#am i referring to the characters or the fandom you might ask
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I love you MochiJun queers
MochiJun queers I love you
#am i referring to the characters or the fandom you might ask#yes#pandora hearts#the case study of vanitas#vanitas no carte#vnc#hello queer people
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My little star
Characters: Xavier
Summary: random relationship headcanons with Xavier
Warnings: None
A/N: I've completely fallen in love with Love and Deepspace, especially with Xavier. It's truly hopeless
the type of boyfriend to get you matching pyjamas
he gets you so many that they slowly start to replace all of your own
likes to match with you even if you don't live together, so sometimes he just texts you to ask which pyjamas you're wearing so he can change into the matching one after he showered
if you ever gift him slippers, blankets, or pillows, he will keep them forever (even if it's something goofy like those big fluffy bunny slippers)
the best person to ask for good midnight snacks. He can recommend fantastic instant noodles, chips, crackers, or other snacks that are light and won't give you stomach aches late at night or negatively impact your sleep in any other way
very interested in your skincare routine (if you have one) and will try out any mask or cream that you give him
if you come up with a routine for him (a simple one, maybe, like the basic cleanser > toner > moisturizer), he will follow it diligently, dragging himself out of bed before he sleeps every day to do it because you were the one to pick those products for him and he doesn't want to waste that
he feels like it connects you to him, even if your routine is completely different and a bit more complicated
never cries during movies, no matter how sad they might be, but he does (on very rare occasions) get a bit teary-eyed
he will hold you if you cry during a movie, and he would never even think about making fun of you for it
he does secretly think that it's cute that you get so worked up about a movie
can sleep through anything. a bomb could go off in his house and he wouldn't know that it happened until he woke up
has seen every single episode of any shitty sitcom you can think of at least three times because he occasionally watches them while he sleeps
sometimes he quotes them but because he knows each of these shows so well now he always quotes the lesser known scenes and no one gets what he's talking about
you start to understand his references after a while, so sometimes he will quote some obscure scene from a super unpopular sitcom that got cancelled after one season and you're the only one laughing
secretly sneaks to the arcade sometimes to practice the claw machine game because he wants to get you the plushies you don't have yet (and to impress you)
he ends up getting dozens of repeats of plushies that you already own. he collects in a small storage room in his apartment that used to be empty
he ends up giving them away when the collection gets out of control, donating them to a children's hospital nearby
gets all shy when you find out about it, blushing bright red like a tomato (or a wasabi octopus)
knows about every single 24 hour store in the city because of his odd sleeping habits and always knows what to do no matter what time it is
you can't sleep and want to go on a date at 3:27 am? he knows a place
if someone is mean to you he will try his hardest to deescalate the situation, but he's also fully willing to fight the person if that doesn't work
I mean have you read his Anecdotes 2? He doesn't give a fuck. He'd prefer not to fight, sure, but if it's unavoidable? What is he gonna do? Not fight and defend you? Ridiculous.
The fandom has already started turning him into this soft uwu stereotype, but the thing is that that's... just not him? He's sweet and kind, yes, but that's not all he is. He's complicated! He has layers!
if he ever falls asleep during a date he would feel awful about it for days, even if you reassure him that it's fine and that you're glad that he feels safe enough around you to fall asleep
he tries to make it up to you with a different date and he falls asleep again, which starts a vicious, endless cycle
when he finally does get over his guilt it's only because you fall asleep during a date after you had a long day at work
knows when you cheat in kitty cards, but sometimes he just lets you get away with it, especially if he knows you had a stressful day at work. He hopes that the win will cheer you up
his good night kisses are forehead kisses while his good morning kisses are on top of your head if you didn't sleep over or on the cheek if you did
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"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"
prompt: ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife!reader
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 5.5k+
note: i use 'lover' because it sounds like the original line, 'mother'. also, what the fuck is this, Cherry?
warnings: very much not for minors! deranged characters? blood lust? depiction of grotesque, unhinged behavior. there's cursing, depiction of canon-typical violence and injury, show timeline and spoilers that lead into some VAGUE book references that might produce a slight AU timeline...? character death, obviously Team Green, so, there's some Team Black slander. half edited!
⚠️ season one, episode ten AND book spoilers
PLEASE BE AWARE I AM GOING TO MERGE THIS ONESHOT INTO A SMALL SERIES BUT WILL STILL LEAVE THIS UP
I AM CHANGING LANNISTER READER INTO A VELARYON READER
Rain water beaded against his leather trench overcoat, rolling off him like pellets to leave a scattered trail on the material. His boots splashed in the muddy terrain, dark castle looming tall in the stormy sky, and Mother Nature voiced her displeasure in the form of booming claps of thunder throughout the raging storm.
Long, straight hair turned unruly and crinkled in the torrential downpour; sticking to clothes and clinging to skin. His sword was latched to his weapons belt, bobbing on his hip with every stride he took to approach the Keep of The Stormlands, Storm's End.
"Identify yourself!" A guard shouted through the haze of rain.
You smirked, "Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful, and rider of Vhagar along with his wife, Lady Lannister."
The guards exchanged looks, then the other asked, "What business do you have here?"
"Official business that surely goes beyond your responsibility," you snapped. "We require an audience with your liege lord. Is Lord Borros in? Willing to receive? You'd do well to answer quickly, Vhagar isn't known for her patience - nor is my husband and I."
There was no dispute in leading you into the castle's throne room, members of court lingering in curiosity when they saw the One Eyed Dragon Prince and his Lady Lioness prowl through Storm's End. Lightning struck to flash through the cracks of the eery castle, creating an uneasy atmosphere and making Storm's End feel spookier then it probably was. Aemond smirked when you looked around the semi-empty throne room, the guards instructing you to stay put as their lord was fetched; you looking positively bored.
"You seem to have a natural liking towards our new status, do you not, my lioness?" He mused softly. "The way you commanded the guards to retrieve their Lord for us was very telling of your ease."
"Perhaps. Though I do not like the reason we are here, flexing our status in the first place," you told him with a sharp look. "Surely, there's other alliances to be made, Aemond. Why marry you off to some plain-faced Baratheon bitch?"
"Because war's come for us and we must all sacrifice for the cause," he sighed, staring at you without so much as twitching; letting you approach until standing chest-to-chest. "We require this pact, my love, because we must strengthen Aegon's claim. To use Daeron and I as marriage pawns feels logical given our proximity to the King."
You snarled, "You told me yourself that Aegon did not deserve to be King. Now, we must sacrifice our marriage vows for his claim?"
"I know it is not ideal," he relented, "but it's our current reality."
"Only for now, I sense the tides will turn several times before this is fucking over."
"Hmm."
When Lord Borros finally arrived, he appeared disgruntled by the abrupt arrival of you and your husband, Prince Aemond. He was grouchy, but still welcoming enough; slumped in his chair, eyeing you both, mentioning, "This must be of grave importance to arrive in such a manner, with no warning."
"It is," Aemond answered smoothly, "because war has come to shadow Westeros once more, my Lord."
"Is that so?"
"King Viserys is dead," he informed clearly, "and as such, the natural succession would've passed to the King's named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, but King VIserys had a change of heart. Instead of his daughter, the King wanted his first born son, Aegon II, to ascend the Iron Throne after him."
"And that's to do with me...?"
"The Princess will demand your loyalty, Lord Borros," you stepped in, "to uphold a stale oath your father made decades ago. Come the day, you will be forced to pick sides; yet we simply would like to offer you terms of consideration before hearing Rhaenyra's."
"If the Princess is willing to offer terms, that is," Aemond punctuated.
Borros sat still, then leaned in slightly, "And what are these terms you wish to offer, girl?"
"My Lady-wife has earned the title Princess, my Lord," Aemond corrected sharply, "and will be addressed as such."
Borros nodded stiffly, "Of course, my apologies."
"No matter," you assured. "Tell me, Lord Borros, do you not have unwed daughters?"
"I do, a gaggle of them."
You smirked, "My husband, though not King, is of ancient and rich Valyrian blood. He is happy to uphold customs of his ancestors by taking another wife - so, we offer a marriage pact in exchange for your swords and banners."
"And what of you?"
"What of me?"
"You would just let your husband wed another woman?"
"Who am I to question the will of the Gods?" You mused, figuring you wouldn't tell him how Aemond had already promised never to bed the Baratheon girl. "Should they smile upon this union, so would I. My father, may he rest in peace, before his passing ensured to instill in me a sense of duty and honor, Lord Borros, and with this civil war, we might all do our part to see the end of it."
He hummed, eyeing you both. "All right," Borros half-agreed, "but which of my daughters, hmm? I've four of them - uh," he snapped, "what is this? Someone fetch the girls! Let the Prince see - he may choose to wed whichever he deems acceptable."
"Do we have a deal, Lord Borros?" You asked.
He nodded, "Pending the Princess' terms - my father did swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra, I would do well to honor that by at least hearing her."
"A noble answer," you accepted.
It wasn't a long wait for his four daughters to arrive, an even shorter wait for Aemond to make a decision. There was Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Flora Baratheon - all ripe for the picking. "Well?" Aemond asked you.
You shrugged, "This is your choice, you're the one who has to bed her." His lips twitched in amusement, eyeing the women stood in a straight line. "Fuck's sake - why not kiss them all and chose that way? Leaves less room for surprise later. Plus what're the odds Rhaenyra's sent her envoy? We should solidify Baratheon's loyalty now."
Aemond chuckled, looking each woman over carefully as a guard entered the room. "My Lord," he called, earning the attention, "another dragon has been spotted and is approaching the Keep."
"What did I fucking say?" You smirked at Aemond.
"Receive whoever it is," Borros permitted. "And you? Have you come to a decision? My girl, Maris, there, would make a clever wife."
"I've one clever enough wife and would be overrun with another," Aemond answered wistfully. "The Lady Flora is acceptable."
"Very well," Borros nodded, "and the terms of dowry?"
You watched as Aemond pulled Flora from the line of sisters, standing to the side as he examined her. He told Lord Baratheon the number of Gold Dragons he thought his daughter was worth, the two haggling lightly over prices before Borros accepted that with the threat of war, his son might become preoccupied, so, the seat of Storm's End would be inherited by Aemond and Flora's children.
Thunder rumbled as a deal was struck.
Boots marched down the stone hall and all conversation ceased to await the newcomer with taunt curiosity. Aemond subtly turned to look at you, ignoring his pretty new intended, as a procession of guards marched into the gloomy room. You boldly stared at the arrival, feeling your heart stall in your chest when you saw it was him... That bastard... The Strong Bastard that mutilated both you and your husband a decade ago.
"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," it was announced, marching coming to an echoing halt. Aemond chose that moment to turn and present himself to the young prince who haunted your every living and dreaming nightmare. He looked startled to see you both there, the guard ending, "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."
Against the thundering storm, Lucerys spoke timidly - as if, any louder and his voice would squeak and crack. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... The Queen."
"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," Borros shot at the young prince. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughed at his own joke, but when none others joined, he asked Lucerys stoically, "What's your mother's message?"
The Strong Bastard just held up a scroll like the spoilt brat he was, a guard taking it from his fingers to walk it to the Stag Lord since the Prince deemed himself too important to hand deliver the message. Lord Borros sighed when he took up the scroll, looking expectingly to his court, then snapping, "Where's the bloody Maester?"
Lord Borros Baratheon could not read, you see.
So, you all waited as the Maester was retrieved; Lucerys sparing spooked looks at you and Aemond - the latter of whom just smirked in amusement. Luke couldn't truly see the disfigurement he caused, but your scars almost glittered in the flashes of lightning to assure him they were right where he left them. You turned to your husband, whispering in his ear, "Remember all those times when you promised me his eye as a gift? When shall we be presented an opportunity such as now?"
He shushed you with a restrained smirk, wanting so bad to entertain your banter - and daydream about doing to Luke what he did to you two. You told Aemond you didn't need Luke to bear a scar like your own, and that's when he promised to give you the Prince's eye.
The Maester arrived when Luke felt uneasy enough to palm a fist around the hilt of his sword, elderly man hobbling up to Lord Borros, taking the scroll, then reading it.
The Maester bent to summarize the letter to his Lord. You smirked at Aemond when Borros snapped, "'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact! If I do as your mother bids," he leaned forward on his throne, looking to the side, asking, "which one of my daughters will you wed... Boy?"
"My Lord," Lucerys trembled, "I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed."
"I did not realize betrothal was weighed heavier than marriage," Borros sneered, indicating to you and Aemond, "which means you come with empty hands. Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."
There was a beat as his words sunk in.
"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord," Lucerys informed, sparing everyone one last look before turning on his heel to vacate.
Yet he couldn't just walk away so easily.
"Wait," Aemond called out loud before you could, the Prince halting, "my Lord Strong." You grinned when Luke turned fully and then stepped forward to the edge of his guarded protection, a look of disbelief adorning his features. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the Realm," he continued, taking a few slow, stalking steps forward with you on his flank and Floris stepping further away, "trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"
"I will not fight you," Lucerys declared. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."
