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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

Note

no please bc just once I wanna make hobie nervous flustered.. like why can’t he can’t be intimated by me why I always gotta be intimidated by him 🙄🙄

TRULLLYY The opportunities are endless!! Let's talk about it!!!!!!!!!!!

Hobie Brown Loves Feminists and Defying the Patriarchy aka Hobie Brown and Writing write Non-Conventional Romantic Relationships in 'x-readers'

[this is an analysis where I analyze Hobie Brown, non-conventional relationships, and how feminism factors in to it all. Basically a critique/dive/rant into the narrow 'x-reader culture' in the Hobie Fandom

I touch on issues in Smut, labels, and how we can write 'Y/N's that challenge that status quo and fit Hobie better. I also break down how I personally use feminist themes to write a non-conventional relationship for Hobie.] [Also there's now a PART 2 HERE]

Despite the man from the 1970's - the era of bra-burning second-wave feminism - I don't ever think I've seen anyone talk about it, him, and how it influences him.

We all know Hobie isn't down with labels, but it seems like in X-Fem!Reader, the only two options out there are play-boy guitarist and traditional out-of-the-box boyfriend.

Hobie. The man he follows no social quo. Don't expect flowers from him.

Hobie diverges from the norm in nearly every way, and he does it purposefully and intentionally. And I think that'd extend to his romantic relationships too.

So why do we only see him in heteronormative, traditional gender-role based relationships?

Would Hobie be into this? And does the way we write him and his relationships in x-writers serve Hobie emotionally, allowing him to be a full character? (No, they don't.)

How can begin to acknowledge that, just like Hobie cares about race, and class, and housing and queer rights - he'd care about feminism too.

And how would that influence him in romance? How can we start writing healthier x-reader's?

We have enough insecure, blushing 'Y/N's being woo'd by [insert tumblr sexy man]'. Hobie can have so much more - in the words of Beyonce "Where the ladies up in here who like to talk back?!"

Hobie Brown, Romance, and Gender Roles

Why can I be the one calling him 'love', and 'darling', and 'sweetheart'?

Where's the fic where I'm the one comforting and taking care of him when he's sick/down?

Why can't Hobie be the one asked to be held?

There's something lacking here!!!!!!!

I honestly think Hobie would be into it, and find it very attractive - having a feminine partner who defies gender roles in their relationship purposefully and proudly.

Hobie loves subverting expectations and challenging society. So, and seeing many people unthinkingly assume he'd have a completely normal, routine heterosexual relationship without question -- uhhh I don't like that!!!

Like, Hobie is very clearly attractive. He's like 6'5", a guitarist, and punk. Let's be real, people of any gender are gonna be flirting with him, whether he's into it or not. He without a doubt gets flirted at all the time.

I think he'd love someone who cuts the bullshit and is like "You're really cute. I've got the biggest crush on you."

Not in a pushy way, but a relaxed way.

But I hardly ever see the x-reader advances being initiated by the reader. Why? It can be really nice to take the confidence to ask someone out and they say yes.

In fact, a lot of x-readers are written demure, passive, and down-right unhealthy in their ability to defend themselves and stand alone. So many are based off the x reader needing Hobie for some reason, whether it be confidence, or protection, or for him to teach them something.

Never Hobie needing the reader for something. Never Hobie being the one to express emotion and need comfort.

Which is funny, because Hobie can show emotions like anger, which he does in the comics. That's NEVER brought up in fics. In no fic do we have the reader witness Hobie hitting someone with a guitar or kicking them in the face. Which Hobie does do.

No, that's too violent for the romanticized fandom of Hobie. He has to be the good boyfriend to the shy girlfriend.

And I feel like there's a reason many of these x-readers are written this way - is heteronormativity and a dash of misogyny-flavored sexism involved??? maybe.

Especially with x fem readers, feminine people are always expected to be passive and submissive. Women in the real world are expected to mute their advances and 'be coy' for the sake of sexist 'respectability'.

We're taught that 'giving them the eyes' is (somehow??) an 'advance'. Or that you have to wait to be asked out or else you're 'too forward'.

[Insert Barbie Movie Monologue here]

Personally, I think Hobie would be SO refreshed by a girl who comes up to him and is like "Hey, are you busy on Friday? Do you wanna meet me then? I wanna go on a date with you."

Because, realistically 95% of the people in the Hobie fandom - including me - would probably be too nervous to even speak a sentence to Hobie.

So for someone to approach him directly, state their intentions, and be so open to potential rejection, that's impressive - I think he'd LOVE that shit!!!

I think it's a nice juxtaposition to have him with someone who diverges from the 'demure ideal of a girlfriend'.

A girl who walks around like Jessica Drew. Walks in the room like "My man is SEXY AF and he about to walk in so LOOK. BE JEALOUS."

I imagine so many people around him try to act like they DON'T like Hobie when they clearly do - and he can tell. So to have someone who isn't hiding it is a kind of candidness that differs from it all.

So often are women forced into the passive role of waiting to be 'chosen'. Fuck that, you want him, go get him.

Hobie, Romance, and Labels

I also think Hobie would REALLY like a partner who knows what they want.

I always see people be like 'Hobie doesn't like labels!! He wants to keep it casual!' or 'Nooo he was kidding about the labels thing - he'd love a committe-'

WHO SAYS HE'D BE THE ONE DEFINING THE SITUATION????????? WHO SAID HE GETS THE LAST SAY???!!!!!

I feel like Hobie would go fucking NUTS for a girl who is straight up like "yeah I'm just trying to fuck. Are you okay with that?" or "I like what we've got going on. I'm not looking for anything serious, but let's keep going."

Or a partner that is very clear about their labels. A person who's like "I like you but if you're not trying to be exclusive I'm gonna get a move on." Because he's not gonna have you out here looking DUMB, people better know you're in the mfing picture.

That's some grown ass shit! It shows she knows what she wants and that she's not wavering on it, even for him. He's with it. I don't think Hobie would be down to be like "I'm ur boyfriend now" OR "I'm ONLY down for fucking lol srry'.

She gets a say too. And she should be clear on what she wants.

If she's the one to take the initiative and name the game - that's great for him. He's down for whatever, what is it that YOU wanna do??

Hobie, Romance, and Intimacy (like for the grown folks 18+) __________________________________

🔞

In a LOT of fic and especially SMUT, it's always Hobie making the advances, or at least initiating them. In society, women are taught that's how is, that being sexually 'aggressive' and proactive - not just SUGGESTIVE - is inappropriate.

Wait till Hobie slaps your ass, then the smut could start. Wait till Hobie kisses you, then there's romance.

Nah, I'm the one smacking his ass. I'm the one pulling his belt loop saying Come 'ere. What if I'm the one who wants to pull him down for a first kiss, huh??? I gotta wait??

Even in dialogue-

In a lot of fics Hobie can talk as raunchy as ever, but the woman can't say 'pussy'? Hobie can say three sentences straight about how my coochie feel but the reader only gets to moan submissive requests back??

Can the dirty talk be two-sided? Because women should be allowed to be vocal in their pleasure.

Hobie can tell you he wants you to suck his dick, but when's the reader gonna say "Come eat this pussy like you mean it." HM??????

In fics the reader can only be suggestive - in order to bait him into initiating, like sending him a suggestive picture or throwing a bra on stage. But it's hardly ever the other way around. With the reader being the one to say 'Enough of the teasing, we fucking NEOW.'

Because in our society, a guy slipping a girl's shirt off to get the scene going is hot. But a woman going for a guys belt before he begins to undress her - nooo, that's too forward.

Maybe Hobie wants to feel like the sexy, desired, sought after one.

_______________________________________________

Hobie, Romance and Feminism

Let it be known: Hobie loves people who are socially educated!!!!

If you can look at him and explain what anarchism actually is - like in a politcal theory sense - I think he'd be impressed, because you're seeing through the 'pseudo-rockstar' persona he puts on.

Most if not all of his actions are choice are driven by political action, so having a partner educated in things like anarchy or communism just makes sense with him. Hobie cares about stuff like that, and actually goes out of his way to study and live in line with those ideals.

That includes feminism!!!

I think Hobie would love a girlfriend who is invested in feminism, cares about it, and thinks about it in her decision making.

A woman that is educated about her oppression and how to combat it, and purposefully goes against the strict stereotype labeled on women - especially feminine women - as an act of protest.

A girl who can and will defend herself, go off on, or put a sexist pig in their place. You can't tell me he wouldn't be into that.

Social movements of the oppressed are super important to Hobie, and I think feminism is the same, but I never see it mentioned.

I definitely think that Hobie would have a clear understanding of his privilege as a man and how that effects relationships.

I can see him being like "I'd never propose." Not because he hates labels, but because he acknowledges that for centuries marriage was used as a financial and social transaction to oppress and control women and their bodies, and he doesn't want to be involved in that.

Hit him with that "Same - the gold and diamond rings are trash anyway. Both materials being mined and pillaged in African nations for centuries at the expense of the indigenous populations really puts me off it."

He'd wanna somehow find a way to marry you without marrying you you know what i mean

Hobie loves feminism and feminists. Give him a 70's bra-burning feminism so help me god. He was alive for Roe v. Wade passing (1973), he KNOWS about feminism and probably knows many outspoken feminists.

Hobie, Romance and Individuality

You know what I don't like?

Headcanons or fics that be like "You and Hobie NEVER disagree or argue. Never ever, you always talk it out."

Like...Bullshit. I'm sorry but I don't think it's very realistic.

Hobie is a very opinionated too. He's very outspoken and when it comes to topics, and he usually knows exactly where he stands. I think, without a doubt he'd care what his partner thinks too.

Asking them about a record that's playing, or what they think of a movie they saw in the past, or a new political issue going on. He'd absolutely ask, because he cares. He's interested.

If if ya'll are never disagreeing that means:

Either you agree with his opinion all the time without fail or exception OR

You're biting your tongue around him

I don't think one is very realistic in terms of things. You can't like every song your boyfriend likes. You can't like every movie he shows you, or agree on EVERY political issue. That's not how people are.

And for two - if you're biting your tongue around him, he'll notice.

Yes, Hobie is a very emotionally intelligent person and extremely compassionate. But he's also very strong in his morals, thoughts, and beliefs. He doesn't budge.

If you're biting your tongue, I'd imagine he'd be like "You wanna say something." or "Whatever you're thinking just say it." cause he can see it in your face.

He's not trying to put you on the spot, he just wants to know what you're thinking.

When you explain what you're thinking, he's probably gonna wanna hear why, and respond, etc etc.

Hobie is a very individualistic person, and I think he'd be drawn to someone who is as well. Someone who is solid in their opinions and personhood enough to express them.

It leads to interesting conversation and knowing each other deeper -It's a form of intimacy.

If you watch a film with him and don't like it, he's gonna ask why. Did you not like the theme? Was the dialogue bad? What part did you think sucked the most, he thought x, y, z. What do you think about the part he disliked, did you notice a,b,c?

I feel like Hobie would want to know his partner deeply, and he'd care and love the things that make them different from each other.

Including differing opinions.

Discussions and debates aren't bad. Discussing something and getting heated defending your point can be really fun and stimulating, if it's with someone you care about and the two parties are mature and not assholes.

Tell him why you think he's wrong about something - he wants an excuse to talk more about his opinion. INTELLECTUALLY CHALLENGE HIM DONT JUST AGREE.

Along with being very individualistic, Hobie is very independent. He refused to rely on the Society for their watches - he made his own. So I think the next important thing to him is:

Hobie, Romance and Independence

I like the idea of Hobie having a partner that has their own place and is committed to that, and their space.

Or a partner that emotionally supports him!!

95% of the time, he's the one asking what's wrong, or holding reader, or comforting them.

Can we get hectic bf and organized girlfriend energy?? A gf where he says plans during missions and she's like "What are you thinking? You're gonna get us killed."

A gf that soothes HIM when he gets angry - cause comic Hobie GETS angry, especially after a fight.

Give me ONE, ONE fic where he's drunk coming from a pub and READER has to deal with drunk Hobie and put him to bed.

Hobie is ALWAYS expected to take care of himself, and the people around him. He takes pride in this and he's good at it. But why should he have to do it all the time?

_____________________________________________

In general,

Hobie is a confident person. He knows what he wants, and how to handle himself, and how to approach people and get respect just by being himself. He's assured, and outspoken, and VERY independent. He does what he wants, when he wants and lets you know when it happens

I think pairing him with a confident, assured, outspoked, independent person is only natural. I think him having a relationship with a personality like his would be a ROCK SOLID one.

There's be no fics like 'Groupies were bullying you' because his she would be like "Sis, if I swing on you he isn't gonna hold me back so be careful."

I want a reader that when they do that trope of 'A girl was flirting in front of him making you insecure and uncomfortable' - The reader squashes it right there. Like "Girl, I know you see me standing here. You know we're together. Cut the cute shit!!"

I'm tired of fics taking me for an insecure, submissive, demure, sexually innocent, wimp of a babydoll girlfriend that needs to be babied at every turn. There's nothing wrong with being shy and demure, but when it's all you're offering it's not gonna cut it.

