARE YOU FOIL MY PLAN!! MY PLANS OF MUTILATING AWAKE N ALIVE PPL#COMICAL AND YET. GENUINELY HORRIFYING. VIV CAN MAKE UR BONES EXPLODE JUST BY THINKING ABOUT IT. VEX CAN BECOME SOUP#WHY DONT WE TALK ABOUT THAT MORE? THE TURNING INTO RED MEAT SLIME?? METAL AS FUUUCK. I ALSO LOVE HOW SCARED THEY GOT SO QUICKLY#THIS LIL FUCKEN RRRRRAT COMES IN. AND WELL. HES JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS. WE FUCK HIM UP N TOSS HIM INTO THE SUN N LET HIM BURN#SURE HE HAD ONE MORE TRICK OF REBELLION UP HIS SLEEVE BUT THE SUN HAS TAKEN HIM NOW. ITS FINE. WE'RE FINE. HEY IS THERE SMTH IN THE CEILING#OHHH WE KILLED HIM ONCE N HE CAME BACK. WE KILLED HIM AGAIN N TOOK HIM APART BUT THEN HES BACK?? HE GETS AWAY AND THEN. COMES BACK. AGAIN.#WE CANT GET RID OF HIM. THAT FOUL SHAMIA SHAMAI. A MOUSE IN OUR KITCHEN. FUUUUCK HES GONNA SPREAD DISEASE! KILL IT! KILL IT!! AAAUUGH FUCK!#I LOVE THAT THE WAYLIN TWINS AGREED TO HELP THE BLONDE TWINS MOSTLY ON THE BASIS OF 'IT WOULD BE FUNNY' BUT ALSO#OOHHH WE ARE SO CLOSE TO REACHING SOMETHING TO MAKE HIM NNEEVER FUCK WITH US AGAIN. HIS ILLUSIONS WILL HAUNT US NO LONGER#THEY WERE SSSOOO PARANOID W ALL THE CAMERAS AND BOMBING THEIR OWN LAB AND RUNNING AND RUNNING AND GETTING AWWAY FROM THIS FUCKEN! MOUSE!!!!#OHHHH I THINK IM RUNNIN OUTA ROOM so ill talk about da art real quick.BEEN WORKIN ON THIS FOR A WHIIILE.ALOTTA THESE were started when the#ep came out.so OLD!! BUT DONE!!and im very very happy w my colors n gore n EXPRESSIONS!! the top right corner comic keeps making me chuckle#I ALSO rly love the lil convo between arthur n viv.theyre SO CUTE TOGETHERR they should go ona museum date together or somethin#they need more time to just talk abt da World together.ALSO CAN I BE PETTY.I MADE ARTHUR UGLY CORRECT-STYLE#THESE BOYS KNOW NOTHING OF UGLY.I MADE THE VAMPIRIC FLESH EVOLVE N ROT N BLOSSOM AND THERE IS SQUIRMING WITHIN THE TENEBRAE#UHHH IEAH THIS GUY W A ROTTED N DISTORTED FACE WALKS INTO MY BIKE STORE IEAH IM SCREAAAMIN LIKE WADDA HELL!! MONSTOR!!!
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whitestnoise · 1 year ago
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TO be honest. I don’t understand what it means when people say Merlin was Arthur’s bane. Mayhaps I misunderstand but. Arthur was a bit of an assassination magnet (not to mention all those magical creatures and bandits... so many bandits), and Merlin actively prevented Arthur's death for years, which would have occured without him anway in the very first episode. I can see why one might argue that Merlin was just delaying the inevitable, or that he didn't succeed in keeping Arthur safe until Arthur could enact the golden age, but certainly I don’t see how he could have been Arthur’s bane.