You giggled to mock the boy's sword skill, wanting to hurt the boy's ego as much as possible. Your husband smirked at you before musing, "A fight would be little challenge." He paused to consider his options. "No," he told Lucerys, reaching for his eye patch and pulling the leather from his head. "I want you to put out your eye," He growled, staring at Luke, sapphire winking in the low torchlight; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you at his side. He explained, "As payment for mine. One will serve," and he flipped back his leather overcoat to reveal a dagger, yanking it free to toss across the distance at Lucerys. It clattered and skidded, the sound ominous between the claps and rolling booms of thunder. "I would not blind you," he told the boy. Then, as if concealing a smirk, he finished, "Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."
The ground shook violently when Vhagar landed outside the Driftmark Dragon Pit. The air whooshed your hair back, little feet stumbling back a few paces into the rock wall, hair on the back of your neck standing on end when Aemond dismounted the beast. It wasn't as if you weren't proud or incredibly impressed by his ability to claim the oldest dragon in the known world, but you weren't a Targaryen and dragons made you uneasy.
You could understand animals had minds of their own, and while, yes, Targaryens were closer to Gods than Men because they fly on dragons, you knew they did not control the dragons. They merely domesticated the winged terrors, but you knew the animal could snap at any moment's notice. You didn't like being so close as to become an accidental casualty, so you waited in the mouth of the Pit to give plenty of room between you and Vhagar.
"Well? How was it?"
Aemond beamed at you, "Like nothing I've ever experienced before."
"She's much, much bigger up close," you eyed the dragon watching you both. She was too large in size for the Dragon Pit, but for you, it was a way back into the Driftmark Castle; so, Vhagar was left to her own devices as you and Aemond strode inside.
"You'll have to come flying with me."
"No, no, I like the ground very much. It's safer down here."
"You'll love flying, I can all but promise you."
"If the Gods wanted me in the air, they'd of made me a Targaryen," you teased, both entering the torch-lit passage. "Alas, I am not, so, I think it wise to keep my feet on the ground."
"I'll get you on dragonback with me one day," he smirked. "She's the oldest, you know, and the largest, too."
"I know," you beamed in amusement.
"And she's mine," he whispered, shaking his head and fighting off his grin. You looped your arm with his, giggling your praise over his display of bravery; entering the division foyer of the Pit only to spy Prince Daemon Targaryen's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, with Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacerys and Lucerys Velaryon.
"It's them!" One barked.
"It's us," Aemond sneered quickly, understanding confrontation when he felt it. You didn't like this... Something about this exchange felt very wrong; there was four of them, two of you, and you were not their blood relative - so, why be involved at all?
"Vhagar is my mother's dragon!" Rhaena seethed.
"Your mother's dead," Aemond reminded sharply.
You smirked, tacking on, "And Vhagar has a new rider now."
"She was mine to claim!"
"Then you should've claimed her!" You barked in annoyance. "You are not the only dragon-less Targaryen, but you're the one who expects to just be gifted one!"
Aemond sneered right after you, "Maybe your cousins can gift you a pig to ride. It would suit you."
This (rightfully) angered the girls. Rhaena charged and latched onto Aemond but was easily swatted to the ground. At that same moment, her twin, Baela, took the opportunity to jab her knuckle into your nose, sending you into the dirt. "Fuck's sake!" You snapped, Aemond clocking the injury and slamming his fist against Baela's cheek to send her into the dirt, too.
Aemond helped you to your feet as he snarled at the girls, "Come at us again and I'll feed you to my dragon!"
Jace charged, and from there, it was a blur of adrenaline. Before you understood, you were defending yourself from a hurricane of fists and feet; reaching up to grab hold of Rhaena's locs and yank as hard as you could. It gave you a small advantage to get up, see the three others beating on Aemond, and rushed for the fray.
The Prince saw you and pause his resistance to let you grab hold of Baela - also pulling her so hard, a loc or two might've been ripped from her scalp. Aemond kicked Jace, you sent the girls into the dirt, and Aemond managed to catch hold of Lucerys by the throat as he got to his feet. Aemond's hand found purchase on a large rock, standing above them all as you panted from his side; rock raised in threat.
"You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did!" Aemond declared, snarling, "Bastards."
Through his whimpering, Luke sobbed, "My father's still alive!"
For a moment, Aemond appeared disarmed, but then sneered, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?"
This upset Prince Jacerys enough that he brandished a concealed dagger from his sleeve; holding it at the ready, ignoring his cousin's pleas of his name. "Blade in play," you warned Aemond.
Luke was kicked away, Jace was dodged, disarmed, then shoved to the ground. You were all bruised, bloodied, beaten; thinking that despite twice the numbers, you and Aemond managed to hold your own pretty damn well. The Prince lifted the rock again, this time with his sights set on Jace, ignoring Luke scrambling in the dirt.
Pretty damn well until it was too late.
You screamed in absolute horror when a white hot pain flashed across your face when you meant to turn away from the fight. You went down, Aemond looked over in shock and confusion, and in that moment, Lucerys swung his brother's blade again. It cut through half of Aemond's face, the eye being severed in two; blood gushing between both your hands.
Of course, this was the time the White Cloaks arrived - but it was too late. The damage was done. You sobbed uselessly as the knights tried to help you off the ground, trembling violently as adrenaline wore off. You were instantly escorted to the castle's throne room where the Maester and other attendants met you.
Guards posted.
Blood soaked into cloth.
The Queen arrived with the Hand before anyone else - instantly demanding her son (and you) be attended to at once. She listened to the shaky account of events, but it was difficult to get an accurate picture as you and Aemond were both preoccupied with being medically attended to.
You held Aemond's hand as you were both cleaned up. There was nothing to save, Aemond's eye removed and your face being pinched and stitched. Nearly 200 years from now, one of your descendants will earn nearly the exact same scar during the Battle of the Blackwater; a mark that cut through the face from temple, over the nose, to opposite ear.
You listened to the spoiled brats spin their webs, opting to remain quiet in the presence of the King.
However, after Princess Rhaenyra finally showed up with Prince Daemon, after Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Rhaenys Targaryen arrived, attention shifted.
" - Didn't just mutilate our son, but the Lady Lannister as well!" Alicent raged.
King Viserys eyed you as if seeing you for the first time, slowly approaching. "My Lady," he spoke softly, "you have not yet said a word this evening."
"It is not my place, Your Grace."
"It is now," he permitted. "Speak, and tell me the truth of it. What happened tonight?"
You swallowed nervously, "The Prince Aemond claimed his dragon, Vhagar, Your Grace, and upon returning, the... Uh, well, the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys along with their cousins, Ladies Rhaena and Baela, were waiting for us."
"Waiting?" Viserys repeated.
"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they wanted to see who had claimed Vhagar," you offered.
"Who hit who first?"
With a sigh, you answered, "Lady Baela hit Prince Aemond first. A solid hook, for whatever it's worth."
Alicent now approached, squatting in front of you and asking, "How did you sustain such injury, Lady Lannister? Come... Speak the truth. Tell us the meaning of this."
"Prince Jacerys brought the blade, Your Grace," you mumbled, "but it was lost in the scuffle. It was Prince Lucerys who offered injury to both Prince Aemond and I."
You could've cried when Rhaenyra, as usual, managed to somehow spin your story into making her sons the victims. Despite being told the four ambushed you two, they weren't even reprimanded because their parents were all so angry that it truly distracted from the present situation at hand. In the end, Queen Alicent snapped and charged to attack, but the Princess Rhaenyra intercepted her before damage could be done.
The blade Alicent stole from her husband's belt was dropped - but not before the tip sliced into the flesh of the Princess' forearm. You were fuming, watching them all leave; you had been seriously maimed, and so far, you had been the one spoken to as if a criminal. Rhaenyra would need stitches, sure, and a broken nose was the worst of their injuries - but Aemond lost his eye, and you?
You felt as if you lost your life because who the hell would want you now? With this scar? This big, fat, noticeable scar that split your face? Sure, your Lannister name would get you places - but not everywhere. Considering your young age, this only left time for rumors to fester and for everyone to notice your injury; being no escape and no where to hide from ridicule.
For years, you would consider yourself damaged.
For years, you would mourn yourself.
For years, you would sharpen your mind, wit, and intelligence because if you couldn't bring standard "beauty" to the table, you wanted to be able to offer something redeeming.
For years, you would undergo emotional turmoil before your engagement to Aemond is announced; convincing yourself you did not deserve love because your anger made you likened to a shrew. You felt ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside; a product of your environment and experiences. When the promise of marrying your best mate was bestowed, the entire court was shocked by the 180 you both did; where once stony and stoic, both were now soft and kind - but only to one another.
To everyone else, you were both still stony and indifferent. But to each other? You and Aemond would move mountains.
Yet that night on Driftmark would haunt for you for the rest of your lives; no matter the promise of love, marriage, and a 'normal' life. Late nights would be held together, fantasizing about your revenge; considering the future in which you made Lucerys Strong pay for what he did to you.
"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."
"No," Lucerys barked, looking distraught by the sheer idea of what Aemond demanded. His answer made the amusement drain from Aemond's features, this was a man not often told no. His hand passed you his eye patch for safe keeping; the raging storm outside portraying the tension brewing in the throne room of Storm's End.
"Then you are craven as well as a traitor."
"Not here!" Borros understood fighting words when he heard them - not wanting the repercussions of a dead or injured Prince Lucerys, because, let's face it, Luke couldn't do damage to Aemond even if he tried.
Aemond literally sprang into action, releasing his grip on you, shouting as he strode forward. "Give me your eye," he stooped to snatch his dagger from the ground, "or I will take it, bastard!"
Lucerys brandished his sword for protection, but Borros launched out of his seat to intervene by shouting, "Not in my hall!" This made Aemond skid to a halt. "The boy came an an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon... Now."
You smirked when Aemond just watched the boy flee the hall, hand flipping his dagger expertly before sheathing it. You met his gaze, holding prolonged eye contact to publicly show you were not afraid of him, his looks, his lack of eye, or adoration for him.
"Well, Lord Borros," you mused, turning to the Stag Lord, "looks as if you've chosen in this war."
He huffed, "We can discuss specifics later."
Aemond nodded, "We'll be off."
"Do not - "
"You said no blood shed under your roof," you reminded, "not above."
"The Prince is young and small - "
"We gave him a fair head start." Borros looked ready to rebuttal, but you snapped, "We're at war, my Lord. Either you let the dragons fight in the skies or it'll be your men fighting in the trenches. The choice is yours."
"See that? His woman bites harder than he," Maria scoffed to her sisters, only juuuuust loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. Then she snarled at your husband, "Tell me, Prince Aemond, was it just your eye Prince Lucerys took, or one of your balls, too? You threw a dagger at him and stopped when Daddy said stop," her eyes rolled, "those are not qualities of a man."
You were ready to attack. In fact, you started striding up to Maris when Aemond intercepted you swiftly with a suffocatingly strong grip. "We've more important matters," he reminded you, turning, and promising to send word to Lord Borros before disappearing out of the side door.
"How dare she," you seethed on your way to Vhagar. "That buck-tooth looking rodent dares insult you? Her own Prince? In front of others - oh, the nerve of that family!"
"Bigger picture at work here, love," Aemond mused as he fixed his patch back on, never one to address the things that were bothering him - like when someone hurt his feelings or bullied him over his missing eye.
But you were always ready to bite those that offered insult. You were a Lion in a golden cage, after all.
You grumbled the entire time, reaching Vhagar, launching as discreetly as she possibly could to scan the skies. It wasn't easy to find the Prince because his dragon blended into the storm so perfectly, but once the tiny beast was located, you were locked on. You rode behind Aemond in his saddle, both being harnessed to prevent any unseating; the combined weight never phasing his ol' girl. Vhagar understood they were in some kind of chase, and when she gave a grumble that rumbled over the thunder you flew through, Aemond gave her a command in High Valyrian to quiet herself.
You could see glimpses of Luke turning to search areas you had just vacated; loving this game of cat and mouse. You hoped the anticipation and anxiety of being watched was upsetting the Prince - just so he had a little bit of emotional trauma from this, you know? Just so he had a little taste of the emotional turmoil you had to suffer the past decade.
"Ready?" Aemond asked you.
You squeezed his waist before boldly reaching down to palm his cock through his breeches, hissing in his ear, "Do it, you owe me a gift."
Aemond grinned and directed Vhagar to circle around and fly forward until almost colliding with Lucerys - should he not've steered Arrax lower at the last moment. The close call was enough to make you both laugh, the sound traveling over the noisy nature. Aemond turned Vhagar again, trying to snatch at Arrax with her talons while your husband hurled insults and taunting phrases as his nephew.
With a small groan, you reached for a separate piece of the saddle to hold onto while Aemond drove Vhagar into a nosedive after the smaller dragon. When they came up to a cavern of sea rocks, Aemond was forced to pull Vhagar back before she could crash - but Arrax had no issue navigating into and through the canyon. You were forced to fly above it, searching for your prey once more.