Especially not for Hobie Brown.

Let the tall, dark, actively oppressed black man be the one to vent, or be held, or romanced, and spoken sweetly too. There's so many comfort fics, but not many of them consider Hobie's own trauma - and how a relationship could include that.

Hobie Brown deserves more.

_______________________________________________

If you wanna know how I use this to write a non-conventional relationship for Hobie, that's below this break.

Okay so I'mma leave it here but if you read this far, thank you!!!! I be SO pissed when fics be talking me (Y/N) as a punk (in the wimpy sense not the Hobie sense). Like...nah I wouldve said something in a lot of situations. Irk my last nerve. Like the one where the girl PINCHES you??? Like?? Nah I we would've been fighting, I'm sorry this is unrealistic

Alsooo the section below is about my Spidersona Disco-Spider and how I encorporated all of this into her creation- because I wanted to write a sona who subtly defied gender roles while still being feminine. So if you wanna read there thank you so much, and if not, thanks for reading this far! He's a pic of Hobie in thanks!

[If you wanna check out Part 2 for direct examples, how to write NCRs, and a more in depth look into Disco and Hobie - check it out here]

_______________________________________________

DiscoSpider Diane and The Great Groupie Act [How I use all of this to a write a feminist Spidersona and a non-conventional relationship]

Diane is a HUGE Hobie Groupie - and that's kinda of her main thing.

She runs the Hobie Brown Fanclub on campus, attends all his shows, and wears his guitar pick. She's into him and she's not afraid to show it.

I wanted to write Diane as a purposeful groupie, one who is fine with the title, and even leans into it. Because a lot of the time - and in a lot of fics including guitarists - 'groupie' is seen as a negative thing.

Like K-pop stans, being a 'groupie' - and openly expressing your romantic interest in a hot guy is seen as desperation.

But I wanted to write her as one in spite of this. To swap 'desperation' for unwavering boldness. A girl with the motto 'Closed mouths don't get fed'.

And much like Hobie uses the 'typical punk' label to disarm others, I wanted Diane to mirror that - in the opposite direction.

Diane is a self-proclaimed groupie. And because of that, many (mainly misogynists) assume that she can't think for herself - or at all. And Diane can use that to her advantage.

If Miguel and Jess really believe she only cares about conversations involving Hobie, then they'll talk like she isn't there. And she can listen. If it looks like she's hanging all over him, no one realizes if she's slipping him information.

And it also helps in their relationship.

They both enjoy their privacy.

HQ prohibits relationships between Spidey-people. It's an anomaly waiting to happen - and they make sure to keep a close eye out for it. Plus with Jess breathing down her neck, it's much easier for Diane and Hobie to just keep it underwraps.

In comes the Groupie persona.

No one actually expects the groupie to get the guy. She's desperate, and he's the player guitarist. Plus, if they were dating she couldn't be a 'groupie' right? They wouldn't make sense, would it?

They let people make their own assumptions. By calling herself a groupie, suddenly people think there's no possible way there's something going on, and they don't look closer.

This also allows them the freedom of no labels. Are they boyfriend and girlfriend? Nah she's his groupie. Quit asking questions.

All of this allows me to write Disco in a way that connects back to everything in this post.

By calling herself a 'Groupie' suddenly Diane can subvert expectations of affection, avoid the pressures of labels, and control her image and the amount of information she lets on to people

That in turn helps me write their relationship in a nonconventional way - a way that challenges misogyny around affection and reclaims a sexist fan trope for something more empowering.

Sure, the concept seems silly at first. The ditsy, bubbly, party girl on campus, but I wanted there to be a reason and drive behind it.

Disco-Spider Diane is exactly who she wants to be, an unapologetic, outspoken disco-girl. One that's highly educated and knows her shit.

And also a huge groupie.

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

If you've read this far, thank you so much. It genuinely means a lot to me! This is reaaaaaallly long.

[Part 2 here]

Now how about you take this photo of Hobie and we both pretend like me writing this is normal well-adjusted behavior okay? okay

Bye.

#im back and I got something to say!!!!!!#these are just my opinions and Headcanons #but also they're correct I know because I'm with Hobie right now in my mind palace and he told me all this #no proofread ever lolllll #spiderman #atsv #hobie brown #marvel #spider man #spider punk #spiderpunk #across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #atsv anaylsis

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super-paper · 1 year ago

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so what are your thoughts about what happened to og!afo? while og!afo was able to stop pretending right before his death, i feel like it was just... not enough? do you think his character arc is not over yet and will continue with vestige!afo? because i can't stop thinking about 368 where shigaraki's face changed to afo's pre!potato face upong seeing yoichi and how in 369 afo kept saying "not yet, not yet!" and talking as if he still has some kind of a last card up his sleeve. and that trump card was mentioned again in this chapter.

If this were the actual conclusion to AFO's arc, I wouldn't feel satisfied! But like you said, Hori has already gone out of his way to include the "trump card" line and left the actual fate of AFO's vestige deliberately ambiguous (ex: using words like "suppressed/defeated" instead of "killed" to describe vestige-for-one). Like, there's a lot that points to his arc not being finished yet, imho.

That said, I do believe AFO's "trump card" is gonna be something particularly heinous, and may involve him tipping his hand/finally revealing his involvement in the Shimura Family massacre. Like, something we have to keep in mind is that Tomura sincerely believes that he killed his family intentionally and that he """enjoyed""" killing them + enjoyed destroying his home— it’s what he considers to be his origin, and "remembering that origin" is what allowed him to take back control of his body. So in theory, all AFO has to do in order to shatter Tomura's sense of self is cast doubt on that "origin" (which in turn may create a necessity for Tomura to finally remember his *actual* origin in order to take back control of his body again).

Like, I gotta stress: AFO's villain mask/demon lord persona finally slipping off to reveal the pitiful and desperately lonely human underneath does not equal him suddenly becoming a good person, so I'm 100% expecting vestige-for-one to try and pull some truly awful bullshit at the absolute worst possible time lmfao.

----

Anyhoo, a couple more points to consider:

I know I'm beating a dead horse at this point, but once again: names are everything in mha and Hori 100% wants his readers to pay attention to what names are being used/emphasized during key scenes-- especially when it comes to names being used to separate fantasy from reality, authentic from inauthentic, and the "actor" from the "character/role."

Chapter 393 begins with the LOV discussing the meaning behind hero and villain names and encouraging Toga to pick a villain name for herself (with Toga ultimately deciding to use "Toga Himiko" written in katakana as her villain name because she ultimately just wants to be seen as herself)-- chapter 393 then ends with Ochako referring to Toga as "Himiko-chan," in a stealth rejection of Toga's stealth villain name. Bakugo resurrects and starts proudly referring to himself as "Kacchan" instead of “Great Explosion Murder God" + starts calling Izuku by his given name in total earnest. Meanwhile, Tomura stops referring to Izuku by his given name and starts referring to him as the much colder and distant "hero." Etc etc.

With this in mind, AFO still not having a name reveal-- not even during his own damn flashback/origin chapter-- is something that sticks out like a sore thumb.

This chapter was (appropriately titled) our farewell to "All For One: The Demon Lord/The Villain King/The Shameless LARPer" It's not necessarily our farewell to "*insert name here*: The Cataclysmic Mess Of A Person" yet. Yoichi and Tomura are the only ones who can properly say farewell to that side of AFO, because despite everything, they're the only ones who have some semblance of pity/"affection" for AFO as an actual human person (not as a god, or an object of worship, or a villain king, or a "role").

Death and Rebirth continues to be one of the big (and criminally underrated) themes of the series-- MHA frequently plays with the idea that part of a character's identity/alter-ego can "die" while their body lives on (or conversely, that a person's will can take on a life of its own and live on even if their body dies. which. y'know.)

All Might """dies,""" but Yagi Toshinori lives. Touya """dies""" and Dabi is born. Tenko """dies""" and is "reborn" as Shigaraki Tomura. Endeavor """dies""" during the PLW, leaving the world's ugliest crier Todoroki Enji behind. The representation of Keigo's hero identity (the fierce wings vestige) """dies""". Bakugo switches it up by dying for real, but upon resurrection, sheds his conceit and discards the "mask" he used to conceal his insecurities. Etc etc.

AFO himself has always been born (and reborn) from death. He takes his very first breaths while next to the corpse of his mother and half-dead brother. He died once, but was brought back to life by someone that society rejected and AFO ""accepted"". He has now died a second time, triggering a subtle change in Tomura that has made him even more dangerous (i.e. Tomura has started using the AFO quirk again, and more specifically, is now using the AFO quirk to whittle away at the collective "will" of OFA by stealing the vestiges one by one. This Action Will Have Consequences.jpg)

Killing AFO does not actually solve the root problems of this story, nor does it fix the longstanding problems of heroaca society (which all precede the advent of quirks and the creation of the hero/villain system)-- or rather, it might be better to say that AFO will never *truly* die as long as the world remains fundamentally unchanged. AFO is enabled by the status quo! He is allowed to keep existing and able to continuously resurrect himself over and over and over again as the ultimate villain specifically because of it.

My theory right now is that AFO will only die permanently when A) He is finally acknowledged as a human individual and given a name, and B) when Izuku finally takes Tomura's hand + Tomura is "finally taken out of the garden and back into the house," symbolizing the radical shift in the status quo that empowered (read: created) AFO in the first place.

Also worth mentioning: body!AFO and vestige!AFO are heavily implied to have some sort of "shared" awareness with each other-- we even see body!AFO flashing back to the UA cage match during his mental breakdown. This means there's a chance what body!AFO was feeling at the moment of his death might spill over to vestige!AFO, allowing for his arc to continue seamlessly from where it apparently "left off" during this chapter.

Which is good! Because this chapter has AFO finally admitting that "nothing is good" without Yoichi while also indirectly confirming that yes, the various traumas from his childhood DID in fact play a major role in his development into a villain-- AFO and Yoichi growing up in a society that ignored them is basically what fuels AFO's ridiculously self-detrimental attention seeking behaviors (like the AFOmight fight becomes retroactively hilarious when u realize AFO was trying to get as much attention out of mangling Toshi as possible and that his obsessive need to kill Toshi in front of an audience is what ultimately led to his downfall 💀It's, uh, marginally less hilarious when u also realize that he impulsively killed Yoichi bc Yochi had stopped looking at him. 😬)

Anyway....!! AFO and Yoichi are both the "source" and the representation of the main conflict in this series-- og!AFO fizzling out without any fanfare is admittedly an appropriate narrative punishment for someone who wanted to be the eternal star of the show, but it doesn't offer a proper resolution to the actual conflict of the series: the cycle of irrational fear and insecurity leading to a lack of understanding, lack of understanding leading to rejection, rejection leading to the creation of villains, villains creating more fear in civilians and leading to the necessity of heroes, which inevitably leads to even more rejection, and so on and so forth, etc etc etc. Yoichi and AFO exist at the center of this cycle, representing it in its purest form-- and Tomura is the ultimate consequence of this cycle.

Ultimately, I feel like vestige for one’s death may be….. gentler, for lack of a better word. Less focused on karmic punishment and more focused on giving Yoichi and Tomura a sense of closure. Like, it's honestly not about what AFO "deserves," but what Yoichi needs in order to finally pass on and what Tomura needs to finally detangle himself from AFO (although in the spirit of keeping it completely real, all three of them need to detangle themselves from each other lmfao💀💀💀). Neither Yoichi or Tomura have ever been granted a chance to truly grieve the loss of themselves or their families, and AFO is at the root of that as someone who is both "family" and as someone who also took everything away from them.

tl;dr Hori can eat his cake (punish AFO for his hubris by having him fight, lose, and die against versions of himself that *chose* to be better or regret how they treated their own "Yoichis"-- i.e. Toshinori, Endeavor, Bkgo) and have it too (finally resolve the ShigaBros century long conflict and the complicated feelings AFO-Yoichi-Tomura all have for each other, giving everyone the closure they desperately need) thanks to the presence of the vestige world.

I also think it'd be cool to get some sort of resolution re: the captain hero comics, since they were the "trigger" that started it all-- perhaps in the form of a dying dream sequence, where we get Yoichi and AFO as children again-- but this time Yoichi basically forces AFO to sit his ass down and finally read volume 4 of captain hero lmfao.

Like, a lot of AFO's actions/beliefs stem from his insistence that he ~already knew~ how the story was gonna end, and he built his life and plans around "rejecting" that ending-- I feel like a scenario where it turns out the ending WASN'T what he expected (like, say it was an ending where Captain Hero does defeat the Demon Lord, but ultimately chooses to save him rather than kill him-- something that mirrors Tomura's ultimate fate, rather than AFO's) would be a neat way to wrap up his and Yoichi's arcs from a metafiction perspective, since he and Yoichi both represent "different types of readers."

It would also be bittersweet, with the implication that things could have been different if AFO had just stopped being reddit pilled for five seconds and just read to the end with Yoichi in the first place-- the blueprint for an ending where the hero is no longer all alone and where the "demon lord" doesn't have to die/vanish at the end of the story was there all along, he just refused to see it.

tl;dr 2.0: AFO's ultimate punishment should involve him getting slapped in the face by tiny yoichi with his little comics over and over and over again until he develops an actual sense of media literacy.