Also, it’s implied in the last episode that the golden age does occur, but under Guinevere. Which makes sense as she knew Merlin was the sorcerer and that she was pleased about it (and I recall it was confirmed in interviews), so I also don’t follow the twin train of thought that Merlin was his own bane or even Camelot’s. Camelot was already bane-d(?) under Uther. But partly because of Merlin's steady friendship, Arthur matured into a king who was kinder than his father. He also actively sought magic's aid on multiple occasions, so he knew magic had potential for good (like healing his queen) without Merlin needing to tell him about his magic.
I don't think it's fair to say Camelot's laws on magic remaining relatively static was because no one close to Arthur came out as having magic. There was still much risk in that, and for Merlin a lot at stake, not just his life. A law change was still possible (and almost seemed to be set up that way) without Arthur needing someone he was personally close to having to do the work to humanize it for him (in the sense that the episodes with the druids, the druid boy with Elyan, and the dolma seemed like they were pointing to a law change because Arthur sees the diversity of magic and those who have it).
At worst Merlin’s efforts didn’t change the status quo, but we do have things indicating that they did. And Merlin was not single-mindedly serving Arthur at the expense of everyone else. He saved Camelot as a whole multiple times. He was also very willing to stick out his neck for many others even during the height of his anxiety and agitation in season 5. (Also only being slightly silly when I say this, but he was also THE wingman for Arthur when he was getting with Gwen, so in a way Merlin’s help led to their courting being a success and thus contributed to her being in a great position to change the laws. so personally I give points to Merlin for that). Most of the decisions centering Arthur's safety seemed to stem from the fear that Albion would crumble before it began if Arthur were to die, so he tried his best to prevent that from happening in any way he knew. (Like, when Arthur is dying, Merlin asks "So I failed?" regarding the whole golden age thing, which I think is telling that the prophesy and his role in it was still VERY much at the forefront of Merlin's mind).
And this is a digression but I know people think Merlin should have done more for Camelot, or for folks with magic (like, as a revolutionary or something akin), which I understand but no one reached out to network with him really? It'd require resources, people (always confused why there weren't a whole bunch more folks offering Merlin material/intellectual/emotional support if they thought he should be the one to bring about the golden age. all he was told was that the forseen way it actually happens succesfully is through Arthur), time (I doubt it’d have been much of a ‘quicker’ way necessarily), and incredible planning + foresight if it's meant to be something that works out effectively + long-term. Okay I think I've digressed enough now. This is a whole seperate thought that I don't think I'm gonna do any justice here lol, and I'm already rambling, so I'll stop now :,)
But anyway, in terms of being his own or Arthur’s bane, we know Arthur will return, and we don’t know how Merlin spent his years. His magic can play with time and maybe he learns how to control that, or he could have entered a stasis like in various legends, etc etc etc. And I mean it is tragic on many levels, and it’s sad we didn’t see Arthur’s arc completed, and that Merlin sacrificed so much for a goal that didn't get much acknowledgment by the show at the end, but still. I don’t think Merlin was Arthur’s bane, or Camelot’s, or his own.
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dynamitekansai · 11 days ago
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THE USOS REUNITE WWE SMACKDOWN (OCTOBER 25, 2024)
#no useful tags just me bitching lmao#i am SO unmoved#im praying theres more to all this than them just speedrunning this reunion just so certain things can line up in time for ple shows#and so wrestling fans with less than one braincell can get the instant gratification of their favwit tag team together again 🥺#bc oh bite me lolllll#so much of this ~cinema~ is starting to feel rushed and im just hoping theres turns or angles or REASONS for it#but thats asking me to trust wrestling with carrying storylines fully and i do NOT#the things i wanted most from this story were jey getting proper acknowledgement/vindication and apology for his abuse#and explanation for why the family treats solo as they do (and then expect him to be a well adjusted adult lmao)#jey has NO reason to forgive them yet like did they buy him hallmark cards behind the scenes?#and theyve done much worse to him for much longer the new bloodline#you dont get to brag about this being the greatest slowburn long term cinema storytelling and then just....#im HOPING so bad its not just as simple as it looks i am#they keep swearing theres so many more 'innings' to this so idk prove me wrong please literally do#but that still wont make me moved by ✨og bloodline reunion✨#bc what yall mean yall are still the heels in my eyes like why do you have so many family members yall left on the side of the road#while talking about family above all and dont divide family lmao#and i get ~twin bond~ but LORD#actually that twin bond excuse is evil too#solo go bring in jeremiah since hes technically part of wwe canon too and beat their asses together actually lmao#i aint forgot jey saying something like having brothers is great but how being a twin is just different/special#like yeah sure but can you not make your other siblings sound like secondhand brothers or whatever shdhfhjf#ok im done. for now. for this post. maybe.#venting about my interests is fun for me ok#its how i process the information given to me and understand it#and also i like to bitch
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fujii-draws · 7 months ago
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OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.