Lucerys seemed to evade you for a time.
"What happens when we find him?"
"I will have the bastard's eye," he reminded you.
"Yes, but what if he resists?"
"Of course he will."
"So you mean to kill him? Is that the plan, Aemond?"
He did not answer you, looking over Vhagar's sides for his prey. He shouted in High Valyrian, "You owe a debt! Boy!"
Suddenly, from your left, Arrax descended upon Vhagar with a vicious spewing of fire that licked your flesh hatefully. Aemond flinched back into your chest, trying to shield yourselves from the heat of the flames, but it was too late. You cried out, whimpering with discomfort when the flames died; marring and mangling your skin. Prince Lucerys was heard scolding his dragon, and for a moment, you felt as if you could see the future because there was no way Vhagar was going to let that kind of disrespect occur and do nothing about it.
The ol' girl gave a rumble before bellowing after Arrax. She turned herself to where the other dragon had disappeared and started to push off as her owner begged and pleaded with her not to. "Serve me, Vhagar, no!" He commanded, desperate to keep his beast under control, but being evident these two wild animals were in an altercation all their own and meant to follow their instinct.
"We want his head still, Vhagar!" You laughed loudly, Aemond growling with a smirk.
"Do not encourage her!"
"Do not try to domesticate a 180-year-old dragon!" You gave a small whoop of excitement. "She's a Dragon of War, Aemond! Violence is what she knows!"
He grunted as he struggled with the reins. However, Vhagar ignored him and made her own turn, pumping her wings twice and then breaking into the morning sun above the storm. For a fleeting moment, it was incredibly gorgeous to be so high in the sky...
And then it was over before anyone could stop it.
Vhagar opened her mouth and gave one chomp around the body of boy and dragon. There was a shrill cry of fear before Vhagar's moan of content, then eery silence settled as half-consumed bits fell to the ground beneath.
"Well," you cleared your throat, staring at the bloody bits falling, "if it wasn't enough that Aegon took her crown, surely, the two of us taking her son will be the push Rhaenyra needs to meet us in conflict."
"No," he cleared his throat, "you were not here - "
"I was, I would not allow you to bear this burden on your own. To take the blame," you met his eye. "I encouraged this just as much, and Rhaenyra will know it was us - she'd never believe I was not involved."
"Can you not be logical right now?" He trembled, leaning his forehead to yours.
"Okay..." You whispered, "Well, could we go see if there's anything left?"
"That's morbid, my love."
"What? You're the one who promised me his eye. I know you didn't mean for this, but the truth is," you smirked, "you did. You knew what pursuing him would result in - your dragon doesn't understand your need for revenge, she understands eat or be eaten."
Aemond sighed, "Too soon for that phrase."
"Noted. Now, c'mon," you encouraged, giving his waist a squeeze. "I know you're curious to see what's left, too."
And he was, so Aemond directed Vhagar back down. It was difficult to predict where the body parts could've ended up, but seemingly, luck was on your side and you descended to the shore. There was a small scattering of remains, bits being washed up or away with every new lap of sea water.
You dismounted and started searching through the remnants, storm still outlandishly raging around you. "Love?" Aemond spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly. He smirked, "Got something for you, my Lioness."
"You do not..." He held up the messily decapitated head of Lucerys "Velaryon", your laugh surprising and genuine. "Oh, we're sooo going to Seven Hells," you sighed, shrugging, "but you know, it doesn't really get worse than what we've already done, so," you motioned for him to set the head down.
"Here," he agreed, using his dagger to harvest Lucerys' eyeballs from the skull you helped hold. When he was done, you chucked the head away before Aemond's bloody hands set both eyes in your cupped, outstretched palms; watching you weigh them.
"You know, Lannisters always pay their debts," you mused, smirk pulling at your lips, "but we also are always repaid our debts. How strange, to hold his eyes and think they were once functioning... In his head, of use, probably full of tears when Vhagar chased him in the sky."
"Hm," Aemond considered, then pointed to your hand. "It's with his eyes, I promise you, my Lioness, the fall of our enemies." He proclaimed, then musing, "Should we give Maris Baratheon one to prove ourselves?"
You smirked, "She said you must've lost your balls, right?"
"Almost positive Vhagar ate Lucerys' so we cannot present her with them."
"Damnit," you pouted. "All right, fine, sure, we might show the Baratheon's we mean war... But I'd like to keep them both, please."
"What are you going to do with them?"
"Put them in a jar and keep until I'm no longer angry about what he did to us..."
"So, his eyes are going on our mantle?"
"You bet your sweet balls," you grinned, twirling Lucerys Velaryon's Strong's organs in your hand like a pair of game dice.
requesting rules and masterlist
HOTD masterlist
#aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#hotd fandom#hotd#hotd fanfic#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon hbo#hbo house of the dragon#hbo hotd#hotd hbo#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x f!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond x you
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EYYY!! I recently found you in this app and I just gonna say your content is pretty great! Is it okay if I put on a request? Like what would the blue lock characters call their S/o? ;) any characters is fine to me but I hope Nagi and Kurona will be included hehe- Good work btw!
❥ fandom: blue lock
❥ includes: nagi, kaiser, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, shidou, kurona, hiori & reo
❥ notes: hi!! i really loved writing this request, so thanks for sending it in! i thought really hard about what kurona would call his s/o (literally took days), and fell in love w/ his character in the process :)
❥ warning(s): hmm…kurona might be ooc IDK but i like this kurona!
you are nagi’s little angel. he low-key started calling you that as a joke (he used to find couple nicknames a little cringe), but eventually, he grows to love your reactions to the name. you smile at him, a lot, and it gets him out of trouble 90% of the time. “come back to bed, angel… ‘m asking nicely, aren’t i?”
kaiser switches it up like no man’s business. he’d been calling you by different pet names since before you got together so, you’re pretty used to it. i’d say he rotates between babe/baby, love and princess. honey bunches and names of a similar strange nature are saved for when he feels like teasing you. mein kaiserin (my empress in his native tongue) is only used on special, romantic occasions. like, when he tells you he loves you for the first time. or when he’s trying to get his family to understand just how serious he is about you. <3
bachira switches between love and sugar. sugar-plum when he wants to embarrass you. bachira is definitely one to tell you that he loves you quite a lot, he just doesn’t want you to forget, i suppose! giving you ‘love’ as a nickname is a way of reminding you of the fact rather than declaring how he feels 24/7. sugar is just another name he likes. it sounds good coming from him, and you usually get a kiss after he uses it, which is of course a bonus. “eh? you’re asking me how i think you look today? you look perfect, sugar! always do.”
chigiri refers to you as his darling. the nickname is beautiful, and elegant, just like he is. it’s easy to get flustered, having him call you that. chigiri likes the fact that he’s able to bring about such an adorable reaction.
kunigami doesn’t call you by this nickname often. actually, he uses your first name most of the time, mostly out of habit (i’m thinking friends-since-forever turned lovers), partly because he feels a little embarrassed giving you a nickname and using it in front of others. BUT ANYWAY, kunigami refers to you as pretty. he’d first called you it by accident, but since you seemed elated by it, decided he’d continue to use it on occasion. “tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, pretty.”
SHIDOU CALLS YOU SWEET GIRL. (🫠🫶) + similar variations like, sweetie or sweetheart, or sweet cheeks. snookums is reserved for when he’s about to tell you he’s done something that will probably annoy you. reason for the nickname? well, you’re sweet! you’ve got a good heart, and won’t swing for people if they say/do anything you don’t like. “are you gonna kiss me goodbye, sweet cheeks? or am i gonna have to chase ya?”
kurona primarily calls you pudding. his reason for it? “i like pudding, and i like you.” i feel like he’s kind of a private person, and only opens up when he feels totally comfortable with someone so, it’s only used when it’s just the two of you around. HOWEVER. private as he is, i think kurona’s got this other side to him. he likes to tease you, just a little. say for example, you’re giving him the silent treatment. he’ll still try and talk to you, but will eventually get tired of not getting any attention. and then, “hey, y/n? can you pass me some napkins?” “…” “…ah, right. you love being called pookie bear, don’t you. POOKIE BEAR, WILL YOU PASS ME SOME NAPKINS?” he’ll pull this kind of stunt in front of your mutual friends when you’re having breakfast together (or something of a similar scenario!). it’s embarrassing, but it gets you to talk at least. he likes having you address him, even if it’s to tell him to, “stop embarrassing me, idiot!”
hiori calls you pumpkin. a little on the cheesy side, but i think it suits him! he isn't embarrassed about referring to you by the name in public either. it shows anyone who might be questioning your relationship that you're definitely together. if it embarrasses you, he'll do his best to tone it down. no promises that he'll never say it though, hiori simply can't help it!
reo rotates between a lot of sweet sounding nicknames. precious, my love, honey. i don't think he does this on purpose, but reo loves using 'my' before a lot of nicknames too. it's just an unconscious reminder that you're all his, and honestly, he's all yours. reo would be all in for any relationship he pursues, and nicknames come with the territory. bonus: he'd be absolutely over the moon if you gave him a cute nickname too. sure, he'd be a little embarrassed if his friends teased him about it, but his heart would swell with pride. being known as the 'sickening, lovey-dovey' couple isn't a bad thing, you know!! "My love, remind me what you wanted me to get you at the store later?"
#blue lock x reader#blue lock imagines#bllk imagines#bllk x reader#bllk fluff#bllk x you#blue lock#blue lock x you#nagi x reader#kaiser x reader#bachira x reader#kunigami x reader#chigiri x reader#shidou x reader#kurona x reader#michael kaiser x reader#meguru bachira x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#hiori x reader#mikage reo x reader#reo x reader#saffy x blue lock
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Plagiarism allegations currently levelled against me and evidence of my innocence
I'm sorry for posting so many times on this hard topic.
But yesterday @freewld (https://www.tumblr.com/freewld) asked me, "You reversed, traced and plagiarised my drawing, didn't you?" I received a DM saying.
After discussion, I was given permission to publish a verified image of me and her drawing by overlapping them.
Below is her art, all of which I have permission to publish.
The picture on the left is my illustration that is allegedly being used in this case. And the picture on the right is the one she claims was plagiarised by me.
She says: " When my drawing is inverted, angled and overlapped, there are a number of places where the lines overlap. I believe you must have traced my drawing because there are too many places where the lines match for it to be a coincidence".
See the verified image she created by overlapping our drawings on her Twitter feed. (another)
To be fair, I also made a verification image and video.
When two pictures are overlapped with respect to the line of Seb's right eyelash.
When two pictures are superimposed on the basis of the lines on both cheeks of Seb.
I draw every time using the screenshots I have taken of Sebastian as a reference, and probably she does too.
I would argue that if I draw a picture with reference to a 3D model of the same 'Sebastian Sallow' character, it is only natural that the two pictures should be similar.
If one tries to express his individuality - the distance between his eyes and eyebrows, the length of his nose and philtrum - in a drawing, it is natural that some of the lines will overlap.
In the first place, to claim 'plagiarism by tracing', most of the lines need to match, but there are not many places where the lines of the two pictures overlap completely.
It is my contention that this cannot be evidence of 'plagiarism by tracing'.
I believe I have proven my innocence to the world with these two superimposed verified images and videos.
However, @freewld is using Twitter's survey feature to solicit third-party impartial opinions on the allegations.
This is the current voting result.
Incredibly, the majority of votes went to 'I think Tamayula plagiarised'.
I think this voting system might not be fair because as you know, X(Twitter) allows a single user have multiple accounts and actually I currently have eight accounts on X(Twitter). Therefore, I wonder if it can work properly as the third-party impartial opinions because some users might vote this multiple times by using their own multiple accounts.
And I've only been back on Twitter for about a week and have only about 200 followers.
In contrast, @freewld has been running her account for 10 months since March 2023 and has more than three times as many followers as me.
It is a voting system that overwhelmingly favours her.
With such a voting system, there is no way she can prove that I have plagiarised.
It remains to be seen what the outcome of this poll will be, but even if the result is more votes for 'I think Tamayula plagiarised', I will continue to maintain my innocence and I will not apologise to her.
Finally. I have tried to be as honest as possible over the past few days and have continued to assert my legitimacy in Japanese HL fandom, but it is no longer possible for me to deal with this matter any more.
I feel ridiculous about everything now.
I hope everyone can understand my disappointment a little.
Thank you so much for reading this long sentence so far.
I am taking a short break for just a few moments.
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You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but how has your opinion changed on Steven Universe now than when it first aired? Like I have fond memories of watching the show while it was airing but now I realize that it had a lot of problems that I feel like a lot of fans either flat out ignore or bend over backwards to make sure their rose tinted glasses stay on.
... okay, fair question. Let's talk about this.
I'll try not to wax poetic too long, but there are a lot of things to be said here.
First and foremost - how has my opinion changed since the show has ended?
Simply put - it hasn't.