#mha spoilers #all for one #mha.txt #my hero academia #yoichi #shigaraki tomura #thank you for the ask!

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what-the-fic-khr · 10 months ago

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Hibari for earl grey and chai tea pls

hiiii anon!!! all good, thank you! weeeee everyone suddenly wants to know how they spice up their relationships lol. but these were fun, thank you!!

character/s: tyl!hibari kyoya, reader-insert (gender-neutral)

word count: —

warnings: the second one is intentionally written to come off suggestive in the narration and dialogue lol

prompt: tea prompts (coffee, chai tea)

coffee; do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?

hah. ha. well, not in the most… convenient way…? not that he’s ever had to worry about his partner cheating on him or being unfaithful, and usually walking around publicly as Hibari Kyoya’s partner you’d skip a lot of people trying to hit on you. but I think he’d still get… unnecessarily…. competitive? he knows he’s stronger, he knows he’s better, this other person can eat shit. it’s all very stupid truthfully lmfao

Their nervousness was getting worse the longer this conversation went on. You were trying to steer it into something that would help comfort him, but Kyoya’s presence was like a wall. Unmoving, unfaltering.

“Oh, the time…” You looked up at Kyoya for a moment. “You’ve got to go, don’t you?”

Kyoya nodded once. “Yes. A meeting.” Your expression flattened when he held the other’s gaze evenly. “A Guardian meeting.”

The flaunting of his title seemed to work a bit, because the man you’d been talking to flinched a little. You could almost hear Kyoya snort in amusement over the reaction, so you grabbed his arm, tightly.

“You should get going, then. Don’t want to be late.”

“It’d be a shame if someone held me up, huh.”

“O-Oh! I’ll let you get to it then, Sir!” You smiled warily as the man in front of you bowed his head and left with a quiet goodbye in your direction, waving.

Once he was gone you turned to smack Kyoya’s arm before doing it again for good measure. “What’s wrong with you? Cut it out.”

“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? I wonder how they’ve survived this long.”

You turned him and forced him down the hall with a loud noise. “You’re like a mafia anomaly to these people. Stop scaring people for no reason.”

“They’re scared because they know I’m stronger.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?

right. so, you’d know how to fight already by his standards. I think for shits and giggles he’d just give you his weapons. just let you go to town learning them, and I bet he’d probably think that’s soooooo attractive, sooooooo cool and sexy. he’s a stickler for the rules (the ones he likes following, at least) so he wouldn’t do anything too reckless, but fighting is right up his alley, so letting your learn with something apart of him is the way he’d go about it

“Harder!”

You seemed to do well, getting yelled at and commanded into things, because your next swing at the dummy took the wooden head off it’s stiff shoulders, letting the heavy ‘thunk’ echo in the training room.

“Yeah!” You threw your hands up, gripping his tonfa tightly. “Got his stupid ass head off!” You turned to grin at him, eyes wide and sparkling. Chest heaving with adrenaline from training. Very clearly expecting praise.

Kyoya sighed softly, head tilting, but he watched you with amusement. He waved a hand at you, instructing you to come closer, and you came immediately.

Once close enough, he lifted a hand to pet you on the head once. “Good job. Now go destroy the others and I’ll give you a reward.”

The way you visibly lit up, practically vibrating with excitement, was almost endearing. He waved you off and you ran off with a laugh, lifting up a tonfa threateningly. They looked good in your hands.

#hibari kyoya #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #18 #khr imagines #katekyo hitman reborn imagines #katekyo hitman reborn x reader #khr x reader #hibari kyoya x reader #mine #requests #tea prompts #HIIIII THANK YOU #I liked writing the second one haha #he’s such a popular character on here good for him

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aziraphales-library · 3 months ago

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Lost Fic #202

Not specific lost fics, but I’ve spent weeks looking for fics likes these and haven’t really managed to find any, so we’re throwing them out in the hope our followers know of some!…

1. Hiya! Do you have any fics where Aziraphale calls Crowley baby (or vice versa) Thank youu - anon

2. Any fics in which Crowley says to Aziraphale (post s2) “look at you you’re gorgeous” and it’s clear how much it impacts Aziraphale? Sorry for the oddly specific request! A good example of what I’m talking about is Tether by Ginger_Cat, which legit drove me feral. - @radish-sprout

3. Hello! I understand different people take different things from Good Omens, but honestly to me the point that the show and book make specifically about God is that she is basically playing games with humanity and does not hesitate a bit to kill thousands of people (or everyone, possibly). Many GO fics include heaven/hell being terrible but GO!God basically shipping aziracrow... and fine, to each their own, but it just takes me out of the fic, so I mostly read Human AUs. However since I found this wonderful page, I wondered if you had any recommendations of fics where they are angel and demon but God is either not mentioned much or she's at best indifferent about them? She doesn't even need to be intentionally evil or anything. My headcanon is more that she's so detached from humanity and above it all that she's simply accidentally cruel, as in thinking humans would prefer dying and being in heaven than getting to live and things of that nature. Thanks a lot! - anon

4. Hiya lovelies, I was wondering if you happened to have any Crowley angst fix’s centered around the scene in S2 where he’s talking to Gabriel (the “jump out that window” one) and if so I’d love to see it? But I understand if nothings been written. Thank you so much for all the incredible work you do for this fandom you folks are an absolute treasure - anon

5. Uhm- hi! I've been looking at your posts for a while and I love them. And I was just wondering if you maybe had some like-- child reader inserts? Like- where reader is their child? Preferably male/gender-neutral reader, but really anything will work- I just want to be like- their kid? Sorry if this is weird, I just want to escape my current guardians- if that makes sense. Anyway- yeah, thank you so much-- if you can't find anything that's okay! Thank you again. Have a good day/night!! :)) - anon

If you know any of fics like these please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

#good omens #lost fic #ineffable husbands #mod d

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goodluckclove · 1 month ago

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In Defense of Self-Inserts

This is written in response to an ask sent from the Always Delightful @fukurouonthesea, who asked for my thoughts on creating unique characters in regards to a tabletop game character they're building. My first thought on getting this question is that Fukuro likely assumes unique characters are a subject I know things about - good to hear! Good that people assume I know things! That works out well for me.

So I can speak more on the perspective of writing characters for prose and scripts rather than TTRPGs. I recently finished my first campaign, but I was sort of tricked into playing by my wife who was DM-ing and ended up going the whole time with a joke character I really couldn't find any actual dramatic pathos in*. My next attempt will hopefully be more intentionally-crafted. But also still probably chaotic. I tend to lean that way, apparently.

But characters! How do you do them? Or, more accurately, how do I do them? There's a ton of paths to get to the same goal of Cool Guy That's Fun To Read About, but I'd love to take this opportunity to put off actually working on Migration Patterns for a while longer and instead ramble about something I've been wanting to dive into for a while.

Self-inserts are actually super useful! They're great! All of my characters are self-inserts and virtually no one has ever commented on that! I genuinely don't think they've noticed!

(this is a long one)

What is a self-insert, really? The definition I'm the most familiar with in writing is a character drawing (maybe even heavily drawing) from yourself as the author. I saw people back in the day get very mean about self-inserts, considering them an overlap with the Original Sin of Mary Sue-dom. It's 2024, though, and these days Mary Sue is primarily a term used to describe female characters that a critic personally doesn't like. Still, I've had a TON of writers come to me worrying about writing self-inserts, and I'm consistently confused.

Maybe it's because I've been doing this for long enough that I've built up an immunity to the dumb nonsense people say online posing as "Objective Writing Advice". Maybe it's because I'm a huge fan of Kurt Vonnegut, a man who straight up wrote himself as a side character in a few of his most notable books. I've never gone that far, but I absolutely pull from my own life and identity for all of my characters and it consistently works.

I think when a reader points out a character as a self-insert, it's a reflex of seeing someone with notably less nuance than the rest of the cast. This character - let's name them Goobis - is written with the near-explicit intent to be just super cool. It's an instant turn-off for me in a written work if there's one person I can just look at and immediately know they're crafted to be the fandom darling. Goobis might have faults, but if they do, they're pretty cool faults. They're things that could definitely be bad if pushed to a thematic height (Caring too much, over-protective, self-sacrificing, a level of snark that's guaranteed to make impressionable fans slightly insufferable for a few years), but they aren't.

Goobis, typically, gets kid gloves in terms of the treatment of the story. Plot Armor, maybe. Or they might be a Plot Martyr that has every bad thing ever happen to them and everyone around them is either an old-timey villain or a kind cardboard cutout that weeps oh no poor Goobis!! Both are fine. There's an audience for both, clearly. But from what I've seen those are the types of characters that typically get readers - myself included - to think they're a form of wish-fulfillment.

You can do wish-fulfillment in writing. You should do that at least one, it's nice and good for bone health. But man, there are a lot of writers (Including adult ones that I've known in my real life) who can benefit from - like - distance, man. Draw from yourself and your life, but unless you're ready for a conversation maybe don't be one-to-one accurate.

I have a relative who got a masters in creative writing. I found his novella online and aimed to read it and send him my thoughts as a show of support, only to find that it was actually unbelievably pretentious and I honestly couldn't get through it. What drew my attention, though, was that the main character was dealing with the grief of his father, who died literally the exact same way my relative's actual father died.

I caught it immediately and I think I whispered "oh no" out loud. Like, what are you doing dude? Your mom read that shit, and she had to see you describe an entirely accurate depiction of how her fucking husband died that is such a weird move. Processing grief through writing is great - but change some fucking specifics, you weirdo. Make it a mom instead of a dad, or maybe an uncle or grandpa if you're keeping the patriarch thing. Change the reason why he needed surgery, or the medical complication that caused his death. Maybe don't name the exact hospital where your Dad died in this non-autobiographical work. Fucking hell.

Shifting some surface-level details from events in your life is, often times, enough to make it so people directly involved in these events can read them and not even realize what you're referencing. You can also tweak a certain event slightly to fictionalize it even further, while still having the honesty of your real life experience. I dropped out of school while starting the same creative writing program my relative graduated from. What if I stayed? What would my life look like? What would my writing look like? Would I still even enjoy writing? The concept of sliding door moments is a fascinating one to me and it's something I think about a lot.

On a more internal level in terms of character, you know more of yourself than anyone else in your life. You know your fears and your faults. You know what makes you lovable - or what people say they love you for, or what you'd like them to love about you. You probably know things about yourself that are so painful and trembling that you assume that if anyone else finds out about them they'd immediately realize you're worthless as a human being. If you don't know any of that, maybe you should. Internal contemplation - or external though something like therapy - is absolutely beneficial in a ton of ways, including for your art.

People are complicated. Everyone is complicated, and the average person as the most experience with their own network of identity. And in my own work (The only craft I can really speak for), putting at least a touch of myself in the characters I create has really caused people to engage and relate to them.

And it's weird, because I can't really think of any major faults that any of my characters have. At least, not in the way a lot of newer writers describe character faults - like some rubber stamp easily marked in the center of a person's forehead. There are things about the cast of my series Songbird Elegies that I see as struggles that either have to be processed or managed. Someone might be self-loathing, or struggle with emotional intimacy, or have a temper that will absolutely steer them wrong. They might be impulsive to a degree that is no longer Quirky Cute. That's not great.

But growing writers will sometimes make a fault out to be a thing that you can see very clearly in a person above anything else. As if you can point at a guy on the street and say BAM - SEXIST! Which - yeah, you can do that. I can have brief interactions with people I don't actually know and come away thinking that someone is stupid or lazy or irresponsible or any number of bad qualities. It's only if I got to actually know them - either though a relationship or just somehow following their lives as an outside observer - that I'd learn they slipped through the cracks in school so deeply that they just stopped caring, or they went through a loss that resulted in them choosing to survive instead of actually live.

Your worst qualities weren't predestined from birth. The Meyers-Brigg is absolute nonsense mainly utilized by the military and most major corporations. There are things you might hate about yourself that once served to protect you. This is true for everyone you see, but when you're just starting out in art it might be hard to see that. That's why it's so helpful to first draw from yourself.

So draw from yourself to whatever degree you want. Give Goobis your sense of humor, but maybe use it as an opportunity to explore why you're so quick to joke and what doing that might be avoiding. Have Goobis experience the same childhood birthday that irrevocably changed the course of your life, but maybe change what year it happened and make it a close-up magician you found instead of a Spiderman Impersonator. In fact, consider seeing what would change if it was Goobis' innocent little brother who stumbled across Spiderman's dead body instead of Goobis themself. If you're willing to be honest - not excessively self-deprecating or praising, just honest - you'll probably be surprised how many people see themselves in the people you write.

God that was long. I hope that helped maybe? Helped someone?

*It was an eldritch horror wearing a cowboy Hat of Disguise to look like a bulldog. His name was Socks. He ended the campaign traveling to early 2000s Philadelphia and kidnapping an NPC with him. This was after Socks paid for the NPCs Wizard school education, then paid for the NPC to become a potter after crossing paths again, and then sacrificed the NPC to be an immortal slave to a Time Spider. In the climax of this campaign Socks used the Teleport cantrip from Wizards101 to banish the final enemy to the Tomb of the Beguiler. Things went off the rails real quick.