#okay starting from the beginning of where ppl usually dislike him. apple woods chapter.#he doesn’t give hero/partner the CHANCE to explain themselves despite them being relatively good recruits up until that point.#and that legit might be my only gripe with that chapter bc!!! stories need conflict! I LIKE the conflict in apple woods!!!#hero and partner being punished so something they didn’t do!#the misunderstanding! how team skull (Skuntank) actually outplays the main duo with a clever yet rotten trick. I LOVE that it segways into-#one of the more sweeter scenes of guild members looking out for eachother. I LIKE APPLE WOODS CONFLICT.#but chatot just. not giving them a chance. is so dumb.#I’d personally fix this by having a lil montage of hero/partner fucking up on jobs. A LOT. and chatot giving them a pass every time.#and let the perfect apple incident BE the one where he puts his foot down and doesn’t listen to them. bc he’d given them loads of chances.#and doesn’t want to hear any excuse.#but yeah. I legit dont mind him during that chapter except for that really stupid and frustrating moment.#NOW. CHAPTER 17.#UGGGGHHH WHERE DO I BEGIN#Him not believing hero and Partner about Grovyle and the future being in ruin? FINE. ACTUALLY GOOD. BC CHATOT WOULD BE SKEPTIC.#IT FITS HIS CHARACTER!!#BUT WHAT DOES SUCK. IS HIM GOING ‘Dusknoir isn’t the bad guy. he didn’t do anything wrong’#WHEN HE LITERALLY KIDNAPPED HERO AND PARTNER RIGHT I N F R O N T OF HIM.#(​NO LITERALLY. HIS CHARACTER IS IN THE FRONT ROW WHEN IT HAPPENED.)#and him. having the GALL to tell hero and partner they must’ve been ‘seeing things’ and downplaying the HELL they went through.#despite them being missing for hours/days. his own guild recruits. and his angry sprite showing up.#like. I think that’s when I genuinely despised him.#that and him going ‘OH I BELIEVED YOU THE WHOLE TIME HEEHOO :)’ shit was so fucking annoying.#just playing it off as a joke the second the guild started to believe hero and partner.#IMAGINE IF HE W A S ACTUALLY TESTING THE GUILD’S TRUST. SHOWCASING HIM AS THE MORE RESPONSIBLE AND RESPECTFUL RIGHT HAND OF THE GUILD.#and yes. Brine cave he saves hero and partner. but at that point I just didn’t care anymore.#he fucked those two over so much. that I didn’t care what ‘valiant’ sacrifice he had.#and he grills Team Skull for what they did OFF SCREEN. they couldn’t even give us THAT.#<<< THAT or him outright saying sorry would’ve been nice. IKIK his ‘actions’ or whatever but.#eughh again this is all imo. I’m not trying to make people hate him or change their mind.#I’ll get into positives in the second post cause I’m running out of tags
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ifyougoillfollow · 13 days ago
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta & Kayama Nemuri & Shirakumo Oboro & Yamada Hizashi Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight, Shirakumo Oboro Additional Tags: Spin the Bottle, not tagging who smooches who but thar be smoochin here, Fluff and Humor, Banter, Friendship/Love, Rooftop Gang Shenanigans, Teenage dumbassery, cannot stress enough how teenaged in their dumbassery these fools are here, To whit:, Underage Drinking, Gay crisis, Unrequited Crush, Crushes, Pining, Mutual Pining, these losers have it all!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shirakumo Oboro Lives, You're Welcome, Gay Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Oblivious Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Non-Linear Narrative
Summary:
In the end, it's Yamada's painfully obvious and just as grating attempts to spare Shouta some mild embarrassment that makes Shouta abandon all sense of logic and agree to just play the stupid game. There are worse fates to endure than being patronized, Shouta's sure, but if there are, he's having trouble imagining them in the face of Yamada freestyle rapping for fifteen straight minutes to a chorus of increasingly heartfelt boos from the other two idiots.