When I started watching Steven Universe over 7 years ago, I didn't have much knowledge of it. I sat down, saw a few of episodes and went 'well, this is a silly show for kids with a goofy but loveable protagonist... but it seems like it's also incredibly charming with its delivery and has some nice, more complex themes about loss and healing and grief throughout.'
And if you ask me what Steven Universe is now... I would probably say that exact same thing.
Am I wearing rose tinted lenses? Interesting question.
What ARE 'rose tinted lenses' in this context anyway?
What do these lenses represent? What do they obscure?
Since you didn't go into specifics, I can only assume what you're referring to when you say that many fans ignore the show's problems.
There have been many discussions surrounding various aspects of the show and how it might be read as 'problematic' (ahhh how I've come to despise that word.... without context, it has all the descriptive power of the word 'icky' - none of the critical details and all of the emotional punch of scrunching up your face like a cat that just sniffed a lemon...)
Is this about something as simple as the 'SU doesn't have a consistent size for its characters' debate?
Because that has been gone back to, over and over again, and proven to be a point of opinion. SU favored allowing storyboarders to show off their personal flourish, and even though Peridot was 30% hair in that one episode, it did not overall take away from the plotline being told, which was their goal. If you wanted to watch a show with consistent styling throughout, you can always watch a 3D modeled show, but keeping that up was simply never one of SU's main pillars. And I feel like it didn't have to be.
Is this about something more complex such as the way Rose was presented?
...and how her arc was shown backwards instead of forwards - showing first the person she became in the end, and afterwards revealing all the growth she had to have to get there?
That was on purpose! And I don't think this is a problem. It's a feature, not a bug. Rose was never meant to be an ideal character - she was meant to be complicated and messy, and I think the fact that the fandom is so split in their opinions of her shows that the Crewniverse pulled that off really well!
She fucked over Bismuth! She forced Pearl to be silent! Those are both parts of her character arc that were never resolved because she died before she could resolve it - that's BY DESIGN. Sometimes, you just do something absolutely stupid and cruel, and you cannot go back to fix it.
Is this about the Diamonds? The fact that they were not put in space jail, after being put on trial for space crimes, and then publicly executed for space eco-genocide?
Here's the thing - most people I know who watched and loved SU are fully aware of that. But simply put - Steven Universe was not a story about Revenge.
Steven Universe was a story about love. A story about family. A story about truth, and lies, and hurt, and healing. About how sometimes healing doesn't happen. And how sometimes it will, but you won't be around to see it.
But it's not a story that can be all things for all people.
That is the thesis of my reply: It is a story.
It is not a manifesto. It is not a bible. It is not a Complete Truth.
It is a single story. Made by a group of very talented people, who cared about these characters, who did their best. They made a funny, emotional, well-drawn and complex cartoon show about the things THEY personally wanted to tell stories about.
Does it answer all questions the way everyone wants them answered? No. That's impossible.
Everyone wants a different story. Everyone wants a different solution, a different resolution. A different ending.
Steven Universe is one story. It cannot satisfy all people.
So when you ask me 'has your opinion of Steven Universe changed'? The answer is 'no'.
I went in, expecting to see a story. I saw a lot of what I liked! I saw some parts which I thought were interesting. I saw some parts which, yes, I disagreed with a little.
But overall, it's a good story. And that's what I expected, and that's what I got, which means I'm pretty satisfied. I love that story.
I feel like recently, there's this expectation of media, to be Everything For All People. And it's a bit unrealistic. No one call tell the perfect story. We are all simply telling the stories we want to tell. And people will vibe with that, more or less.
A single story, made by a small group of people, will never be that for you. There will never be an Unproblematic Cartoon that you watch that will be devoid of things you disagree with.
Being critical of media doesn't mean 'Criticize the FUCK outta that media, and the one with the least criticisms is the best one'.
Critical thinking is about evaluating things critically - that means being critical of YOURSELF. Being critical of your OWN reactions. Asking 'why did I like this?' and 'why did I dislike this?'. Asking 'this doesn't mesh with me, but who WOULD it mesh with? It isn't for me, but who is it for? Who would it hurt, but also who would it help?'
Some people HATED how SU: Future ended. They beat their fists on the wall and cried about how Steven was leaving his family behind, and how THEY could never imagine doing something like that, and how he was running away from his problems just like Rose had.
Me? I loved it. I think it was the right choice, and I COULD imagine it and thought it was in character. I thought he needed to be his own person, instead of shouldering everyone else's responsibilities for once. Was one of us more right than the other? Maybe not? Maybe that was the whole point?
Loving things is not about putting on rose colored glasses. Sometimes, choosing to love something with flaws is an act of rebellion. It's about knowing you have differences, but understanding that there is value in the things you DO agree on, and knowing you can consume that.
Healthy consumption of media does not mean throwing the whole cartoon away as soon as you notice something is wrong with it, like a bruise on an apple.
Healthy consumption of media involves critical thinking AND feeding yourself. Acknowledging you may disagree with parts of it, but not starving yourself just because your apples all have small imperfections.
Eat, for fuck's sake. Feed yourself. You'll feel better.
Thassit.
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heyyy I hope it's okay to send an ask! I just wanted to know about your art process, if you got any advise. Because I'm in love with your SH doodles, they're so dynamic and lively and the shading is such a nice accent yet it remains somewhat minimalistic? I'm relatively decent at realism but want to develop my own character in drawing more and I'm wondering how you arrived at yours, did you have a method? Thanks in advance^^
love to talk about DRAWING......
The short answer is that because I want to draw them a lot, and have limited time, I can't be too precious about how the final result looks! So a lack of perfectionism and a desire for speed ends up forcing me to simplify and stylize them. This was an organic process (if you scroll down my art tag you can see I was drawing them with a bit more detail, finish, and care a few months ago - I was illustrating vs what I'm doing now, cartooning).
Ideally when you are cartooning, every line of the character's face is doing work to make them THEM, and to tell a story. No unnecessary lines! I find that story is best expressed through eyes, eyebrows, and mouth (this might be different for you). Those features can and should change shape to express emotion. They are usually what I draw first, to figure out the emotion, and they're what I spend the most time tweaking.
The rest of the features - face shape, cheekbones, nose, forehead, ears, hairline - are less emotive, less 'plastic', they don't change shape much. These are doing work to make the character recognizable. I try to keep them simple and have a few simple rules that I can remember about each character.
(Watson is tricky because of his mustache! I've found that treating it as part of his mouth rather than a distinct piece works best, but even so it makes his face less emotive - which, honestly, works for the character, as he is less demonstrative than Holmes)
I'll usually do a simple underdrawing to figure out what the body is doing - trying to capture the energy of a pose and, again, thinking about what story the body is telling.
Then I 'ink' in the clothing, following the lines of the body and gravity. Victorian clothing is fun to draw, I find that the structure around the shoulders and neckline lends itself to expressive poses. I did a bunch of Victorian clothing studies a few months ago and felt like I built up a 'library' in my head so that I don't need to reference it every time.
Shading is incredibly minimal and quick. In really simple drawings, its purpose is usually to distinguish characters from the background. In more detailed ones, it's to give them a little dimension and focus the eye to the faces.
Every choice I make is in service of readability rather than beauty or accuracy, if that makes sense. So it is quite a different mindset than when you're drawing realistically or painting.
I hope this was helpful! I am a professional artist but whenever I get sucked into a fandom I find myself making leaps and bounds in my craft because I want to draw so MUCH and don't care about making it polished...truly shout out to hyperfixation for the gifts it brings
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AITA for headcanoning deadnames for trans characters for symbolism purposes?
im a trans guy (minor if it matters) who's been a fan of this one show for a little over a year. none of the characters are canonically trans, but there's a lot of trans allegories to be drawn from the material if you're me or my mutuals at least. the two main characters are both male and i ended up developing an au where they're both explicitly transmasc as a way for me to just explore trans themes in an alternate narrative. i haven't begun writing it yet but definitely plan to once i feel like it's solidly locked in my brain, and i've been sharing snippets & concepts every so often.
part of this was thinking of how they would've chosen their current names, and name symbolism got me considering what they would've changed them away from as well. one character i thought could've initially been named after his mother so i can draw contrasts between the two, and the name i decided on for her has a meaning that highlights her relationship with her father (and the character's relationship with his father in turn); it's also the name of the character's daughter figure in the show. a lot of the other main character's backstory kind of revolves around his dead sister, so i thought by making his deadname that sister's name then i could turn that into an allegory about transness and childhood and sibling death (and sororicide but we don't have time to unpack all that). i don't plan on ever explicitly referring to the characters by their deadname in the narration, except maybe in an ironic tone, but i think it would be cool to sort of sprinkle in references as subtext to just give the readers something more to chew on.
the thing is i've seen posts around talking about how nice it is to make trans characters/headcanons without once considering their deadnames, or how weird it is for people to consider them, and i definitely agree with the sentiment; one of the biggest goals for many trans people is for their past selves to be completely irrelevant, and i feel a bit guilty for perpetuating something so painful for the general community.
but i still don't think i'm an asshole in any way since these are literally just characters and obviously i'm not going around talking about real people's deadnames or anything. i just don't want to make people uncomfortable/trigger dysphoria if they find someone talking about deadnames for a trans charactsr they're attached to (i've definitely had that happen myself when reading trans fics, enough that i had to stop reading, and i don't know how you'd even tag for something like that). if the general gut reaction to this ask is negative then i'll probably consider just not talking about the deadnames unless someone asks about it, since they're not crucial to the plot at all, just some uhh not so fun tidbits.
anyway sorry this is so long for something i feel like might be a non-issue that i'm overthinking. if you somehow guessed the fandom have a chocolate 🫀 if you're one of my few mutuals who knows who i am from the details of the au then um pretend you didnt see this post.
What are these acronyms?
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WELCOME TO MY BLOG!!
★ otter / otto / felix / viper !! it/xi/he !! minor :3 ★ [ this blog is for emotes and occasionally other art !! :3 ]
my emote discord server !!
my personal blog @viperpaws-plus !!
alien divider art by @puppershy ★
requests: open, selective + very long wait
will do :: wordmojis, animals/animal features [ ears/tail ], silly yellow emotes, agere/petre emotes, expressions, simple animated emotes if specifically asked for, any other variants of emotes ive made, etc etc
wont do :: nsfw, gore, characters from games/fandom emotes [ unless specified in 'will do' or its something im interested in, ] ocs/full headmate emotes, anything too complicated, anything i cant draw yet
- try to be very clear when you ask and if you have something specific please provide a reference :3 also please keep in mind that my art style changes a lot! i am still learning anatomy and barely know how to draw animals, i apologize if whatever i make doesnt turn out the way you want it to.
- i work on requests in the order i think theyll take the least time/energy and only when i have the motivation! if i dont do your request its nothing personal !!!
boundaries / rules:
please do not trace or copy any of my emotes. slight edits are fine, i dont mind!! if youre inspired by any of my emotes credit is appreciated but not required :3
do not steal my emotes !!! reblogs are appreciated, but do not repost without credit!!
if you use my emotes in public discord servers please give credit by linking my tumblr somewhere. do not use my emotes for anything other than discord servers or aac
i dont mind spamming and dms are fine :3
do not interact:
obviously i cant control who uses my emotes and anyone is free to use them but id prefer if you didnt interact with my blog if you are any of the following:
kink/nsfw blogs, pro endo, anti-lgbt, anti-agere/petre, proshipper, anti-therian/otherkin
- might be edited later !!
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Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Requested: kinda
(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)
Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)
A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.
A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*
If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜
Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋
If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!
I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!
Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.
(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)
(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)
March 1957
Elvis parks in front of your house, his mind whirling with noise. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but as soon as he’d gotten off that train, he knew he needed something that he couldn’t get from any of the guys or even his mama. So, he finds himself unexpectedly here.
Turning off the car, he seeks any sort of relief from the heartache he feels. He’s been holding it all in since the train stop in New Orleans, the one that sent the world crumbling under his feet, destroying the pretty picture he’d had for the future. But all that is gone now and here he sits, hands tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy.
He nods to himself, finally leaping out of the car, and then he saunters down the walkway to the front door. The chime of the doorbell can be heard through the door, and he listens carefully, grateful to hear light footsteps from beyond.
When you open the door, it’s like he can breathe again for the first time since the train pulled away in New Orleans. You look surprised to see him, those big eyes of yours widening the slightest before you speak.
“Elvis, you’re home?” you ask with a hint of confusion, but overall, you seem pleased at finding him on your doorstep.
“Just got in, baby,” he says, that boyish smile curving up. He gathers you up into a big bear hug and instantly feels better as he breathes in the unique scent of your shampoo and lingering perfume. A scent that feels like home.
“And you came right here?” you ask, brow furrowing when he pulls away. He notices that you look a bit worn around the edges, darker circles rimming your eyes as if you haven’t been sleeping well.
You’re right to be confused. Of course, he hadn’t planned to see you right away. He’d planned to sweep June off her feet in New Orleans, wanting to show her Graceland immediately, the home he’d thought they’d share together for the rest of their lives. But all that had been dashed as soon as she’d blurted out that she was engaged to another man. Engaged. His June.