#writeblr #writing community #on writing #writing resources #this got long fukuro #i had a LOT to say #you gave me an opportunity

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be-my-ally · 2 years ago

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The first meeting, and other firsts.

An Empty Promises chapter! Crossposted on ao3.

Fic 1 references events that are technically sandwiched between two sections of this one but the main events there take place after this, and on the phone comes after both.

So this series is a little like my baby… and I’ve had this half-written for ~ six weeks while I became distracted with literally everything else. It’s entirely self-indulgent - just finally giving some backstory to fic 1 and on the phone. I have two later smutty, shorts in the works too - because, honestly, Elvis just constantly wants to spank reader (who is a whole 5/6 years younger than me so is ABSOLUTELY not an author insert, no way…) and uh, I really don’t have a problem with that.

pairing: fem!reader x elvis (1964-5)

warnings: 18+, slight innocence kink, little bit of daddy kink, oral (p + v receiving) ... elvis reads reader's diary.

wc: 11.6k

You’d noticed him hanging around the past couple of nights, although you’d done your best to ignore him. It was difficult. His characteristic pretty face and charm drawing you in. He’d barely been through the door when you’d recognised him. Recognition came and with it, the sudden spike of adrenaline and nerves that made you almost too anxious to acknowledge him. You’d barely just had the courage to wave hello the first time, pleased that he was seated far enough down the counter that he was Louise’s responsibility and not yours - you weren’t sure you’d have been able to get yourself together as quickly as she had. He’d stayed for a single cup of coffee, black - although the envious looks he’d given to the cream and sugar on the table made you suspect this was learned behaviour rather than a true preference, looking like perhaps he had just wanted a few private moments to himself, before leaving pretty quickly and quietly. You assumed that was the first and last time you’d get to see him up close. You’d lain awake that night, regretting everything, wondering what could have been - at the very least you could have had a signed napkin or something. He’d been right there, you’d been able to see the comb-marks in his hair, where the strands had been split, the tiniest hint of a lighter brown at his roots, you’d been able to see his eyelashes - fluttering in pleasure at the heat of his drink. You couldn’t deny you’d studied him, even if you hadn’t managed to bring yourself to talk to him. Somehow though it had worked to your advantage; it must have been part of the reason he came back so many times in the following week - that so little fuss was being made of him in your quiet little diner.

The second time he’d come in with a group - all men, that had burst through the doors loudly; you’d looked up to frown at them for making such a racket when you’d noticed him in the middle of the crush. He’d looked up at you and you’d smiled shyly, your knees wobbling less this second time. You’d still had to take a deep breath before coming around to the two booths they’d squished themselves into, building yourself up for the faux nonchalant air you hoped you could give off. You’d managed to make it through their order without embarrassing yourself, although you know you blushed when you overheard one of them asking if they should “take out that pretty waitress?” You were the only one still working out front. But whoever had said it never materialised at the counter - and they’d left as raucously as they’d arrived not long after.

The third time he was drawing attention to himself - not intentionally but he had come at a far busier time of the day than the strange hours he’d come in in the past and well, he was pretty conspicuous despite his clear efforts to look smaller. Still, he’d signed everything anyone thrust at him, and had seemingly happily chatted and flirted with the girls that flocked around him. You felt awkward that you had a desire to join the gaggle of girls surrounding him, embarrassed now that you’d seen him not once, not twice but three times, and never said a word directly to him, to go over and ask for something as trivial as his autograph. Louise had left a little over ten minutes ago though, and with her the other girls who had turned out to be her friends, and now he was alone and you could see his cup was empty. You took a deep breath before heading over with the coffee jug to offer him a refill.

“Uh, would you, sorry - hello, would, could I - would you like another refill?” You tentatively manage to spit out, your hand shaking slightly. You pointedly don’t look directly at his face, staring at the cup on the table. He sounds amused when he replies;

“That’s mighty kind of you honey, thanks.” You go to pour, immediately splashing some on the table - although thankfully not on him. Although that may have been more becuase of his quick reflexes shifting his legs quickly out of the way.

“Oh, no, oh - gosh, sorry, let me just grab a -” You wipe it up with a napkin as you cringe, but when you start to walk away he grabs your wrist before it could leave the table.

“Could you - stay a while? I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” It’s the first time you look at him properly, and your breath catches in your throat, he’s so pretty. It’s startling to see him up close in person, so used to seeing it through the glass of a television screen or inanimate on a record sleeve - to watch his face change, his nostrils move as he breathes, his hair shift as his head moves is as intimate a thing as you could think. As you study him you notice that maybe the difference is in the makeup; the ability to see his pores, or the softer hair, falling into his face but either way he looks younger than he usually does. But at the same time, more solid, less transient and three dimensional - you can’t imagine refusing him a thing, especially with his eyes staring into yours, so much bluer than they looked on the screen. You nod, and he gestures to the seat in front of him.

“If - if someone comes in I’ll have to go - I can’t, I’m saving for college -” You look around nervously as you take the seat, but there’s just an elderly couple in the back corner booth and a workman on a stool - no-one who needed assistance or who hadn’t been served. He nods, agreeing, as if he could possibly understand the desire to keep a job out of necessity. So you sit there and talk. He’s polite, in that wonderfully southern way, but you can tell from the way his eyes glint, and the corners of his mouth turn that he’s also got a mischievous side that he’s trying to repress - that he’s trying to impress you somehow. It makes you squirm in the booth seat - how on earth could Elvis - Elvis who a few months ago was rumoured to be dating Ann-Margret be possibly trying to impress you? You don’t even know how he’s been managing to sneak around, be so on his own, how there’s not bodyguards and press. You’re a little town just outside of Memphis so it wasn’t like it was far for him to travel for a hint of anonymity, if that was what he was trying to achieve. But why he’s even in town at the moment is a mystery to you - shouldn’t he be off in Hollywood filming, or doing press? Why would a man of his age and position would even be interested in you. Sure, you’ve got enough self-awareness to know you’re okay looking - with enough make-up and your hair done you’re usually pretty satisfied; but you’re not California - not movie-star cute! Still, somehow he makes you forget your self-doubt when you’re lost watching his lips move as he talks. He looks you directly in the eyes, so hard that you’re always the first to look away, it’s difficult to handle the intensity of his gaze. But he’s chatty and kind, and doesn’t wholly monopolise the conversation - although you wouldn’t mind if he had; his life endlessly more entertaining than your own. So, despite your slight discomfort and nerves you sit there, and talk, and your celebrity crush rapidly blossoms into a real life crush right in your chest in real-time.

A week later, you’re going mad - falling hard. Even though you berate yourself for it - for getting ahead of yourself, for falling so easily - for so many reasons. You’ve seen him twice more at the diner, and by sitting elsewhere from the other boys, and ensuring he speaks only to you, he’s made it pretty clear you were his main purpose in coming. You would regret the fact that he’s not been coming in everyday, cursing whatever kept him, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve spoken to him on the phone every night. Sometimes twice a day, often little inane chats that mean nothing, but somehow everything.

You’ve never had a boy who talked to you like he did, like you were his friend. You wonder if you should find it weirder, that he likes this kind of talk, the kind of talk that you know how to do. You’ve always found boys so different - you’ve never known what to say to them. Found it awkward to know what to say without being accused of flirting, or alternatively being too aloof. But with him it’s easy - you chat about your days, he asks you what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking - he asks you about your friends, the daily dramas and who’s seeing who now; despite only knowing of them for such a short time he always seems interested in what you have to say. It’s novel in so many ways, to have someone care what you have to say, your parents were supportive but dismissive and you often felt on the fringes with your friends. Although you notice, but don’t think too much of it - his voice distraction enough, that whenever you try to bring up anything of a more serious nature, perhaps something you’d read in the paper he always tells you the same thing;

“That’s not for you to worry about darlin’.” So you don’t, in fact you stop worrying about a lot. He seems to be taking care of a lot of things for you.

He’s charming and handsome and flashy - famous, in a way that you struggle to wrap your head around. Wealthy in a way you can barely comprehend - he’s already sent you flowers and expensive dresses and had, just yesterday, palmed you a little box with a wonderfully thin, gold chain and heart pendant. Jewellery - jewellery for a girl he’s just met. And you know you’re getting ahead of yourself, you’ve only really known him a week or so but suddenly you find yourself hoping when he calls you doll, or baby or little girl that you’re his doll or baby, or that actually you’d be his girl. You know its too early and if she wasn’t already then your momma would be worried about you catching feelings this fast but you just can’t help it he’s just so, so… everything.

You’re leaving work, slightly later than usual and you hurry across the dark parking lot towards the sidewalk that would lead you to the short walk home. But when you’re halfway across you suddenly notice that he’s waiting for you, leaning against his car. He’s dressed up in black on black, his hair slicked up and back, and he looks so sleek and suave and just plain attractive that your tummy flips when you see him. You do a double take, not expecting to see him stood there so casually and you rush over to him. He kisses you on the cheek in greeting, like an adult - which, you think, you are but it still felt like you were playing grown-up most of the time, and you can feel the blush rising on your cheeks where his lips had touched you. His light hold on your waist. It’s the first time he’d done anything quite so obviously romantic. He opens the door and gestures you in,

“Thought I’d take you out?” You agree easily, it’s not too late that you’ll be expected home and even if you were there was no way you’d turn down this chance. But as you sit down and he goes around the car the thought pops into your head that maybe he didn’t mean any of it romantically, after all, why would he want to take you out? You’re probably misinterpreting everything. You silently panic, until, as he starts to drive away he glances over and grins at you; one of those grins where he looks more boy-next-door than movie star, and reaches over to pick up your hand, holding it in his and placing them, entwined, on his thigh. It’s that exact moment, as you stare at your joined hands, that you know you’re ruined. You’d give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d continue to grip your hand in his like that. That there’s no coming back from this now - even if he only means to play with you or toy with your feelings you’d allow him, that if he wanted you to be his girl at home, like you’d heard he’d had - or one of his easy girlfriends, you’d agree. You’d agree to whatever tiny scrap of attention he would bestow on you that might recapture the tummy-flipping excitement, the immense happiness of having his attention on you.

He takes you out for a simple dinner, you’re actually a little surprised, he’d assured you that your dress was fine (although you were thankful you’d changed out of your uniform) so you weren’t expecting too much, but you were still surprised it wasn’t anywhere fancy but just simple good food, that he’d clearly enjoyed with gusto and a Pepsi to wash it down with. But, as you’re growing to know and understand him a little better you’re starting to realise that often it’s the simple things that remind him of home that he likes the most - he’d almost cried at a slice of pie in the diner, saying it tasted just like one that his mother liked. And now, dinner over, you sit there in a dress he’d sent you only a day before, that you’d decided against saving for best when another had arrived the next day, slightly lost for words. What do you even have to say to him that could interest him? He teases you about this, clearly understanding or simply used to girls going silent around him;

“What’s keepin’ you so quiet tonight? You just too busy thinking how cute I am?” He grins at you like a little boy, and you can’t help but return it. You relax, teasing him back,

“No - just thinking about how I should shimmy out the window in the bathroom.” He looks shocked for a a second before breaking out into infectious laughter; clearly not expecting the response. When you both stop giggling he puts his hand on the table, palm up, and waits for you to put your hand in his. When you do, he clasps it tight, turning it over, and examining your hand - he tuts at the bitten nails, but flips it back over without mentioning them further. He holds onto you when he speaks next.

“I want to make it really clear baby, in case I haven’t been so far. I don’t want you to misunderstand. I, -uh, I really think I could like you a lot, and I wanna get to know you more. I think I already do, doll, but I - I really think I’m already fallin’ for you a little. I’d like to do this again - take you out, and the like?” You hesitate he’s so overwhelmingly in a different world to you that you can’t imagine why he’s suggesting this - as much as you want to agree. You worry your lip as you think of what to say, his eyes boring into you.

“You won’t… you won’t be ashamed to be seen out with me? I’m a waitress Elvis, and I’m not even in college yet - I’m not like those other girls, I’m not an actress or anything; and I don’t wanna be.” He shakes his head,

“I’ve had them other girls honey, and I want you.” You look down at your still intertwined hands and you don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t know how you’re going to respond.

“Sure Elvis, sure, we can - give getting to know each other a go.” You want to question him, ask him about the other girls you hear he has, hasn’t he brought that girl over from Germany? But you can’t bring yourself to mention it, slightly worried that it might remind him of something, make him rescind the offer.

He wordlessly picks up the check, leaving ample cash although he made you simultaneously frown and laugh at the absurdity of it all when he confesses that he had no idea how much he left and that he doesn’t usually carry his own cash so he has no idea how much anything costs anymore. He opens the door for you as you leave, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole time, and asks

“So what’dya say? Wanna come back with me - be my girl? Wanna take you home?” You stop, in the parking lot. That wasn’t quite what you’d discussed before.