And so Shouta finds himself watching Yamada and Kayama suck face for the third time this evening. That's certainly a worse fate, Shouta decides, all the more so because he should have seen it coming.
They're playing spin the bottle, after all. ___ Rooftop Gang plays spin the bottle. Need I say more?
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mbat · 2 months ago
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i literally read the book of bill days ago but its only now kinda hitting me how fucked ford and bills whole thing was though cause ford literally talks about being so unable to sleep (to try to keep bill away), and when sleep inevitably caught up to him, he would wake up to his body abused and things messed with and he just couldnt seem to find an escape (and he literally didnt get to truly escape until 30 years later)
(also keeping people awake for unhealthily long periods of time is another tactic used to mess with and control people because of how it impairs brain function)
listing off the things we see in those few pages in the book of bill:
i mean, punching and scratching at a steel door for hours would be so damaging to your hands and probably hurt like hell for at least 2 days after. then bill says he was hitting fords head against a wall, though its said in a post-it as if its a joke, but he also isnt exactly above doing that, and honestly he says most things like its a joke.
i also dont need to say 'bill really doesnt know how to take no for an answer' because he makes that very clear in literally any interaction we see with him.
bill literally puts a venomous snake near ford while fords asleep, which could have killed him if he wasnt lucky+skilled enough to deal with it.
he nearly gives ford hypothermia, and in the same action actively threatens ford with the idea of making him jump off of a high spot, and like ford says, doesnt do it just so he can send a message to ford about how hes the one in control.
he gets ford in trouble with not only the law, but also with other people that are probably not very happy with him after. he mutilates fords body in several ways, and i dont think i need to go into detail on them because theyre... so ew. and he even exposes part of fords body to the world. like, its just taking his shirt off, but thats still showing off his body in a way that he didnt agree to or want
and then he attempts to (or purposefully fails to) call stan, using fords voice to threaten suicide and tell stan that ford never loved him.
and he punctuates it with a final power move, in a hallucination that he creates, hes messing with stans memories and making him feel like his body was basically about to implode
and like. okay, we all joke about toxic old man yaoi, and its a good joke and toxic old man yaoi is great and its an interesting ship, but holy fuck.
like. to say the absolute least, that had to be so, so deeply violating. its no wonder that when we see ford in the past, when he finally contacts stan, he looks like hes on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. he just went through, and still wasnt yet out of, some deeply abusive shit.
like... everything coming out lately both in this book and what ive heard is on the website, mixed with what we already knew from the show itself... the stans are both so, so fucking tragic dude. their whole lives were thrown away over things that really didnt even need to be the way they were, and then they both get into situations that are pretty damn screwed, and those situations follow them for the rest of their lives. its basically a miracle that things worked out in the end for them.
i dont really have a point, i just had to talk about all that. i read almost all of the book of bill in one sitting, and while i was really enjoying it, i was also getting kind of tired of sitting in one spot only doing this one thing for several hours straight. i still felt a lot of the emotional bits of it of course, but man this part specifically just really didnt hit me until now.
i mean, to say the absolute least, i know what its like to feel violated in a similar way, though not anywhere near to the extent of what he went through at all. someone get that man some therapy got damn
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