“I want to show ya something,” he blurts out instead of saying any of this. “It’s a surprise! Will ya come?” Oh, god, you have to come, he thinks. His heart might shatter if you don’t, though he’s not exactly sure why. You’re not his—you and Jack have been dating for nearly a year—so it’s not as though if you don’t come that it really means anything. Yet, still he hopes. He needs this. He needs to share this moment with someone he cares about.
Despite the fatigue in your eyes, you nod quickly, and then as if you can’t leave the house fast enough, you grab your purse and coat and shut the door behind you without a word.
He smiles gratefully, and relieved, he grabs your hand and practically skips to the car. Once he has you tucked in safely, he runs around the front of the Cadillac, jumps in, and peels away. It’s not too far of a drive, and he yammers on about the last few months he’s been away, the words flying out of him. You nod and ask all the right questions, but he notices that you are pensive, quieter than usual.
His verbal diarrhea halts for long enough for his brain to take into account that you don’t seem your usual self, and he asks, “Are you okay?”
You look down at your hands and then out the window, as if contemplating if and how much to share, which makes him a little nervous. Your fingers twist in your lap.
“Honestly? It’s been a hard few weeks, E,” you finally say, still unable to meet his eyes. “My nana passed last Tuesday.”
He’s mortified that he’d just been going on and on about himself and here you were dealing with such a loss. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know. I know how close you two were,” he says remorsefully, reaching his hand over to clasp one of yours.
You shake your head, sniffling back tears. “It’s okay, you’ve been away. There was no way for you to know. And I keep telling myself that she’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t really help all that much. I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”
He nods, because he can’t seem to think of anything to say that will make any of this better for you. “We can do this another time, baby, if you’re not feeling up to it,” he finally gets out.
“No, no. I need something to do instead of moping around the house. I’m worn from being sad and worrying about the rest of it. No, I’m glad you showed up, E. I can’t wait to see your surprise,” you add quickly, trying for a smile.
“The rest of it? What’re you so worried about, baby?” It’s obvious you don’t expect him to pick up on that because he sees the quick look of panic that flashes over your face at the question, so he’s quick to add, “I mean, you don’t hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna, but I can tell somethin’ else is weighin’ on ya.”
“You could say that,” you sigh, raising your eyes to the roof and back down again. The twisting fingers are back. “God knows I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s giving me these terrible headaches.” You pinch the bridge of your nose for respite. “I…well, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Elvis, because it’s about Jack, and I really don’t want him to think I’m running around telling everyone our business.”
A warning rush rolls over him at this because he suddenly and very desperately wants to know what has happened with Jack, and that is a dangerous game for all kinds of reasons, many of which he’s not ready to admit to himself.
“I swear and cross my heart I won’t say a word, if you wanna tell me,” he says instead, a little too eagerly, so he quickly adds, “If it’ll help ya feel better and all.”
He forces himself to watch the road and not you, but he can practically hear your mind whirring.
“Oh, fine, but not a word out of you to anyone, Elvis Presley, I mean it. I know how bad you are with secrets,” you glare at him.
“I promise, I promise!” he concedes, crossing his heart. “I swear on my mama!”
“Well, in the midst of all this with Nana, I found out that Jack was dating other women a while back while we were going together. Apparently, I thought we were exclusive, but he didn’t, and well…” you trail off bitterly.
Elvis has to bite his tongue and bite it hard because somehow this wasn’t what he expected, and oh, lord, he knows too much for comfort.
Thankfully, you take this as him listening intently, because you continue, “I know I shouldn’t be too mad at him. I suppose it’s an honest mistake, seeing as maybe we didn’t communicate clearly enough about where we stood with each other. But it was so obvious to me, and I don’t understand how it wasn’t obvious to him. It’s not like I was going around with other guys all the time! I know it was months ago, but damn if it doesn’t really sting. Part of me feels like such an idiot, you know? What else don’t I know about him and what he’s doing? It just makes it hard to trust him, even though he was truthful about it when I asked.” He can sense the conflict in you, as your voice fills and shakes with the emotion of your held-back tears.
His heart is beating fast now, and all he is seemingly able to do is nod furiously, as if agreeing vehemently with all you are saying. The problem is that Elvis is complicit in all this and you have no idea. You have no idea that he was the one who pushed the showgirls onto Jack when he came to visit him in Vegas in November. You have no idea that “dating” didn’t have much to do with it at all. And now he feels altogether shitty for being the one to put Jack in that position in the first place. He’d managed to spread his own unfaithfulness and debauchery right on over to Jack, and now you are the one paying for it.
Shit.
Although, knowing Jack, it’s also possible that there was other dating happening, too. Either way, Elvis knows he’s got to tread real careful here and needs to keep his trap shut.
But Elvis can’t stand that hurt look in your eyes when he dares to take his eyes off the road to glance at you. He hates how angry and sad you look, the blue-black circles under your eyes conveying your distress.
And his emotions feel complicated, too complicated for comfort. He suddenly wonders if he didn’t present Jack with those temptations on purpose because there is a very deep and selfish part of him that desperately wants you to kick Jack to the curb for this, and that terrible, selfish part of him wants you to finally see Elvis in the same way he sees you.
Maybe there’s a reason that things didn’t work out with June, that voice pokes at him hopefully.
Stop that shit right now.
All this is playing through his head and leaving him outwardly silent. He realizes he has to say something, anything, because you are waiting for him to do so.
“I-I’m sorry that happened, ‘specially finding out at the same time as all this with your Nana. W-What are you gonna do about Jack?” he says, trying not to gulp.
He watches your eyes narrow and then he quickly looks back at the road. He can feel you shift in your seat.
“I…well, right now, I wanna pummel his brains out, so I told him I need some space to figure out what I want to do. I just—I thought we…” you trail off dismally. “I don’t want to go through this again,” you add quietly.
Elvis knows you are talking about Ted. Stupid Teddy who stepped out and got Judy Cole knocked up and then left you brokenhearted in his wake. It still pisses him off, even though he knows he’s got no right to judge Ted, not now, not after all the foolin’ around he’s done.
But when it comes to you, he can’t help but be protective. It’s in his bones, the way he wants to take care of you. In fact, he wouldn’t mind punching Jack in the face right about now for hurting you like this. And he’s even more pissed at himself for his part in it all.
Elvis just wants you to be happy and to be with a man who deserves you, and deep down, he doesn’t know if that man is Jack, even though he loves Jack like a brother. But the real problem is he’s not sure if he thinks any man will ever be good enough for you.
But his brain is wary to dwell on the meaning of that, wanting to avoid anything else that feels uncomfortable, so instead, he lets the excitement of showing you his new home overshadow any other unwanted feelings he might be experiencing.
“Okay, baby, we’re almost there, so close your eyes,” he says excitedly, changing the subject abruptly, before pulling up the long drive.
“Alright, Elvis, this better be a big surprise with how hyped up you are,” you chuckle, letting the mood turn by doing as you are told.
“The biggest,” he breathes, sliding to a stop in front of the Colonial mansion. “Don’t open your eyes yet! I’ll come around!”
You wait until you hear the car door open and feel his hand take yours. He gently brings you out of the car to standing, an excited energy vibrating through him.
“Okay, darlin’, open!” he drawls dramatically.
You do, blinking out the early Spring sunlight. He watches your face light up as you take in the architecture.
“Oh my god, Elvis, it’s beautiful,” you say in awe. “Is it yours?”
“Yes, baby, it’ll be all mine very soon. And for Mama and Daddy, of course,” he adds hastily, as if you’d thought he’d abandon his parents.
“Of course,” you smile, looking at him with those pretty, though tired, eyes of yours. “Can we go inside?” you ask.
All he can do is nod excitedly. Elvis takes your hand, pulling you up the steps and past the huge white columns on either side. He can’t unlock the door fast enough, the keys rattling and shaking in his hands. Once inside, he pulls you through the house, mouth running a mile a minute about what he wants to do in each room, how he wants it to look.
Finally, you make it to the top level, the last room. “This is gonna be my bedroom,” he rambles on. “I’m gonna get the biggest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, made special.”
You gently pull your hand out of his, and he watches as you take a small pill bottle out of your purse and pop two of the pills before downing them dry. Aspirin, probably, for the headache you were talking about in the car.
“E, stop a minute,” you say. “This is all amazingly wonderful and beautiful, and I am so excited for you, but…well, what exactly am I doing here?” You look at him with curious and concerned eyes.
“I…uh…I…,” he stammers, unsure of what to say or how to say it, as it’s all been spinning inside for hours and hours. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. He certainly doesn’t want to put any of his stuff onto you, not now, not after what you told him earlier. His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes them, wiggling his fingers like he does to come down after a show. It doesn’t help. There’s just too much emotion rolling through him all the sudden.
You step to him, first putting your hands on his shoulders, then you run them gently down his arms before grabbing his flailing hands, absorbing some of that wild energy. The feeling still manages to send little electric shocks through him, even after all this time. Only then does he finally still and dare to look at you.
“E, what’s wrong? You let me talk earlier, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” you ask, your eyes searching his, open and concerned. He should’ve known you’d see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re here, because he knew you’d understand, that you’d be able to tell he wasn’t okay when no one else cared to.
It takes a moment for him to gather his words as his emotions get in the way. Emotions he stoically hid from the guys the rest of the way to Memphis. Emotions he pushed down when he saw his mama because he just couldn’t bear to break her heart yet with the news. God, he’s spent so much time recently learning how to hide everything real about himself in order to become the man everyone wants him to be. But here, now, with you, it all begins to overflow.
“I-I-I told June to meet me in New Orleans. I-I w-w-was gonna bring her back here, to show her w-what I-I wanted to buy…for us,” he says, bouncing on his toes, tears welling and clouding his vision. He hates how it’s tearing him in two to say this.
You squeeze his hands, urging him to continue, and for you, he does.
“But when I-I got there, she was acting so strange. There w-wasn’t much time and, uh, she told me she’s engaged to someone else.” He blinks and the tears run over, finally spilling down his cheeks. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it feel all too real. His chest aches with betrayal, with loss.
You look at him with such care, though you do not look shocked at this news.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, E. I know you how much you loved her,” you say, squeezing his hands again gently.
‘Loved.’ As in past tense.
“Did you know?” he asks suddenly, stepping back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
You take a conscious deep breath. “No, I didn’t. But she did call me a few times wondering where you were, if you were okay. She said she hadn’t heard from you in months…” you say awkwardly, petering off.
“Aw, shit,” he curses, running a hand through his greased hair. A wave of anger rolls through him, burning him from the inside, but as much as he wants to put it on June and her spiteful engagement, he knows the anger is mostly towards himself. He fucked up. He fucked around. And he’d expected June to just sit back and wait for him while he did it. He didn’t even make the time to call her.
And you know what he’s done. He can see it on your face. He looks down, unable to meet your eyes.
You don’t speak. You don’t lay into him or tell him he’s an asshole, although it might be better if you did. God knows he’s already thinking it. You just look at him with sadness and understanding and forgiveness, even though he doesn’t deserve it.
With that ache in his heart, he finally realizes that he couldn’t have loved June the way he said he did and then leave her hanging like that. But he did love her…at least, he had. They’d had such a beautiful summer together and he was sure he wanted to marry her, once his fame was settled. Three years, he’d told her.
Shit, I didn’t even make it six months, he thinks absently.
And then everything changed almost overnight. His fame exploded. There was Hollywood, then Vegas. And the girls, good god, there were so many beautiful girls who wanted him, needed him, who threw themselves at him. He’d been weak. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help it. It was just sex, he’d told himself, just a way to blow off steam as his world became smaller and smaller and nearly suffocated him. A thousand excuses run through his head, but in the end, it was his choice not to pick up the phone. It was his choice to screw around, to live this life.
It’s no wonder that June moved on, he thinks. I’m a first-rate asshole.
“Y/n, I messed it all up,” Elvis finally chokes out. The sob fully breaks the dam holding him together, the pressures of his fame and the realization hitting him like a truck: he is never going to be able to have that normal life with a wife and kids he’d once dreamed of. His knees buckle under the weight of all of it—his decisions, both good and bad, the fame he doesn’t know what to do with, the unexpected consequences of this privileged but isolating life he’s chosen.
He sinks to his knees, defeated, on the carpet of his future bedroom, the one he’ll probably never share with someone who loves him for who he truly is. Because he isn’t just Elvis Aron Presley anymore—he is “Elvis Presley,” the celebrity, the commodity, the fantasy.
While he relishes in the luxuries of it all, in being able to provide the life his family deserves, a small part of him cannot help but feel like he’s made a deal with the devil. That this talent he has been blessed with will also be the thing that damns him. He is overcome by the feeling that he’ll never know ever again if he is loved for who he really is, or if it is his fame and his image they love. And there is something about that that crushes his soul.
But he can’t say all this to you because it sounds dramatic and indulgent, and he knows there are very few people in this world who’d actually understand. This is his cross to bear.