“You want me to be your girl El? You sure?” He nods, hurrying back to grip your hands in both of his, looking at you deep into your eyes, pleading with you.

“Want you to be all mine baby, want you to come back to Graceland with me, we can play house honey, we can - look, I just - I take care of what’s mine and I just want you… want to treat you real nice. You won’t have to save or work anymore - you can, you can just do whatever you like.” It’s far more than you’d considered possible, but his blue eyes were so convincing and a tiny furrow forms in his brow that you just want to smooth out by any means possible. You almost don’t consider the implications of what he’s offering - far more than his girl, he’s offering you everything.

“Well, ok then.” He pauses with his hand on your car door handle, still holding one of your hands,

“Well, you don’t sound too enthus’astic ‘bout it.” He doesn’t sound pleased, and it causes butterflies to immediately form in your stomach worried that you’ve upset him - you’re desperate to reassure him - to please him again and you shake your head,

“No, no, I am, I promise - it’s beyond my wildest dreams, but uh- it’s just, you’re gonna have to convince my daddy yet first. He still wants me to go ta college - you know, make a real woman of myself, and I don’t see how that fits.” He smiles with utter confidence;

“Don’t-ya go worrying that little head of yours on that, I’ll deal with all that when it comes round to it.” He kisses your knuckles, before opening the door and pushing you in, walking around to the other side. You’d noticed before that he liked to touch you - it seemed to be his way, indiscriminately brushing his fingers over whatever he could reach. But now that you’d given him some form of permission his hand doesn’t leave your thigh the whole drive home, except for a moment when he catches your hand again, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles before bringing them together onto his thigh again. Much the same as the journey there.

You’ve never had this casual closeness with a boy before. Your tummy is flipping nervously the whole drive home - you can tell it’s entirely normal to him, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you aren’t also used to it. It feels grown-up, adult, in the same way that his kisses on your cheek hello make you feel mature despite your age. You don’t realise he can tell this, in the shifting of your legs beside him, the way that you hold his hand a little too tight. And you also can’t tell that he likes this, but he does. He pulls up, half a block away from your house.

“Don’t want the neighbours peepin’ baby, or your Pa comin’ out here with a shotgun.” He offers as an explanation when you look over at him puzzled. You wonder what on earth for, when he’s leaning an arm over the back of the seat, and wrapping it around you, pulling you in closer. Your thigh starting to overlap his. He looks down at you, at your lips, and you look back at his, nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you gonna, you gonna kiss me Elvis?” You whisper, nervously. He nods,

“If,” he rubs his neck a little bashfully, “If that’s alright with you, honey, I sure would like to.” You rush out an agreement, curling into his hold. He presses a hand to cup your chin, fingers brushing your neck, and brings your heads closer together. He smiles when you’re close and you’re almost giddy with excitement - you still can’t believe you’re about to kiss Elvis, and you’re trying not to think too hard about it, or worry yourself, but he grasps hold of you, in complete control, and suddenly you’re utterly confident that the situation - that you are in safe hands. When your lips finally do touch it’s not like a kiss you’ve ever had before, although you’d only had two, but in comparison it’s not at all like the wet slimy kiss of Trevor or the tentative pecks of Bobby - it’s soft but unyielding and damp but not wet. It’s how you think it should feel, being kissed. You imagine it’s how champagne feels, the fizz building up in you. It makes you want to get up on the seat, kneel closer, as close as possible, it makes you feel alive. Your eyes close and you’re lost in the sensations as you contemplate who it is you are kissing, and consider how he got so good at it. He’s a gentleman, not forcing anything into or on you, just going with what you’re signalling. It makes you squirm in your seat against him, tingles being sent from your chest to your stomach. He leaves you chasing him, breathing heavily still and leaning across the front seat, when he pulls back. He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back again. You sit like that for a few minutes, his arm still wrapped around you, leaning against his chest. You would have expected your mind to be racing, but strangely you’re calm, and can’t think of much beyond how much you enjoyed that, how much you can’t wait to do it again. After a little while he shifts you slightly, although his arm remains wrapped around yours and he wordlessly puts the car back into drive, coasting down to to pull up to your house. He gets out when you arrive, rushing around to open your door for you, and you pretend to be calm about it but inside you’re screaming, “Oh god, he kisses like that and he’s still such a gentleman - such a nice boy.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you off to the front door,

“Next time I come through - I’ll come in baby, wanna see your little room, but for now I’ll call ya honey,” You nod, looking back at him sliding into the car again,

“You promise El?” He looks back at you through the open window, holding his fingers up in a scout salute,

“I swear it baby, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

By the time you collapse into bed, your mind alight with the events of the evening, you still can’t quite believe it. You look around the room - trying to picture Elvis stood there, it’s difficult to picture him amongst your school awards still on the wall. Or laying on your bed - your stuffed animals dotted around. Still, you think as you snuggle down into your comforter, soon you won’t need to imagine - he’d promised you.

——

It’s just barely a week later, and you’re having a rare few days off from the diner while they were closed for renovations - a fact you were particularly happy about when you received a phone call from Elvis letting you know he was ten minutes away and asking if you were alone. You had of course immediately agreed, although afterwards panicked in having such little time to prepare, thankful that your mother had gone to visit her sister today while your father was at work.

You rush to open the door when you hear him knock, thankful that he’d rang ahead to warn you that he was passing by and that you’d had the small chance to tidy up a little, and freshen yourself up even if it was in a hurry. You couldn’t help but just stand there when you opened it, still in shock at seeing Elvis stood there on your doorstep - tight trousers and short sleeve blue shirt slightly open, looking like he’d just stepped off of a film set. He lets you gawp for a second, face filling with mirth before interjecting a moment later -

“Well…, aren’t ya gonna invite me in?” You stared, but nodded and you open the door all the way but before you can take a step back he was squeezing past you, apologising as he brushed against you as he walked in. You peer out of the door before you shut it tightly - trying to make sure no neighbours had been watching him come in, unaccompanied, into your house when they surely knew your parents would be out. When you turn around you catch him glancing around your entrance way, peering his head through the archways into the kitchen and living room and he nods approvingly,

“Nice little place you got here doll.” You smile, pleased that he approves but also slightly embarrassed at his qualifier - you know it’s small, nothing special, your parents never had much money to spare although you were always treated well.

“Oh well, I know it’s not like - like where you live but …” He interrupts you before you can go any further, shaking his head.

“Oh no, no, honey. You misunnerstand me - up til a couple’a years ago I’d dream about a lil house like this one - we never had much either.”

You smile back at his bashful expression. “Oh well, then. Glad you like it!” You do a little curtsey, and then immediately inwardly cringe. Why on earth did you just bob like that. He smiles at you, as if you’ve somehow just endeared yourself to him further but then glances up at the stairs,

“So, uh, you gonna show me your room?” He nods his head at the stairs and you giggle back at him, teasing him.

“My! How forward you are Mr Presley. Wanting to see a girl’s room before you’ve even taken her on a second date!” He winks at you, before taking the stairs two at a time, his forearms flexing as he grips the handrail. You’re not even wholly sure what is so attractive about it but you can’t resist simply watching the back of him, trousers and shirt tight on his skin, as he runs up.

“Yep! That’s me, now you gonna make me guess or you coming up too?” You laugh, following him up the stairs - suddenly nervous about its girlish decoration; you’re an adult (although admittedly, only just) but you take comfort in the familiarity of your childhood room, the same patch of stain from the nail varnish you spilt when you were thirteen, the marks on the doorjamb tracking your height, the familiar bed linen - a mismatched selection from all your major life stages, one pillowcase from a set when you were seven, another from when you were twelve, underneath your newest ‘grown-up’ set. The quilt your mother made you atop it all. You rush ahead of him to nervously lead him to the door and turn back to apologise about the childish decor only to flush, watching him inspect the wooden letters on your door - oh god, how embarrassing - you start to stutter out an explanation,

“Oh gosh, they’ve been there so long I forget they’re there - I don’t know why we even bothered with them, there’s only one of …” but your apologies falter on your lips as you watch him trace them almost reverently.

“I like ‘em baby - ’s cute, lets everyone know where you are. Could have found your door all on my own.” He turns his attention back to you and the room and you watch him take it all in. He glances over at your bookshelves, school books still stacked in them, and over at your bed with the little painted daisies on the wooden frame, the pile of teddy bears at the foot. He sneaks a peek over at your dresser and you follow his eyes where you see a scrap of white hanging half out of the drawer, your own eyes widen and you rush to close it with faux nonchalance from a knock with your hip.

He smirks watching you, but ignores it and you watch him go to take a closer look at your desk. You perch on the bed, waiting for him to have looked his fill and turn his attention from the room to you, but he’s distracted by something on your desk. He picks up a leaf of writing paper from where you’d left it out - to dry - your daddy won’t buy you the fancy paper with the designs already on it just to send to your friends who live right around the corner so you paint them on yourself; little trailing leaves and flowers on the borders. You freeze as he stares, examining your doodles with a little furrow in his brow - he can’t possibly remember.

“Say…doll, haven’t I received a letter like this?” Surely not. You had hoped when you’d sent it he would read them but you hadn’t really expected him to - fully assuming most fan letters would be tossed out pretty much as soon as they were received. You certainly never would have expected him to remember a letter that if you remember rightly yourself was sent over a year ago. You stutter out a response,

“Oh, oh, no, no. I think you must be mistaken, no, no I would nev-“ He interrupts you, completely ignoring your protestations.

“Yeah, yeah I remember, wasn’t it something like,” He puts on a high-pitched voice in an attempt at imitating you, “My mama won’t let me play your records anymore, says you’re a … what was it, a bad influence maybe?” He shrugs, “Seems to be most of the time anyway.” He laughs and then continues, gesturing with his hands, pacing in front of you “ ’S all coming back to me now, didn’t it go ‘but, when they leave I always put you back on the player, I just can’t help myself - your voice makes me feel things, I tingle.’ ”He returns to his normal voice again, “Weren’t it somethin’ like that?” You cringe away from his laughing eyes, you can only think to protest it but you know as soon as you open your mouth you’ll give it away but you try to do the best you can,

“Wow - I don’t think that was me, but do you really remember so many?” He laughs at your attempt, shaking his head.

“Yeah honey, I remember all the real cute ones doll. especially ones that say ‘sometimes I touch myself and think of you!’ Lord! What would your mama think of that!” You squirm, mortified.

“Oh no, no I really think you must be mistaken!” He smirks at you. Putting the sheet of paper back down - he stalks towards you and crowds you on the bed. You lean back and he follows, placing his body almost entirely over you, forcing you to lie almost completely back. You think he’s about to kiss you and your eyes fall shut in anticipation only to feel him move away a moment later - the pillow moving behind you causing your head to slip lower.

“Well - let’s see shall we?” You blink your eyes open and they immediately widen as you see what he’s holding - the diary from under your pillow. You sit up, reaching out for it.

“Oh no! Elvis! No - no, give it back!” He holds it above your head laughing as he pushes you back, keeping it out of your arms reach the whole time.

“Oh, no, no no.” He’s laughing at your struggles, “Gotta check my sources! See if you’re lyin’ to me little girl. One of these days you girls will find a different hiding place, gotta make the most of it.” He manages to grab hold of your wrist holding it across your body, catching the other between the two of you - pinning you against him - his chest on your back, and holding you with ease. He flicks the book open as you cringe against him. As if it couldn’t get any worse it immediately opens to a page addressed not, as you normally did, to ‘dear diary’ but to one of a few that you’d written ‘dear Elvis,’ across the top. You moan as you can feel the delight radiating off of him.

“Now then - looks like we won’t have to search very hard! Ooh hoo hoo!” he crows at you - “Oh my!” he fakes outrage, humming as he reads the page - you hope against hope it’s the one where you explain that you’d snuck out to see a film of his your mother had banned you from, and not a different particularly memorable entry.

“No way! Elvis - this ain’t funny no more! You gotta, gotta let go of me. Give me the damn book back!” He laughs at you,

“Now, now don’t you be getting too big for your britches little girl, I ain’t afraid to soap that mouth out.” He tickles your side and you giggle, although you feel a sudden surge of heat run through you, as you finally manage to break free. “No, no, where’dya think you’re going.” He sits on the bed patting his thigh and grabbing your wrist again pulling you around. “Back here on daddy’s knee, gonna read you a little story.” You squirm, but nonetheless sit where you’re told. You can’t deny, despite your mild embarrassment, that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Now it goes something like this - ‘Dear Elvis, Today was a rough day at school, Susie and Bryce started going steady and she told me she let him touch her in his car last night! Even though she knows I liked Bryce last year!’ I never will understand why girls get so caught up in liking someone who someone else once liked - why does it matter? Anyway, ‘I worry sometimes that I’ll never find someone who wants to go steady with me. I’m just not pretty enough, or tall enough. Or maybe it’s just because everyone knows I’m going to college.’”

You cringe at his reading out of your inane chatter, and you’re pleased when he hums and seems to be skipping along the page - hoping against hope he was growing bored. But you can feel his sudden smugness, and you just know that written on the page is not a story about you sneaking out to go and see Viva Las Vegas.

“Oooh, here’s where it gets good little, ‘This evening I went around to Natalie’s place - her parents were out, and she put on your new single, she was trying to convince me that the Beatles were so much better, but I think we’re just gonna have to disagree - they’re not even attractive.’ Well darling, at least I’ve got that going for me.” He laughs. “ ‘The thing is though, on the single there’s another song that I’ve heard before, but I don’t think I’d noticed the end - you make all these noises and I don’t really understand what happened but after I got home my panties were so damp through that I had to change them! Just from your voice!’ You start to squirm again, knowing what he’s about to read,

“Elvis - I really think, this is enough now - this is private, I don’t -” He just talks louder over you though,

“ ‘I’m still really wet, in fact, but that’s probably more to do with the fact that I couldn’t help but touch myself. Even though I heard the pastor say it’s a sin.’” His voice is dipping lower as he talks and his hand is brushing your upper thigh close to where you can feel the heat rising from within you, both from a hint of shame but mostly from arousal. His voice is deep and low in his chest and it hits you while you sit there that you’re on Elvis’ lap which makes you squirm all by itself.

He hushes you, “Shh, darling, not done yet, hold still.” And he holds you by his grip on your waist, fingertips gently stroking your side. You can feel his own heat burning against your leg, and you suddenly realise that’s his penis. A man’s cock growing against your own warm heat. You’re not as innocent as you were in that entry a year ago, but you’re not experienced yourself at all and pretty much all of your knowledge is secondhand from your girlfriend’s and their older sisters. You wriggle again, “Now, now let me finish.” He coughs dramatically, flicking the pages out as you whine.

“ ‘Sometimes I touch myself and I slip a finger in, I know I’m not supposed to but I just can’t help myself just thinking of you - of what you could do to me, god I’d do anything to be touched by you, just once.’ ” He skims the rest of the page, and softly closes the book, “Well baby, how does it feel to be touched by me?” His hands rub up your thighs and your eyes slip closed in pleasure as he watches your reaction, nudging them so far up that he’s almost brushing your panties. Your tummy flips, almost on the verge of being nauseous, as you try to catalogue the feelings. He removes his hands and you open your eyes catching your breath, but then he’s leaning back and pulling you down with him. He kisses you, in a way that you’ve never been kissed before, all tongue and teeth.

Then, he starts to kiss down your neck. You’ve never thought of any part of you as super sensitive but suddenly it feels like all your nerve endings are alight, feeling sparks as his lips trail down to your collarbone. You wiggle against him, feeling his large hand span across your back, fingertips pressing in as you push closer to where his leg has slipped between yours. Unable to stop yourself grinding against him a little bit. Your dress catches slightly and it means that for a brief moment the only thing between your warm wetness and his trouser leg are your thin cotton panties and you can feel the rough fabric rub against you, an involuntary moan escaping you.

“Baby, you gettin’ that feelin’ again?” You nod frantically, and he laughs - “Well,” he looks over at the alarm clock on your bedside table, “I don’t reckon we’ve got time to do anything about it now - not got time for you to finish - not before your parents get home.” You stare at him, blinking owlishly, you know, you know how babies are made, you’re not stupid, know that men can do things about it but -

“What…What do you mean? You can…do things about it? I can… finish?” He groans, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Oh!” He groans again, “Lord help me - yeah baby, yeah you can - can make you feel real good; you never? When you told me you touched yourself - it never felt… better?” You shake your head at him,

“I never got very far - didn’t have a clue what I should be doing and it made me awful hot and sweaty, and and it felt terribly tight and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be and my parents are only the other side of this wall.” He moans so hard it’s almost a keen, swearing;

“Oh God. Oh goddamn. I swear, we haven’t got time now, really don’t have time but I’ll see you real soon, come back over when your mama and papa are home, gotta few things to discuss with them, then when I’ve got you all to myself I’ll teach you. Show you how you do it.” You immediately brighten up, forgetting your embarrassment in your excitement.

“Oh would you! I thought there must be something to it, but maybe it was just - just something some people did and some didn’t. ” You lean back down, catching his lips again. But then you pause suddenly, your insides twisting for a different reason, “Um, but Elvis, I don’t - don’t want you to get uh expectations or be dis’pointed, I’m not, not sure if I’m - I’m not sure I’m ready for, for sex. I’m not, not sure I wanna before, before I get hitched.” He looks in your eyes for a second before nodding,

“No darling, I know. Don’t you worry about it, that’s good, little one, you’re such a good girl for me - just gonna wait until the time is right huh, daddy’ll know when that is sweetheart, don’t you worry about that at all.” You can tell, looking straight into his eyes, that he’s being sincere and something in you relaxes. He pulls you back in for a slightly more chaste kiss, moving his thigh just enough to resettle the pressure and cause you to rut against him again. He lets you rub against him again for a moment before sitting up and pulling away.

“Now baby,” he starts with a plea in his voice, “how’s about you let me have a little somethin’ - just to …uh tide me over in the meanwhile?” You furrow your brow, unsure what you have to offer him,

“Well sure, maybe, I mean I don’t have -“ He jumps in before you can say anything else, interrupting you and talking fast like he’d been planning his moment on when to ask for this thing - like it was something he’d been thinking a while. Like a child sat on Santa’s knee, desperate to convey their desires.

“Could I have whatever it was peeking out of your drawer earlier?” You flush bright red from the chest up, surely he knows -

“Elvis! Those - those were my, my panties!” He grins wolfishly, mischievously at you,

“Well I know that doll, why’d you think I want ‘em?” You stand up to go and get them, although you still can’t imagine why on earth he’d want them.

“Here ya are - they’re not. Not special or nothing - but sure. I suppose.” He glows at you, and you’re still embarrassed but can’t help beaming back at him, watching him tuck them securely in his pant pocket. He stands up, looking over at the clock again.

“Really gotta go now honey,” You nod back at him a little sadly and start to head down the stairs with him. At the threshold to the front door he pushes a hand against it, preventing you from opening it for a moment and instead curls a hand around your waist, pulling you towards him again. You look up at him biting your lip a little, he pulls it from your mouth and keeps a hold of it with two fingers,

“You behave now ’til I see you again, alright baby?” He looks sternly at you, but his eyes are bright, playful, and although you can’t even imagine what he thinks counts as misbehaviour nor how on earth he would know anyhow but still you nod;

“Of course!” He leans down to you - far more chastely than before, just a simple press of his lips on yours.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” You nod again, and he leaves. You breath a sigh of relief as you close the door behind him, watching him hop into his, oh gosh, wow, totally inconspicuous, bright Cadillac all you can think is god, you can’t wait to put this in your diary.

——

The night you moved into Graceland was nerve-wracking. It had been scary enough to be introduced to his father, to his grandmother, but you were also terrified for other reasons. You knew that he hadn’t pressured you before but surely he’d want something in return for having you in his house. For keeping you. But you were wrong again. You’d gone to bed that night, anxiously peering at his ludicrously decorated bedroom when he’d led you in, and he’d tucked you in and pulled you into his arms with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the forehead. Since that first day, he touches you all the time, so physically affectionate that even though you knew it was genuine it felt like he was going out of his way for some reason. Just so that he might brush against you, or have to place his hands on your waist and move you. Anywhere you were sat, he or you would be practically on top of the other, his hand on your thigh or your hand being placed on his. He holds you, all night long, and it’s only the second night when you anxiously kiss him, desperate to at least make-out like you had been doing back home. He allows it, but pushes you away when you reach for anything further, tucking your hands into one of his and pulling you close, lulling you to sleep with your head close to his heartbeat.

The end of that first week was memorable for several reasons. The first, and the cause for the rest of them, was that he’d thrown the first party since you’d been at Graceland. You’d enjoyed yourself immensely - getting dressed up with him - he’d even helped you with your makeup, steady hand tracing your eyeliner. And the night itself had been magical, stuck by his side as he effectively showed you off - dancing together and meeting his friends. He’d been roped into singing and his clear enjoyment of the night had only increased your own. The second reason you found it memorable was that before the party you’d opened the wardrobe in your room and discovered an entire rail of new dresses, all perfectly sized to your exact measurements and style. The third was Elvis slightly tipsy (despite him not allowing you to have more than a sip) or perhaps just high off a good night, clutching you to him, your back to his chest and whispering in your ear;

“You just gotta, gotta say no if you don’t wanna, darling. Not gonna push you - ‘m not like that I promise.” He punctuated his point with a hand rubbing over your stomach, gently, soothingly. You’d stilled at his words, and he’d followed it up with, “Wanna…go upstairs? Let me teach you a few things?” You’d paused in your turning around, and he’d moved his head closer to yours, his lips practically touching your ears. He’d kissed the patch of skin just below as he’d continued; “Be my good girl? Let me show you how?” He’d brushed his other hand down your arm, gently, and you’d been pulling away and up the stairs before he could say goodnight to the others.

Which took you to now, stood in the middle of the bedroom, uncertain really as to what you should be doing. Should you get undressed? Take off your shoes at least? A moment later he’s entering himself, and shuts the door behind himself before striding over to you, capturing your mouth with his. His hands brush against you, but seem to gently hover, and it’s not until you make a little whine does he press them against you, holding you close with a hand on your back, the other coming to cup your cheek and chin. His tongue slips into yours, and you moan as you come up onto your tiptoes, desperate to stay as close to him as possible. He bends further, kissing your cheek and down your neck, sucking down when he reaches your exposed collarbone. You lean into him even further and he wraps both arms around your middle lifting you up, and carrying you over to the bed, even as his head was still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the skin rising, burning and stinging as he bites down, leaving a purple bruise where he had been, feel his soft, gentle tongue lapping at it and easing the sting as you let out tiny noises of pain and pleasure.

He puts you down, laying you back, and one of his hands comes around to your waist, stroking across your stomach. It feels like his fingers are burning through your dress, and his fingers - though slender and delicate when you see them on a steering wheel or holding one of his cigarillos, feel huge and heavy as they span your tummy. He kisses you again and you arch into him, and when he pulls back his lips are wet and redder than usual, plump and pillowy soft. Yours feel bitten and sore, tender in the best way. He sits up, pulling his hand out from underneath you, and you gaze up at him. He groans as he looks back at you,

“Oh lord, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.” You raise onto your elbows,

“Like what?” He doesn’t reply, but looks away and takes a breath, when he turns back to you his eyes are bright with playfulness.

“Right, dolly, time to let daddy play with you,” You don’t know why that flips your tummy, if it’s his use of ‘daddy’ in this context, or ‘play’ or even him calling you not just a doll, but a dolly. But it does. He pulls you up, and turns you, deft fingers unbuttoning the back of your dress’ bodice as he does so, leaning down to press precious little kisses - no more than gentle touches of his lips - down your back when he exposes each tiny sliver of skin. He reaches the skirt, unhooking the button and lowering the zip at the waistband, allowing it to fall open and he eases the little straps off your shoulders. The dress falls to the floor, and you step out of it, you’re immediately self-conscious stood there in just your slip, in its almost sheer silkiness, but its not long before he’s hooking his fingers into the hem, and pulling it up and over your head. He stares for a moment, at you stand there in just your soft cotton bra and panties and you wrap an arm around your middle. He frowns,

“Don’t, don’t hide from me. Just let me look at you.” You blink at him, lowering your arm although a blush rises up from your chest.

“ ’S emnbarassin’ E,” He shakes his head at you, tsking as he does.

“Nothing embarrassing about it baby, letting your daddy look at you like such a good girl.” He glances at your panties, staring for long enough that you shift a little, “I love white, you got more like that? Or do I hafta go out and buy you some more?” You wonder what’s going to happen to these, but you know that the majority of your underwear drawer looks the same.

“No, no, they’re… most of ‘em are like this,” He groans, and has seemingly reached his limit for keeping his hands off of you, moving to touch your hips and run his fingers over your newly bared skin. Goosebumps break out as he touches you and you shiver at the contact. He pats your stomach, before running his hand down to the top of your waistband. He runs his fingers over it, gently, feeling where the fabric rests atop your soft springy curls, and then steps back again. He goes to strip off himself, having discarded his jacket somewhere downstairs - untucking his shirt and pulling it off. As his chest is revealed you can feel your face flaming again - as if it wasn’t already seriously red. He laughs when he looks over at you,

“God baby, you can’t have any blood left in your body - ’sall in your little pink cheeks.”

He throws the shirt to the chair in the corner of the room. He pushes his trousers down, confidently stepping out, he doesn’t kick them aside like you expected a boy might, instead bending, giving you a perfect view of his naked backside, to pick them up, folding them in half and slinging them over the same chair as his shirt. You feel free to ogle at him, considering he had done the same mere minutes before and you’re stuck wondering how people go about the day knowing this is what people looked like under their clothes. You never believed it would be something that you would find especially attractive, you knew men commented on women and girl’s behinds but you never thought it happened in reverse, didn’t think you’d suddenly be overcome with the urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh there.