And yet you still comfort him. You are still here. “Oh, hon, I know. It’s okay, I know,” you say, kneeling down with him.
In the midst of all he’s achieved and gained these past few years, June is the representation of all that he stands to lose, all that he’s already lost. “She was my last chance, y/n. I’m never gonna be able to trust that a woman loves me for me and not for my fame after this. And I screwed it all up,” he says quietly, tears running freely. “I just feel so fucking alone.”
“Oh, that’s not true, Elvis, it’s not,” you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll find her, I know you will. And you have so many people who love you for just being you, not for the fancy cars or the mansion or the fame. You’ve got your family, you’ve got Jack and your true friends. And you’ve got me.”
The way you say it, so softly, yet so matter-of-fact hits him hard, so hard that his heart stops beating for a moment. If he wasn’t already kneeling, the honest way your tired yet beautiful eyes search his face might knock him right off his feet.
It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, he thinks suddenly. This is the feeling he was avoiding in the car. The feeling he’s been avoiding since he watched Jack kiss your cheek in the diner a year ago.
It takes his breath away. You take his breath away, you always have. He’s been enamored with you since you plowed into him all those years ago in the hallway at Humes High.
Suddenly, June is all but forgotten because you reach up, cupping his face in your cold little hands and wipe a tear off his cheek. He cannot help the way his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation of the pad of your thumb dragging softly across his face. His breathing, rapid from his cries is now labored for another reason entirely.
Opening his eyes slowly, he shouldn’t be shocked to see tears in yours, your grief and sorrow, not only for yourself, but for him, too, welling there, as if you are connected to him. In fact, Elvis feels like his brain is short-circuiting because you are too damn close and the tension in the room is suddenly so thick, he feels like he might suffocate.
Every cell in his body feels on fire as you lean in closer and closer until your lips press against his forehead. You’ve never kissed him, not once in all these years, and this alone sends heat rushing through his young body. Then when you kiss his nose, and then one tear-stained cheek, he holds his breath, feeling like he might die from this chaste sensation.
Warning bells explode in his brain because suddenly he wants you more than anything in this world, always has. And now you are so close. This is Jack’s girl, he thinks, and she’s my dear friend. Don’t be an idiot.
But when you lean in to kiss his other cheek, you place your lips alarmingly close to his, his tears wet underneath your soft lips, and his body is on high alert as only a twenty-two-year-old’s could be. His heart flutters as you pull back just enough to look deeply into his eyes, tears shining in your own, and then you lean in once more.
This can’t be happening. This should not be happening, his mind screams, but then your lips are grazing his and all rational thought ceases to exist.
You taste so sweet.
Heat blooms through the ache in his chest, and in his disbelief, he freezes. Part of him wants to devour you whole, but he is terrified that if he moves, he might spook you and he cannot bear that.
His confusion is overridden when your hands, shaking but demanding, pull him closer. Your lips are soft and sure, and he cannot help but be swept away by them. He’s kissed so many girls, too many to count, all over the country, but not one has ever made him feel like this, like his heart is going to leap out of his damn chest.
But this is a betrayal of a monumental kind, for both of you. While he is no stranger to betrayal, he does not want this for you. As much as he wants you with every fiber of his being, he does not want to be the source of your regret or heartache. He’s already done enough in that regard already, though you don’t know it. Mustering up every ounce of his self-control, Elvis pulls out of your kiss.
“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this. I’m no good for you this way,” Elvis says in a hushed tone, his forehead resting against yours. “I-I can’t have you regretting me, I-I-I couldn’t bear it.”
You lean back the slightest bit, and he thinks you might be listening, reconsidering, making him feel mostly dismay but also a little relief. What he does not expect is for you to press your little pointer finger up against his lips, hushing him, as you stare into his eyes. It’s as though your soul is as weary and needy as his and it feels as though you see him, truly see him, which is a new feeling for him. This sends a welcoming shiver down his spine, and he knows that despite every scrap of logic and propriety he is trying to lean on, with you he is powerless.
When your finger drags down his lips, catching on the bottom one, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Yet still he resists (even though he wants more than anything to see where this is going), thinking you might realize your mistake, and this will all be over in an embarrassed, yet still salvageable, flash.
Instead, you very deliberately scoot closer, your knees bumping his on the carpet. You lean in again, your lips grazing his again with a yearning he cannot help but return in kind. It’s barely a kiss, but the intent is there and when you pull up, effectively opening your mouth to him, the way he can feel your warm breath mingling with his own has him struggling to control himself.
You are testing him, testing the waters, hesitant but somehow insistent at the same time. His long lashes flutter closed when your fingers brush his jaw then rake into his perfectly styled hair. But it’s when the tip of your tongue touches his, sending a hot shockwave through him, that he can stand it no longer and closes the gap between your mouths with a longing sigh.
Pressing his pliant lips to your yielding ones, he rolls his tongue softly but firmly against yours, earning him a quiet moan from you. This is like fuel on the fire, finally spurring him into action, and his hands fly to the back of your head, pulling you closer.
If there is one thing besides music that Elvis excels at and loves to do, it’s kissing. He plays with it the same way he plays a crowd, listening to you and adjusting his performance as necessary. The buzzy way it makes him feel, like every nerve is magnetic, is one of the only things in this world that is anything like how it feels for him to perform for an audience. He loves the way it makes him feel.
But kissing you is unlike anything Elvis has experienced before. It’s as though you are tuned to the exact same frequency, finding his rhythm immediately, adapting easily. The usual fumbling of people getting acquainted in this way does not seem to apply to the two of you, the ebb and flow so natural it’s as though you had done this with each other many times before.
But the passion of it stokes a fire that has been denied a long time. Intense heat crashes over him, sending tendrils of warmth through his limbs and deep into his belly. He drinks you in as deep as he can without being desperate, and oh how close he is to being desperate for you. His grief over June melts away the more he tastes you, and he wonders how he ever lived before having the taste of your lips on his.
It's all very dramatic and romantic, which he is both at heart. From just a few kisses, he suddenly knows that if he could kiss you and only you for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man indeed. This surprises him.
But what truly shocks him is when you lean so far into him that it pushes him over, his knees screaming a little, and he falls back into the wall with a thump. He scrambles backwards, maneuvering his long legs into a more comfortable seated position while you don’t even miss a beat or attempt to come up for air. And when you crawl into his lap, hoisting the flowing fabric of your dress up just enough so your warm, bare thighs are straddling his, his heart actually flies right out of his goddamned chest.
Speaking of which, you are currently running your hands down his, pulling his silky shirt up enough to dance your fingertips over his stomach. His breath hitches then hisses at that, his arms involuntarily encompassing you, large hands splaying across your back to draw you ever nearer.
And you go willingly, inching up his lap until you are straddling his hips. When you grind down into his lap, he thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven, his blue eyes rolling back into his head with a low moan.
He'll admit he’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but nothing could truly prepare him for the reality of the way you are making him feel. A trickle of attraction that began six years ago is now a roaring river, and is so, so much more than anything he’s felt before with anyone else.
He doesn’t understand it. He loves women. He always falls in love too fast, enjoying the rapid descent into the madness of it all. There have only been a few that he feels were true, though every girl he’s with, he loves in his own way.
But you are not like any of them, not at all. With you, it has been slow, so gradual sometimes that he didn’t even realize it. A teenage crush turned into friendship, and within that has blossomed a love that he didn’t know he was capable of. It is not until this very instant that he realizes it truly for what it has become. He doesn’t just care for you. He loves you.
He is in love with you.
Fuck.
Realizing this as your hips begin to rock steadily over his crotch is not the best timing. He’s as hard as a rock, fighting both the swell of his physical need for you while wrestling with the emotional needs he’s quickly realizing at the same time.
If he didn’t love you, he might not care if this is just a quick fuck between friends, but he does care. And he’s worried about where this is coming from, likely your overall grief and your anger at Jack. No, he doesn’t like the messiness of that at all.
But another grind of your pelvis into his, coupled with your tongue down his throat has the physical quickly taking over any and all rational thought. He wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. And he desperately wants to give you what you need, which based on the mewls escaping your lips, is a physical release, a connection.
God, he can feel the wet heat of your cunt now through your panties and his pants as you slide over his length, back and forth, again and again. He clings to you as your hands wind through his hair, burying his head in your neck, his lips taking in as much of your skin as he can. He revels in the scent of you, your perfume and your irresistible musk that is permeating the room. He is positively dizzy with it.
You are frantic in his lap now, chasing something he’s not entirely sure you’ve ever had. He knows about Ted, but he highly doubts Ted knew what to do with you. And with Jack, well, he’s not sure how far the two of you have gone, but he can only guess based on Jack’s recent actions and your desperation for no one to know that Ted had popped your cherry that you’ve been trying to be good and pure and wait.
But as you reach for his belt, pawing at him, for the first time in this whole event, he gets the distinct impression that you’re not sure what to do next, only that you are needy for something. And goddamn him, he is willing to give you what you need, but only if you really understand what it is you’re asking for.
“Wait, baby, just…wait,” Elvis pants, stilling your hips with one hand while grabbing the hand at his belt with the other. You whimper a little at the interruption, rolling your hips for emphasis, but despite the groan he can’t help, he’s having none of that.
“Baby, I need to know that you really want this,” he says, brushing your hair off your deliciously pink cheeks, your lips swollen from his kisses. He looks into your eyes, almost getting lost in them and forgetting what he set out to do. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” you whisper, and then add, “Elvis, please,” in a begging tone that sets him completely aflame.
“Oh, damn, okay, baby, okay,” he breathes, barely able to contain himself with that. He’s only human, after all. He races to help you with his pants, pulling them over his hips and down his legs in record time, his erection springing free, precum already glistening the tip. You lift up on your knees, you move your panties aside, and touching the silky soft skin of his cock, you help him line up with your entrance. He can’t help but gasp at the feeling of your cool little fingers circling his shaft, losing it a little more when he feels how incredibly soaked you already are.
He can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But all logic is gone from him, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth and the wetness of your pussy and his desperate need for whatever love you have to give him.
He watches as you bite your lip in concentration, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to take him in. You are incredibly tight around the sensitive tip of his cock, and he moans a little at the constriction. That’s when he knows for sure that no one else has touched you like this for a long time. You aren’t ready for him, not yet.
Reaching under your skirt, he deftly finds the delicate little bundle of nerves there and begins to work it ever so gently. He shifts his hips down, his cock regretfully released from your hold on it. Sliding his fingers through your folds (oh, god), he gently slips one finger into your tight heat, then two, allowing you to adjust around him before pumping them in and out. Your eyes go wide and you gasp with the intrusion, but then they flutter closed with a sigh, and then another, and another before your hips begin to rock again.
He watches you in your ecstasy, taking in every delectable reaction he can and committing it to memory. The way your brow scrunches and your mouth falls open into a little O. The feel of your thighs clenching around his hand as he massages and fingers your dripping pussy. Those alluring little breathy moans escaping your lips. Every part of you has him completely mesmerized and he knows it. He knows his mouth is agape and he is moaning softly right along with you. He is so aroused just by watching you, he feels like he could come without you even touching him.
“E, I need more…I need you,” you breathe with your eyes closed and brow concentrated, and oh sweet lord, those might be the best words in the English language with the way they come out of your mouth.
He is utterly unable to deny you this. He can’t even speak, he just pulls his fingers out of you, lifts your hips, and maneuvers his cock back to the place it wants to be most. And you are more ready for him now, your tightness yielding much more easily around the sensitive tip of him.
It’s in that moment, as you sink down ever-so-slowly onto him and he is enveloped by your wet heat, that Elvis realizes he is utterly ruined for any other woman, ever. They cannot and will not ever hold a candle to you. He should’ve known before. He should’ve stopped this while he still could. But as you finally settle in his lap, taking him in completely, your fingers relaxing and your eyes bright and glassy, he knows he is well and truly fucked in every way.
He kisses you deeply again and again, memorizing your mouth, as you begin to raise and lower yourself on his cock. You feel so good, so completely perfect, it’s as if you were made just for him. He is drunk on you, hands wandering your body, finding what makes you keen, and he’s unable to get enough of you.
But you are so needy and ready that unfortunately it doesn’t take very long of you riding him and him playing with your clit for you to begin falling apart at the seams. Based on your surprised gasps, he’s not sure you’ve ever come before, so he does his best to help you get there while holding on to his own release for dear life. You begin to shudder around him, clenching his length, and with a strangled moan you hit your peak. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the way you are coming undone on top of him, around him, your eyelashes fluttering closed and then popping open, all wild-eyed and rosy cheeked as the hushed sound of his name falls out of your perfect mouth.
He's so fucking enraptured that his orgasm hits harder and faster than expected, chasing yours almost immediately, not giving him time to pull out like he should have. But he can’t bring himself to care because it’s all you. All he’s ever wanted or needed—it’s you.
Oh, sweet Christ, I love you, I love you, I love you, he chants in his mind as he follows you over the edge.