When he turns around you can’t help but stare straight at his crotch. You’d seen one before, in your biology textbook and once in a magazine that Natalie’s brother had stolen from their father that you’d all crowded around and giggled at, although not for very long before you’d had to quickly replace it as you heard his father’s car on the driveway. But never had you seen one in real life. You’d felt one, through a boy’s pants as you’d sat on his lap at the diner, you’d felt Elvis’ in fact in much the same way, but even when he’d gently stroked you over your panties you’d never gone so far to touch him unclothed, or even through a fabric layer. You didn’t really know what to expect. But his cock was rosy and already stood a little to attention, where it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as you’d always expected them to be. Somehow, even without having anything to compare it to you could just tell it was a pretty. You immediately reach out a curious hand, and as he steps towards you, looking amused, you wish you could stop the words tumbling out of your mouth;

“Gosh - I’ve uh, I’ve never seen one in real life….” You try to stem your burning curiosity but you can’t stop yourself “What’s it feel like? Can I, can I touch it?” You pause, remembering your manners, “Please?” He nods laughing and gets himself within reaching distance of you. He places his hand over yours, gently gripping them together, his palm on the top of your hand and guides it towards him. You’re surprised at how smooth it feels, you don’t know why, you didn’t expect it to feel so soft although it’s also a little wrinkly almost and you’re slightly surprised because he seems to have more skin there than the guy in the magazine - it encases just below the head of his cock which is now popping out of the little folds. He lets go and your hand just rests there for a moment, before you squeeze a little, releasing and running your fingers gently over it.

““El, that’s, it’s so soft.” He laughs at you, pupils dilating as he looks at your fingers dancing over him.

“Not for much longer doll,” and he guides your fingers back to him.

“That’s it baby, nice and gentle,” You continue to stroke him, briefly, before he’s putting his hand back down, pulling yours off, “Just need, sorry baby, I know this is dirty, but just need, a lil help here. You gonna wrap your hand around me?” You nod, confused as to why he’s turning your palm up, “Ok, honey, I just need a little, needs ta be a little wetter.” He looks you in the eyes, almost like he’s asking permission, for what though you don’t know - but clearly whatever he was looking for he found because he’s pulling your hand closer to his face. You’re stunned, mouth open, when he brings it to his mouth and licks it, a damp wet stripe being left, before pulling back and spitting straight into it. You recoil a little, but your thighs clench as your core jolts. You blink at him, still shocked, as he pulls you back to his cock, wrapping your now wet hand around him again.

“Ok baby, that’s it, that it’s not too tight now baby, that’s it - oh, just there,” When you brush a thumb over the end of him he moans, so you do it again, and stroke just behind it. “Just a little tighter - oh lord - just make that yittle fist a little tighter darling, up and down now, oh that’s it.” You follow his instructions, and his hips jerk a little in response, you can see his stomach muscles under his soft layer of gentle fat clenching and tightening in pleasure. “God, what a clever girl you are. Learnin’ so fast.” You continue for a moment, until his cock is fully to attention, practically bobbing against his stomach.

“You wanna, wanna say a proper hello to him? Gonna give him a little hello kiss? Go on baby, he’s waiting for you - say hello to little Elvis. He’s so excited to meet you.” And admittedly little Elvis bobs as if he’d overhead the conversation, and from the leaking from the tip he does look excited to meet you. So you obediently bend over to press a little kiss to his rosy pink head. He lets out a little groan, that seemed almost involuntary and he apologises as he pushes you onto your knees in front of him,

“Not really right to do this to a girl - but uh, I suppose, if you’re my dolly, then… it’s fine right?” You don’t have any experience in what you’re about to do, but you’re not so sheltered that you don’t have any semblance of understanding of the act - and you have nothing against it, so you nod again, once again stunned momentarily silent by his surprising actions. You look up at him, from between his slightly spread legs - peering up at his tight chest and nipples, to his smooth, visible, neck to where his blue eyes are practically burning a hole into you. You swallow before trying to find your voice again;

“It’s more than fine,” You pause for a moment before considering what he’d said earlier, “daddy.” He moans, his leg jiggling a little, and you watch as little Elvis twitches in response.

“So you’re gonna be a good little girl now, right? Do as I tell you?” You nod, he exhales, slowly before starting to instruct you.“You can start by taking just the very end into your mouth, just hold it there for a second.” You do as he says, leaning forward with your mouth, and he sucks a breath in, loudly, as you brush your lips against his tip. You go to move down a little more, and he stops you with hand on your head, “Just, just give me a second, honey, gods, you feel so fucking good.” You still - “If you wanna, you can just, just reach down below, darling, gotta treat all of me nice - just - that’s it baby, nice and gentle with them little fingers.” He praises you as you reach around to fondle at his balls for the first time. He pushes a little further into your mouth, before pulling out most of the way - telling you now,

“Need you to just, just lick me a little baby, no, no - keep it in your mouth, just move your tongue around a bit, oh lord, that’s it right there baby,” He makes a high-pitched whine that you can feel rush through your body from where you’re connected. He puts his other hand around to poke at your cheeks, “Look up at me, that’s it.” He moves his hand to pull yours from his thigh and wraps it around the base of his cock. “Go on, what you can’t get in your mouth you can keep touching.” A moment passes, and he’s telling you, “ Ok hollow your cheeks little one, gonna suck me in, then you’re gonna just relax and let me, let me just fuck that throat and mouth of yours.” You follow his instructions, and he grasps the back of your head to keep you bobbing on him at the exact pace he wants.

“Now, now baby, since its your first time, you haven’t, haven’t gotta swallow it if you don’t wanna - but you may as well have a little taste - don’t want, don’t want it going anywhere but down your little throat in future.” He holds your neck, keeping you in place, as he thrusts into you - practically into your throat although he’s careful not to go too deep, but you still struggle to breathe a little. He grows slightly more erratic as he chases his pleasure and you’re glad when he pulls back so that just the head is still in your mouth, letting you take a deeper breath in.

When he shouts, “Oh god, that’s a good baby, fuck, fuck doll, I’m cumming baby,” you’re able to just have the tip in your mouth - which makes it easier to hold his cum without choking on it. You taste a little before pulling back, holding it in your mouth, your tongue recoiling from the texture. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered with E.P on the corner, telling you slightly huffily, “Ok, that’s it, just spit it out there.” You do, embarrassed at the unladylike behaviour, and he takes it from you looking at it with distaste as he balls it up and flings it in the direction of the ensuite.

He looks down at you, “You did so good baby, such a quick learner aren’t you! So good!” You can’t help but squirm, your own arousal peaking with the butterflies in your belly again, pleased with yourself, but then slightly worried when he strokes your cheek, expression not as soft as before before starting to haul you up from your knees. Barely giving you time to stand before pushing you backwards onto his bed. “But next time, honey, I’m not havin’ you spit it out whenever wherever ok? So you’re just gonna have to learn to take what I give you.” You’re wide-eyed looking at him, you’re not entirely sure that’s something you want, but he does know best, and you’re desperate to please him so all you can do is nod and agree.

“Uh-huh, of course, just - just gotta get used to it I guess daddy,” He hums back at you, pushing you to lie flat on your back.

“Mmhmm. Ri-ght, ok, baby, your turn now, just lie back and let daddy take care of you.” He pauses, as if remembering something - “Daddy’s gonna get serious now, give you a real introduction - make you finish.” He smooths his hands down the sides of your chest and stomach, goosebumps forming as his fingertips trail down, until he reaches your thighs, where he pulls them up, so your knees are bent and your legs spread. He bends down, holding your thighs down and open, to press a kiss to the fabric separating his mouth and your body. He, laps at it, sucking at the material - the wet spot that was already there growing larger as he adds his damp spit. You wriggle about but he keeps you in place with one hand on a thigh, holding you open, and the other on your stomach, a solid weight pinning you in place. Your panties have gone practically see through by the time he leans back, looks down, and hooks two fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off of your thighs. He looks at them for a moment, at the combination of his spit and your sticky wetness coating the other side before throwing them also in the direction of the chair.

“They’re mine now too baby.” You shake your head at him - you’ll have no underwear left at this rate.

“Elvis. You’ve already had a pair. I don’t know what you want them for anyway! Told you that last time!”

“You’re mine aren’t you?” You nod, you’ve been moved into his house haven’t you? How much more obvious do you need to be? “Well then, they’re mine too.” You gape at him, you can’t really deny his slightly misguided logic - not without setting yourself up for failure. You go to protest again, but he hushes you, “Stop arguin’ with me, little girl, not gonna get you nowhere.” He pushes your thighs back apart, “I ain’t gonna start something I can’t finish,” and your final protest dies on your lips when he presses a kiss against your mound. He moves his lips down, gently placing another kiss at the top of your vulva.

He licks a stripe down you, opening you up with his tongue, you can feel a gush of wetness at the act, and it seems that he could as well as you feel him smile against you before spearing his tongue a little way into you. He strokes your inner thighs, tickling the little fold where your legs meet your body. You shift to be able to look down at him. He’s been running his hands through his hair too much while you’d been getting him off that it’s no longer slicked up and back, but fluffy and gentle as you move your own hands to clutch at him. You pull gently, and he leans back just enough to look up at you through his dark, eyelashes at you. The sight makes you clench, and when your head goes backwards again, after he moves a finger to swirl around your clit, moving ever closer to the exact spot, you suddenly catch sight of the back of his head in the mirror on the wall opposite. You let out a noise you’d never heard yourself make before and you can’t take your eyes off of him. From the angle, you can’t see much below his shoulders - but it’s enough to send you, along with the physical stimulation, teetering towards the edge. When he finally, moves his finger to touch you directly your hips thrust up of their own accord, and you grind down on him when your body returns to the bed. His lips return to you, and he laughs as he reaches up to blindly pat at your face, he pulls back laughing - “Your lips cold baby? Or my hand hot?” You stutter out a response, really not certain of the relevance of the question,

“I, I don’t know! But can you, Elvis I’m so close, daddy please.” He shakes his head smiling and returns to your pussy with renewed vigour - firmly licking you out and playing with you. You can’t think of anything but the sensations, of how slippery you are, of how wet and soft while simultaneously gently rough his tongue is. He shies away from slipping a finger in, simply teasing around your entrance - although this reticence isn’t shared with his tongue which continues to fuck into you at a rapid pace.

You squirm, feeling suddenly desperate - although for what you didn’t know. He holds you right at the precipice for a moment, and you thrash, tense, until he resumes the exact same licking pattern as before, rubbing at your clit as he does and its like you’ve been released, shuddering and shouting out his name;

“Oh god - Elvis, daddy, that’s - unnh-” Your words cut off into non-verbal noises, huffing out quick breaths and moans as your body quivers. He finally pulls away after you’ve gone stiff in the bed, letting your body relax back from its arched position as you struggle to catch your breath. He runs his fingers over your folds, “God you’re so wet baby,” you squirm, feeling it cool into a thin stickiness on your thighs. He kisses your thigh, spreading the wetness from his lips, whispering - “Such a good girl for me baby - you like that? Your first one?” You can’t do much more than nod in response as you tremble lying there but you manage to murmur out,

“Yes, god, yes I liked it.” He hums at you,

“Well go on then baby, say thank you to daddy. Don’t forget your manners now.” You gasp, heat flooding you again although you’re too tired to want to do anything about it.

“…Tha-Thank you daddy.” He kisses the top of your mound in response and pats at you one last time, before he heaves himself up and leaves. When he comes back he’s dressed in a set of black silk satin pyjamas, carrying a little nightgown for you. He dresses you like you were the dolly he described before, manhandling you into the nightie. He rolls you off of the comforter, allowing him to pull the covers out so that he can clamber in underneath, cuddling you into him. He cocoons you in his arms, clutching at you, and you suddenly feel safe and secure after abruptly feeling unmoored. A tear slips out, for reasons that you’re not quite sure of, and he tuts, holding your head to his chest. It’s not long before you, listening to his steady heartbeat, fall fast sleep.

#empty promises #be-my-ally #elvis smut #elvis Presley smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

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c0rpseductor · 5 months ago

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28 chapters in and i just now noticed the fic ive been reading is tagged emet/reader. i get that due to the demographics involved in reader insert fiction it is never really gonna have the intended effect for me anyway, but i think it's particularly impressive for the author to have written a fic which fails so flagrantly at the "reader insert" thing that it's not even apparent it's reader insert fiction.

i think it being in first person and having an alternating POV does a whole hell of a lot against it if it's actually intended to be a reader experience. i suppose it's a YMMV thing but second person is really more effective for the sort of "CYOA but there's only one A and it's fucking an old guy" conceit this fic has in my humblest of onions. half of everything being in emet's POV is baffling to me too, if this is the aim. is this supposed to be a reader experience why can i read his mind am i also emet and dating myself

like. it just has been registering to me as a story written with an incredibly generic, nameless femWoL as a stylistic thing, since some people write generic nameless WoLs intentionally bc canonically WoL is whatever the player makes them. finding out it's supposed to be reader pairing baffles me. i guess, like, sure, in the sense that most people doing WoLNPC are probably doing a little vicarious living, but like. bwuhhh?????

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enihk-writes · 1 year ago

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pulled an all-nighter to write down the lore behind my thunderbolts in a clear sky fic,,, meaning ive written up character sheets and appearance refs for the ocs that ive inserted into the fic because i did plan to have side stories in between each chapter that talks about reader's time at the alliance, how she grew up and how she met her friends etc. to essentially dive deeper into her character. the drafts im writing for are —

side 1: reader's connection to mt hua is through her closest (one and only true) friend, who had been born and raised there but was given away to the alliance in exchange for peace. they grow up in the speciality school the alliance has to indoctrinate the kids they took, and that friend loses thier memories of their birthplace. which is why when the reader meets them she doesn't know her friend was from mount hua. i just want yall to know that i made this into a doomed yuri relationship (semi un-intentionally)

chap 3: first part is the limbo between her death and her new life in mt hua. mild body horror (?) about creatures that guard the boundary of life and death, office comedy-esque. 2nd part is her reincarnation... i have 4 ideas for this one

a. she falls from the sky onto cm while he's on his way to mt hua

b. she is reborn as a street beggar that gets picked up by a rich older woman who favours reader, after the lady dies reader is asked to deliver letters and there is also one for mt hua (letter is lady asking the sects around the area to take care of reader)

c. same premise as option b, difference is that after lady dies, reader is kicked out to the streets because the other servants are jealous etc... she wanders until she passed out where she will meet cm for the first time because he's a little pissed girlie fainted right in front of his spot

d. she is found next to her mother's dead body (might insinuate that the cause was homicide) in the middle of a rice paddy / flower field by a group of villagers, the village is razed down by an unknown group of people (cults?? bandits??) and reader runs away. elements of nature like wind direction, animals, flowers on the road, water in a stream etc. (all related to the abilities of her dead friends lol) lead her to the steps of mount hua or somewhere else that's safe

yea so that's it,,,,, maybe ill combine all the ideas somehow or maybe ill just pick one out of the 4 i just needed to put down my thoughts somewhere lol

#eni's small talk corner #enihkposts #return of the blossoming blade x reader #return of the mount hua sect x reader #rotbb #rotmhs

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phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing · 1 year ago

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A little explanation of Metaphor

Link to the fic (nsfw)

A copy of this explanation is pasted as the second chapter of the fic, if you find this easier to digest.

I decided to detail the double meanings I had in mind for this fic. Please read it first, so you can experience it on your own; and rest assured that if your interpretation is different it's not necessarily WRONG, as fiction exists in the eye of the beholder...

Note: The first few explanations are very long but the rest are easier to understand and much shorter.

I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Study In Emerald to write a fanfic about Elysia being an eldritch being.

There are three layers I intentionally inserted into the conversation between Elysia and Mei.

The literal layer

The "Elysia is aware of and talking about the narrative" layer

The “I am talking about what happened to Mei and Elysia’s characterization in the main story” layer

I will quote and then explain the text step by step.

“What is nature? The original intent of you, or what is made of you? Does it even matter when it’s all in the eye of the beholder? Nature isn’t meaningful for people like us.”

Literal level

As a non-human being who is trying to be a human woman (much like her canon counterpart), Elysia identifies with Mei's transness: they both choose to be what they feel is deeply right for them, regardless of what seemed to be "intended" by their original identity/form.

Meta-awareness level

What is the nature of a fictional character? What makes them "in character" or not? Is it real? Does it matter, if you consider that the reader is the judge of whether a character is "themself" or not, that they exist solely for the purpose of the beholder?

Elysia argues that there isn't "one fundamental truth", but a truth that is constructed with interpretation. In other words, the author is dead, and what you make of what you read is the "true" character, regardless of intent.

Admittedly this probably shouldn't apply when you're straight up misreading something, balance is important, but I'd say it remains a solid belief to have so long as you're doing your analysis honestly and rigorously.

Commentary on canon level

This line is also commentary of whether the “true” Elysia or Mei are what they were originally intended to be written as, or what they were eventually badly (my opinion, but one I know is shared by quite a few others around these parts) written as, and the answer is neither because the reader is as much a part of their character as the writing.

A fanfiction writer is both a reader and a writer, as well, which means that I am writing the “true” Mei and Elysia just as much as the main story or ER did, because they are fictional characters, their nature is what I see of it.

To briefly go back to the meta-awareness level, they are not real, objective quantities. Therefore, to ask who a fictional character truly is, is not a meaningful question, because there is no objective truth and reinterpretations by authors paid for it, authors who are not paid for it, and readers, are valid (so long as they are honest and rigorous, at least).

“Humans live and die all alone in the world, only able to connect with the world indirectly, through their senses. Because perception is the everything of humans, the changes you choose to make express your nature, so nature can only be what is made of you— and because you are alone, your nature only exists in the eye of a beholder, whether that beholder is you or me.”

Literal level

First, Elysia points out that, unlike herself as an Eldritch being who is capable of perceiving the world in a more objective way (in a sense, she's reading the story too), humans are bound to their senses to experience the world. Therefore, she believes only the "exterior" matters between humans, as it's all they can communicate, including self-perception (which she sees as "beholding yourself").

Following that logic, changing as a person is simply refining and expressing your nature better.

This further uses the fact that Mei is trans in the story as a step-stool to make the point that “nature” does not mean “original state”.

For example, a baby is probably the closest you can get to your "original state", prior to any influence from the world. However, a baby is quite literally an unfinished human, and it has no sense of identity, yes? You grow, change, start having your own tastes and personality, preferring some of your toys, picking your favorite colors, dressing in your own style...

The changes you make to reflect your identity express your nature better than what you used to be. This applies to gender, which is one of the most obvious ways this manifests, but other things, too.

Elysia's thesis statement is that what you become expresses your nature, and it is therefore not a "secret truth to be found at the origin", but the result of your changes that best represent who you are. She's a girl because she chooses to be one, just like Mei.

Meta-awareness level

Because people and especially characters live in the eye of the beholder, their perceived nature is the only nature that will ever be accessible.

Of course it would be a mistake to fall into relativism with this reasoning— there’s always things that people decidedly are not even if “who are you at your core?” is a meaningless question. For example, I'm currently not a deep-sea crab, and you'd have to be lacking in a lot of either honesty or diligence to claim otherwise.

It is not true that a "core" doesn’t exist, but because as humans we only have access to subjective perception, it cannot be grasped as an objective truth, that’s all.

You and I are definitely something, but to be seen a light must be shed on us and that always paints shadows: We will never be perceived accurately in our entirety.

(And that’s okay! That’s the beautiful way humans live in motion, a dance with the shifting lights)

Commentary on canon level

Characters don't have the agency people do— Elysia can't choose to do anything in the writing sense because she is a construct of writers and artists. She cannot express her own nature, and it only exists because we choose to create it.

Therefore, the Elysia that is written and read only exists in the eye of the beholder.

“You relate to me.”

Literal level

Trans women are women, as an act of self-realization and not one of genetics. Simple.

Meta-awareness level

Elysia relates to Mei as an audience relating to a character! She's talking to you!

Commentary on canon level

Mei is pointing out that fans may relate to herself (Mei) as a character in general. I know I do on a number of topics!

“You’re such a smart girl, Mei. Ah… this is why I like you so much already. You’re right. Don’t you think we’re exactly the same?”

Literal level

Trans in this specific story, in their own way (Eldritch -> Human girl counts here).

Meta-awareness level

Both characters in a story, puppets of the same strings.

Commentary on canon level

Tongue in cheek reference to canon getting accused of making Mei a pseudo Elysia lately!

“You could be anything, and you want to be a girl?”

Literal level

Trans narrative. You can be anything you want, but you choose to be a human girl? (Why not an astronaut?) Inviting the question of why people choose to be the gender they are, why it's important (or not).

Meta-awareness level

Mei pointing out you can read to be anything, and you choose to read about the lesbians game!

Commentary on canon level

References the canon narrative of Elysia being a Herrscher who wants to be a human girl, of course. As clumsy as I found it in canon, it's not without interest.

“Aiya, I simply like cute girls too much!”(…) “We are twisted mirror images, flat yet aggrandized, complex yet warped to shadows with the same problems. Despite this, beheld in just the right light, puppet and human, we are one!”

Literal level

Elysia is a trans lesbian eldritch monster in this story, and she relates to the human Mei.

Meta-awareness level

One way of describing fictional characters: mirrors of humans, but flattened and exaggerated, yet simultaneously complex and imperfect systems. Despite this, they are read as humans when written well enough.

Commentary on canon level

The canon’s writing problems: flattening Elysia while making her sound perfect, and Mei being a huge mess because the writers have a complex character they don’t know what to do with. Despite this, they are still perceived as people by players, who may even get mad at THEM for the way they’re being written (Elysia especially) although that's absurd since, again, they have no agency.

Elysia isn't responsible for anything because she is a fictional character, and yet, we project onto her, get mad at her as if she were a person. In this way, she did succeed in becoming human?

This also calls back to the earlier point about nature and what you see of it: there is no difference between a character and a person in the "right light", such as within a story.

“Mmm, Mei, Mei, do you think I’m doing a good job being human?” “Not always. Not never.”

Literal level

The, well, literal meaning of the exchange. Elysia's human act is flawed, but she is perceived as a person regardless within the framing of the story.

Meta-awareness level & Commentary on canon level

Characters, Elysia in particular, aren't always written well enough to seem like believable human beings. (but they are not "never" perceived as such, either).

Here are blinking stars and emptiness and yearning and pages and eyes and branches and sleep and teeth and pixels and love, the all-consuming amour of all things—

All levels

Mei realizes (and the narrative points out that) her reality is made of love and words being written and then read on a screen. Literally. I'm doing it again right now, and you're reading it right now. Amour is french for love, it feels more real to me in my mother tongue.

Mei was also created by Mihoyo out of the same ingredients.

Elysia was still there, but the outlines of her body looked faint, superposed with shifting light and darkness that passed through the furniture and Mei’s body like words.

Literal level

Mei starts seeing the world like she’s reading the story instead of living inside of it.

Meta-awareness level

You may be mentally picturing the scene, but you're really just reading words on a screen. This paragraph explicitly points this out.

She could only babble a simple name that could persist in a human mind collapsing on itself, dictated by circumstances— Elysia, Elysia, Elysia…

Literal level

Eldritch influence is literally fucking with her, and Elysia is all she can hold onto.

Meta-awareness level

The circumstances is that it’s an elymei fic! So she really only has Elysia to rely on- there are no other characters that directly appear.

Commentary on canon level

The way the canon handles Mei has her always with Elysia’s name on her lips in Elysium Everlasting and a bit later too. Tongue-in-cheek again, maybe.

The two of them came together, because they had become inextricably tied by a narrative, and the curtain dropped.

Literal level & Meta-awareness level

The story drops any pretense of not being told in a meta way as Mei's perception stops being merely human.

Commentary on canon level

This is a pun— they showed up in the game together a lot, and became tied together in the canon plot, to the extent that one without the other feels more shallow. (Yes, even if you didn't like the arc.)

“...it’s alright. I’ll always be next to you like this. It’s as I always say— I’ll stay by your side no matter how long the road is.” The world and the future had faded into static, blank like an undescribed scene, but hearing Elysia’s gentle words, the prostrated girl felt herself gain substance. Elysia sat down next to her, and the bed she had been sitting on all along materialized.

Literal level

Mei was shaken from having realized she is in a story and the story is ending soon. However, interacting with Elysia brings her back to her senses a little.

Meta-awareness level

Surroundings in a story only exist when described, so the featureless dialogue of this scene did not manifest a room for them to be in, not until it started being described. Mei's perception is the same as the reader's here. No description? She only sees an empty void. Spooky.

Commentary on canon level

At the time, part 1 of Hi3 was not over yet, and the reader may have felt anxious about how it would end. Remember, people used to claim Kiana was going to die (pretty sure that was even the original plan, but they clearly have other ideas now). Elysia's words were also meant as reassurance in that sense, using the same conclusion that she did in the canon, that the story would stay with the reader even with a sad ending.

“Are you scared of our sendoff? I am, too. That’s alright.” Elysia leaned forward until they were forehead to forehead, so gentle that Mei almost believed she was a real human being. “Please don’t be too afraid. There will always be more stories.”

Literal level

Mei is still trapped by the knowledge she’s in a story, but Elysia leads the narrative into a physical description instead of simply speaking her dialogue lines, giving their world and the scene substance.

This way, Mei can feel more real in their last moments.

Meta-awareness level

The story is ending but there will always be more stories for them to exist in, and you can even reread this one! Also pointing out stories humanize the concept of characters via inducing such a perception of them, which is a throwback to the earlier points.

Commentary on canon level

This line was meant to reassure the reader (and myself) about the end of part 1, and writing decisions of the canon in general, because no matter how it turns out, there WILL always be more stories to read or tell. If it sucks, or if it's good, ultimately, life goes on, and that's okay.

Final words

If you've made it this far, I'm thankful! I was planning to post this in JANUARY, but you can tell that didn't happen because it's the first of July for me now.

It was important to me to complete this, though, so albeit late, here it is. This will be cross-posted between tumblr and ao3 for better accessibility.

#hi3 #fanfiction #literary analysis #metaphor #elymei #honkai impact #honkai impact 3rd

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