He clings to you, head pressed into your breasts as he pulses hard into your warmth with a grunt, then stays there as he comes down from the high. And then you are both gasping in the silence, and there is an air of disbelief that fills the room that the two of you just did that, together.
This is making love, he realizes suddenly. It must be, considering the incredibly overwhelming feelings he has for you that are pouring through him in unreasonable amounts. He never wants to let you go, not ever.
He pulls back enough to kiss you tenderly, lingering a little too long. There is a sinking, nearly unbearable feeling that this may never happen again, and it threatens to break him, so he pushes it as far away as it will go.
You press your forehead to his, silent, you still enveloping him as he eventually begins to soften inside you. Neither of you rushes to move. He cannot read what you are thinking and that makes him nervous.
“Are you okay?” he finally whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek.
You nod but say nothing.
“Okay, baby.”
You both sit there a while, simmering in what you have done, and he wishes you would say something, say anything at all to let him know what is going on in that head of yours. But you are quiet, unreadable.
Finally, you remove yourself from his lap and stumble your way into the ensuite bathroom to clean up.
Elvis runs a hand down his face, wiping away the mixture of salty tears and sweat that has collected there. He uses his handkerchief to wipe himself off and then puts himself back together. Blissed out in his refraction, he is so full of love for you that he almost can’t stand it. He thought he’d known love before, and perhaps he did, but this realization of love for you is so big that he doesn’t know what to do with it. God, he feels like with you by his side, he could conquer the damn world.
But you’re not his girl.
Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.
His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.
Somehow, he’s both on top of the world and completely buried by it at the same time. You interrupt his thoughts, coming back in quietly and falling, exhausted, into his arms. He takes off his coat and puts it on top of you both. He can’t help but pull you closer, up into his lap, so your head rests against his chest. This is where you are supposed to be, he can’t help but think.
He knows the two of you need to talk about this. While he has been having his epiphany, he has absolutely no idea what you are thinking. He has no clue if you feel anything even close to what he feels for you. It is possible that all of this was just some sort of revenge on Jack, and that breaks his heart a little. And even if you did do it for that reason, you chose him. You felt safe enough with him to choose him.
But something deep inside him tells him it isn’t just that, not with the way you kissed him, not with the way he felt like his damn soul was connecting with yours. That deep connection he’s always felt to you, it can’t possibly be one-way.
But what if it is? a worried little voice creeps in.
He wants to ask you, but he looks down and sees you passed out on his chest. Fatigue begins to hit him, as he hasn’t slept in over a day.
It’s not long before he, too, falls into an exhausted slumber.
*
He’s not sure how long you sleep, but when he wakes, the sun has moved and the room is nearly dark. Disoriented, it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s you in his arms, and when he remembers why, his cheeks flame with heat.
Oh. Oh.
Drowsy, he rubs his eyes with one hand, trying to wake up. As the memories of your lovemaking resurface, his heart beats faster, and he knows the moment you wake you will both have to face what you’ve done. You’ll have to decide what comes next. And more than anything, the hopeful little voice inside him realizes that he wants to share this all with you—that’s why it is you he brought to Graceland today, and why it was so important to him that you like it.
“Y/n, honey, wake up,” he says quietly, not wanting to shock you awake, but you don’t even stir. He shifts under you, hoping that might get you moving, but you just lie there.
“Hey, baby, it’s time to wake up,” he says at full voice now, but you remain still, too still, and silent.
His heart starts to pound. Something isn’t right.
“Y/n! Honey, I need you to wake up!” He is getting frantic now, his hand gently tapping your face, which feels too cold. But still, you do not wake.
“Fuck. Fuck! Y/n, wake up!” He shakes you. Panic and confusion roll over him as he tries to figure out why you are knocked out. His sleep-addled brain runs through what happened before you both fell asleep, before you made love.
Her headache, he thinks. She took pills for her headache.
He had thought they were aspirin, but as he frantically rummages through her purse, pulling out the little prescription bottle, he reads “Percodan, one tablet every 6 hours for pain and sleep relief” on the label.
Elvis swears you took two tablets, not one, way too much for a girl your size. You hadn’t read the bottle.
Shit.
Having been in Hollywood, he knows that this happens. People overdose from taking these narcotics, usually to get high, but he knows that you did it on accident. Based on how full the bottle is, he’s guessing that you maybe hadn’t even taken the meds before today.
Regardless, he’s not taking any chances with you. There’s no phone hooked up at the house, so with his adrenaline now working overtime, he lifts your unconscious form and quickly carries you to the car. He peals out, driving to Baptist Memorial Hospital as fast as he possibly can.
The those few hours are some of the most terrifying of his life.
He bites every nail down to the quick in that waiting room, pacing there as your family sits, equally worried. He can’t help but feel that they are judging him for letting this happen, even though it was an accident.
He can’t bring himself to call Jack.
Guilt eats away at him, even though he knows he had no idea about the pills, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe he would’ve realized sooner that something was wrong. Part of him feels like this is punishment for his sins, for what he let happen in the house. He prays and prays to God, harder than he’s ever prayed before.
Please, God, I love her. I can’t lose her. Do what you want to me, just let her be okay.
His prayers work.
You wake up. The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery. His heart nearly explodes with relief.
He offers to stay while your family goes home to get some rest. It is past visiting hours, but being Memphis’ own superstar, the nurses take pity on him and let him stay, as long as he doesn’t keep you awake.
When you finally stir, it’s the middle of the night.
“E—Elvis?” you croak. “What happened? Where am I?”
He sits up straight and leans forward to take your cold little hand in his. “Y/n! Oh, baby, you took too many of your headache pills and I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the hell outta me. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.
“Wake me up? Why—why was I asleep?” your brow furrows in confusion.
His heart drops into his stomach, dread like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to ask, but he knows he must:
“What’s the last thing you remember, honey?”
Obviously still groggy, you close your eyes for a moment to think. “Um, I remember you picked me up and took me to…to your new house,” you say, then your eyes pop open, “You were showing me your beautiful new house, and then my headache got really bad, so I took some of my pills, and then…” You stop, looking at him blankly. “And after that, I don’t remember. You said I fell asleep?”
Oh, God, no. No, no, no. He feels like he’s going to vomit.
The force of his dread hits him like a tsunami as he runs through what happened in his head again. You took the pills first and then he told you about June and then you kissed him.
But you don’t remember. You don’t remember because you were accidentally fucking high.
“Elvis, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you say.
“Sorry, baby, I-I-I was just really worried about you, is all. I-I guess it’s all kinda hittin’ me at o-once, now that you’re o-o-okay,” he says, unable to keep his voice from shaking, unable to keep from stuttering through the half-truth.
“Please, go get some rest, E. I’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days…” you say, drowsily, eyes fluttering closed.
“Okay, okay, baby, I will…Get some rest,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head as you drift back into slumber.
In a panicked daze, he manages to make it down the hallway and to the men’s room before his stomach rolls and he is violently sick into the toilet.
Oh, sweet Lord, he took advantage of you. You were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing, and he had sex with you.
He vomits again, tears running down his face.
I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever let it happen if I’d known! I would never hurt her! the reasonable part of his brain cries out.
Shame eats at him from deep inside, cutting him. He deserves it.
How could he do this? How could he let this happen?
I should’ve known. I should’ve known the moment she kissed me that she wasn’t in her right mind.
But he didn’t, and what the hell does that say about him? He’s fucking selfish and he took something from you that you weren’t in your right mind to give.
He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.
And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.
Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.
Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.
Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.
He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.
Oh, God. Please forgive me.
He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.
He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.
He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.
Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.
Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.
Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.
He thinks he might vomit again.
When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.
“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”
“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.
Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.
All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.
After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.
But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.
It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.
In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.
But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.
Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.
Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.
And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.
When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.
And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.
December 28th, 1957, Graceland
Oh, God, what have I done?
The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.
Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.
He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.
Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.
To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.
And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.
At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.
He clings to this.
Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.
God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.
And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.
But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.
The only time he truly falters is during the dance.
Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.
The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.
And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.
When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.
As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.
He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.
“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.
“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.
His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.
But a mother knows.
His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.
That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.
His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.
“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.
“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.
“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.
“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.
“Y-you knew?”
“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”
He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”
“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”
His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.
“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”
His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.
He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”
And with that, he does as he’s told.
*
And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.
You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.
He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.
Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.
And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.
*
March 1960
Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.
And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.
But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.
Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.
His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.
Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.
His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.
He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.
Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.
“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”
That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.
He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.
He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.
No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.
Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.
He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.
Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.
As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.
Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.
“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”
The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.
He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.
He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”
Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”
Yes, anything for you.
*
You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.
But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.
Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.
Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.
When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.
Anything for his friend, right?
He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.
That is the bargain.
He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.
But you are not his, you never really were.
And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.
“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.
Especially Jack.
But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.
He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.
As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.
He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.
Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.
But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.
In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.
But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.
He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.
Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.
And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.
You are his. You’ve always been his.
So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.
Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.
He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.
But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.
It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.
Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.
*
As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.
He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.
But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.
Not again, not again, not again.
Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.
Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.
Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.
That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.
He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.
Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.
The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”
“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.
“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.
“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.
“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”
The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”
The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.
Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”
The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.
Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.
“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.
“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.
Jack flinches.
“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.
Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.
“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.
“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.
Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.
“How long, Elvis?”
He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.
“Opening night.”
“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”
The room goes silent yet again.
Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.
As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.
Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”
Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.
“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.
His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.
“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”
The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.
“And I love her,” Jack sobs.
“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.
He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.
Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.
Elvis releases him.
Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.
“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.
He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.
“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.
No one does.
It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.
And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.
He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.
He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.
He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.
When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.
“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.
He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.
So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.
But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.
He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.
He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.
Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.
If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.
Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.
Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.
His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.
Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.
God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.
He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.
So, he waits. He prays.
And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.
*
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#Pink Scarf Part 18.2#Pink Scarf#elvis#elvis presley#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#if you're looking for trouble#you came to the right place#austin!elvis presley x reader#austin!elvis x reader#elvis x y/n#elvis presley imagine#elvis presely smut#elvis smut#elvis x you#austin elvis x reader#austin elvis imagine#austin butler elvis#austin butler#elvis 2022#elvis movie#austin!elvis smut#austin!elvis x y/n#austin!elvis imagine#elvis fic#elvis fanfic#austin!elvis fic#elvis presley fic
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Your impel down modern au is absolutely amazing is it okay to ask more about it ?
Like is Jinbei the legal guardian or is Garp around ? Is the Sabo situation like in canon?
What about the warden is he like the landlord ?
(If I ever get inspiration/time would you be down for this to be a fic ?)
Thank u for liking my AU! To be completely honest I intentionally didn’t add other one piece characters since I wanted to explore a different dynamic, so in this AU, Garp (or Shanks or Whitebeard for that matter) wouldn’t be around too much, Sabo also probably wouldn't be too present.
For this AU specifically, the influential parental figures around Luffy and Ace are Jinbei (legal guardian), and then Crocodile (takes care of them when Jinbei is busy), and then the rest of the apartment residents when both Jinbei and Croc are occupied. The only other one piece chara I might consider adding in is Magellan as the landlord, but he’d be pretty hands off and not really part of the main dynamic anyways.
And of course, feel free to turn this into a fic if you’re feeling inspired! To be completely honest this AU in itself was inspired by a fic from a completely different fandom where they took a bunch of characters who never interacted w/ each other and put them all in an apartment together for a modern AU; Oda already did the job of getting random characters to work together so I just wanted to do the modern AU part!
Certain headcanons that I wasn’t able to add in the post itself:
Jinbei is a highschool teacher! The area they live in isn’t well funded so he probably doubles up as their guidance counselor as well,, he’s super busy which is why the rest of the apartment complex all collectively helps out watching the kids
Crocodile’s income bracket is technically a few steps above the others but because he’s paying 3 apartments worth of rent his quality of life ends up around the same LOL technically he could always move out but he’s too attached to everyone (would never admit it)
Drag race is still rupaul’s show in this universe and not Ivankov’s HAHAHA Ivankov is definitely more of an underground queen, almost urban legend like… But yeah they’re never home much so Inazuma has been using Ivankov’s apartment as a glorified storage unit for fabrics and outfits
Ace is still the grumpy kid like in canon, but having Crocodile around as a vaguely bad influence (“I am not going to stop you from committing violence” type) makes them strangely close… Croc is trans in this AU and if u wanted Ace to also be trans that can be another bonding point
Since Crocodile manages a casino (with a nightclub), Bentham has been pestering Croc to let him put on a drag show, so far Croc has been saying said no. Croc’s frame of reference is Ivankov (aka someone who’s waaaay to good) so unfortunately anyone who’s not at Ivankov’s level isn’t worth the effort of changing schedules and reorganizing things. Bentham has seen Crocodile proposition Daz constantly for that bouncer job so now there’s this weird one sided rivalry between Bentham and Daz lol
that’s about all the ideas I have for now! hope that was fun and interesting to read!
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Warning About A Plagiarizing Fic Author
*edit: FIC HAS BEEN TAKEN DOWN OFF AO3! Her blog posts here on tumblr however remain up so I ask that this keep circulating.
*Edit again: all accounts appear to have been taken down, and all blogs look down save for her @k-9bails account which she had the audacity to use to try to follow me again. I’ve got a reblog with all the relevant updates but I’m adding it here, too.
Original post:
Right. Time for the callout post, since the thief has refused to answer my messages or take down the fic. Before we start: do not send her hate mail. At most, I’m looking for firm requests that she take down her fic and, as you’ll see, all the blog posts where she’s stolen content from me. Mostly I’m just trying to apply firm pressure so she takes all the stolen work down, and so that people are aware of what she’s doing so she can’t do this to anyone else. So, let’s start.
If you’re in the Daredevil fandom on tumblr and AO3 at all, you might have heard of my fic The Red Thread about a psychic reader/OC referred to as Jane Hind/The Hound, who can see, via third eye, psychic threads of connection between people, animals, and beloved objects. It’s this fic that’s been blatantly plagiarized by @k9bails (who’s blocked me at present, so here’s the link to her main blog which I managed to access before I was blocked). Her fic on AO3 is called Legend, under the username K9bails. She’s also got a side blog called @k-9bails which appears less active, and a wattpad profile here, so please, if you write, make sure your work hasn’t been stolen. She’s only got the first chapter as of today, but it’s already full of stolen material, and her blog is absolutely bursting at the seams with things she’s stolen from me. Fortunately, before she blocked me, I was able to get screenshots, both of the fic just in case she edited it later, and her blog (which I had to screenshot on PC, so apologies for messiness). I’ve made a report to AO3 (please DO NOT report it on AO3, they prefer only one person do the reporting so that the volunteer team isn’t overwhelmed) and I am awaiting word back. But she’s also got my stuff all over her tumblr, and since she’s ignored my messages, it’s time to post it, since she’s active in the fandom and I don’t want her taking anyone else’s work.
Let’s start with the main bit from her fic. Left side is my first chapter, right side is her fic. If you’ve read TRT, you know that the concept of psychic threads seen through the third eye is incredibly important. They connect friends and acquaintances, family, pets, and even beloved childhood objects, with each type of connection denoted by a different color. She’s rotated some colors around, and taken some of the colors I introduce later like white, black, and purple, but this is very much my concept. Note she’s stolen a line almost directly word for word here: ‘Silver threads always struck Scout as the saddest,’ to compare to my, ‘That last always struck you as the saddest.’
In this case, she’s also taken the kaleidoscope effect line from a few chapters later:
I thought this was blatant, but it only got worse: she lifts two of my other original characters, and doesn’t even bother to change their fucking names. In this case, in her very first chapter, she’s lifted both Ciro, my OC’s Italian father figure (I’ve added a screenshot on the upper right from Ch17 of the first time his name is used), and Eli, an OC adopted by Ciro (also added to screenshot, bottom right). Eli doesn’t even appear until ch 36 so this stretches a long ways.
The rest of this I’m going to put behind a see more tag, cause we got a lot to go.
But we’re not done, believe it or not, considering there’s only a single chapter of hers so far - a single chapter containing a very similar opening line, and a bizarre lift of my frequent End Note message that leads to my tumblr??? That one puzzled me because there’s no real reason to steal that.
Yet another: she’s made use of the Hound theme, and made a barebones attempt to change the summary line enough to slide under the radar. If you’ve read TRT then you know, but if not: my OC’s code name is Hound, she’s frequently referred to as Hound or the Hound of Los Angeles, there are Hound metaphors galore, and Matt has taken to calling her his Hellhound, and those references are honestly so common it’d take hours to list them all.
I also happened to notice, after all this, that she’d linked to her tumblr, much like I did. So I wandered over. And it only got worse from there. Her own ‘answers’ to asks mimic mine, including lifting answers from posts I made here on tumblr. I’m not going to keep having side by sides because the post will get crazy long but if anyone wants receipts on any of these, I’ll go find it on a case by case basis.
Here’s where she mentions her character using threads to track people down for Bad Figures who want to kill them, along with tracking down threads for information, aka a major plotline of my fic and literally my character’s stated profession. Screenshot:
Here’s where she describes more about how ‘her’ threads and abilities work (starred paragraph is an almost exact summary of how my character’s abilities work, including how she can send them images and feelings, down to how a red thread is needed to control a person, definitely her taking my major plotline involving body jumping via red threads). She also, SURPRISE! Steals my psychic animals that inhabit the threads, that I’ve hinted relate to the subconscious, and that usually have some traits from the character. Oh, and the part about how doing all that makes her sick, yet again lifted from my fic, where my character gets incredibly sick the more she pushes herself doing all this.
Here’s another section in which she lifted Ciro - my Ciro that adopted Jane Hind is a native Italian, founded the particular family-like group he’s a part of, and also basically adopted Eli - who was raised in the US.
This section is where she’s roughly stolen Jane Hind’s mental trauma and the cause: her childhood arc. I’ve discussed at length here on tumblr (going to work on finding those posts in my tumblr history and update here when I can) and in the fic itself all the things she’s missed, using exactly this sort of phrasing. In fact, our major arc we’re currently going through in the fic (chapters 130 or so)... hm, references frequently missed out Christmases, birthdays, and little things we take for granted. This is one reason I’m sure she’s reading the fic as it’s getting posted. On top of that, she decided she’d also lift how Jane had never seen a beach and fell in love with it the first time she did. It’s a small detail but it’s just yet another thing she’s acting like is hers, just like the details about how this is all new and her Nelson and Murdock friends have taken her in.
Perhaps most bizarrely, her blog has even been reblogging posts friends have tagged me in that I’ve responded to. In this one, though, she gets a little too obvious - not only is she reblogging a post, maybe a few days after another friend tagged me in it and I reblogged it, but she also tried to tag her fic ‘the psychic thread’ as opposed to ‘the red thread’, which is my own series tag.
I have no idea why she’s done this. I have no idea why she was so blatant, why she thought she could get away with it. She also appears to have a few sock puppet accounts - for example, she makes a claim lifted straight from a half-joking post I made about my OC’s potential pokemon and then makes her own post using the same pokemon for her OC, and credits it to another account that seems to just exist to make her look more realistic. It was one of the more bizarre things stolen, since my post about it didn’t get much attention, but it proves she’s actively following me on tumblr quite closely, proven by a friend who snagged a few screenshots of her likes tab where she’d liked my posts.
She’s blocked me now, so I can’t see her main blog. I can’t ask her to take it down anymore, outside of the comment I’ve left on her fic and the report I made to AO3. But she knows, 100%, that she’s stolen my work, and just as frustrating, has gone on at length on her blog about how all your characters should be original, and truly yours, and how you should never imitate other authors. It’s a ballsy move considering how small the Daredevil fic circle is here on tumblr and AO3.
And look. I don’t want her to drown in hate mail. I really don’t. All I want is for her to take down the fic, and remove the posts in which she blatantly stole content from me. I’ve worked on TRT for years, I’ve poured hours and hours and almost a million words into this story, and the fact that this person is still reading it as they’re plagiarizing it is both incredibly insulting and incredibly hurtful. If you’re an author in the Daredevil fandom, I highly recommend blocking her. She’s mentioned a few very popular authors in the fandom in the blog posts, so I know she’s reading your work, too, and I don’t want yours stolen anymore than I do. If you see someone commenting about her fic, tell them its stolen. Warn your DD author friends. And if you’re going to say something to her, let it be a request to take down her fic and delete the blog posts that have plagiarized my content. That’s my end goal - not to burn her life down but to just pressure her to stop stealing something very, very dear to me, and hopefully learn not to do this in the future.
That’s all I want.
*Edited 12/20: as of today, her fic on AO3 has been taken down! The scores of comments, or AO3′s plagiarism team, has done the job so this is a huge win, and I’m grateful to everyone that helped! Her tumblr posts on her k9bails account, however, are still up, and she has yet to respond, so let the pressure continue. I’m also hunting for her other accounts since it’s become clear the k9bails account and the @k-9bails account are both not her main blog. If anyone has any leads or knows who this person is, please send me a message! I want to find their main blog in case it’s following me so I can block it, and potentially apply pressure there to get her to take my work down on her k9bails account.
#plagiarism#the red thread#fanfic#fic#daredevil#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock x OC#daredevil x OC#using some of her tags so hopefully browsers will see it
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Hope it's okay to ask here, I love your blog and how you give clear, concise answers to questions without assuming bad faith so hopefully it's ok to throw my own "warning tag" question in here, TIA for the answer!
So, childhood friends-to-lovers is like one of my favourite romance tropes to write in fanfic. I've done a LOT of ships with that, but I've never actually written anything more uh...spicy, shall we say. Until after the ship were both adults. I was raised Extremely Fundie and wasn't very sex positive for a LONG time as a result but now that I'm older & out of that environment I've grown a lot.
So because of religious upbringing I just avoided writing smut before both characters were 18 "to be safe". In a recent new fandom I'm in I have a character who I feel like very much WOULD have explored her sexuality before she turned 18. The partner in this context is her childhood friend so they grew up together and are probably at most like 3 years apart, if that. So my question is, would I tag that as Underage because, even tho they're close together in age (ie. both "minors" in that sense) they ARE Underage or is the Underage tag on AO3 solely for Adult/Minor ships? (not judging writers of Adult/Minor pairings either, I'll add. It's just not my scene and I don't want to give people the wrong impression in the tags, either way around, whenever I inevitably write & post their First Time fic, yk?)
-🌸
(hope its okay to tag this so I can maybe find it later? I don't wanna ask this off anon in case I get blasted by That(tm) side of fandom at large who might see my username and then come into my DMs/inbox to scream "P*do!!" at me, but I DO wanna be able to see the answer when it comes up, esp if I am not on tumblr the day that it does haha)
--
Ah. You're still thinking about that tag in a more cultural sense, but that's not what it's for. If you dig through the FAQs and such, the explanation is in there somewhere, but to summarize, it refers to:
On page depictions of sexual activity including at least one character under 18.
(So if they just kiss or you just say she had sex but you don't show intercourse, oral, etc. on the actual page, it doesn't count.)
AO3's underage tag is actually to protect users who live in jurisdictions where <18 sexytimes are banned from art or banned unless there's ~artistic merit~ or whatever. Around the time AO3 was starting up was when Australia was having a big upheaval over such things, so it was on people's minds in the Anglosphere.
Whether the sex is problematique or age gap or whatever doesn't matter. The actual age of consent or laws around sex in the real world location these characters are in, if any, does not matter. Your 17-year-old UK characters fucking still need the warning or CNTW even though that's laughable in context. 18 tends to be the age most used in international law for... like... porn star ages and such, so 18 is what AO3 went with. Never mind that it's not necessarily the age of majority or that age of consent laws can depend on partner age, etc. etc.
Unlike noncon/graphic violence/character death, this warning isn't there primarily because readers find the topic squicky.
It's a legal ass-covering thing.
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Commissions are Open!
Times are a little rough right now and I find myself in need of help paying some crucial bills! So! It is commission time!! Any bit helps and is appreciated greatly.
A few basic rules:
-As an artist I do hold the right to refuse any commission, it might be that I am not confident in my skills enough for what is asked Or the subject matter might be way out of my comfort zone. There are things I will and will not draw buddies!
- All payments must be in US currency (usd) and through P@ypall!
-Payment is asked for once I have finished the cleaned sketch of your flat or full piece and have your OK on how the piece looks.(With sketches It is an upfront payment)
-Now, I’m no mind reader, So a Colored reference will be required for each character! If you have a ref but it is not colored I /am/ willing to work with you on color picking but that might add a slight charge to your bill depending on how long it takes to decide on hues!
-IF you only have a description of your character or you want me to DESIGN the character for you, that will be a significant additional charge as that sort of work adds hours onto the process.
- You may repost your commissioned piece but please, do not crop out my tiny signature and Please remember to credit me wherever you post!
- I do not haggle my prices.
-Characters with complex markings May require an additional complexity charge. just based on how wild we're talkin.
Things I wont draw
Fandoms that do NOT allow commissions of their artwork Heavy NSFW (think sexual themes) [I only draw these themes for those who are 18+ and are willing to prove as much. no minors allowed]
No fetish art
Certain pairings(ask me DM and i will let you know if that pairing is ok for me to draw)
No underage/Incest/selfcest and things the like. This is an /instant/ no and potential block from me.
Ref sheet rules:
Ref sheets will vary in price based on a number of factors. Complexity of design, number of additional details included, whether or not i design the character for you. All these things can have a hand in the final price of the ref.
If you are interested in this option we can discuss your budget and what all you are looking to include. I am always happy to work with people :>
All my artwork is digital and once the piece is complete you will receive the HD, Unwatermarked version in DMs. The version i post publicly will have my main watermark.
Interested? shoot me a message via tumblr/twitter messenger or over at my email [email protected] !
Twitter: Gingergoats
BlueSky: Goatsgalore
#art commissions#art commissions open#open commissions#furry commissions#furry commissions open#furry artist#digital artist#Ref sheet commissions#Icon commissions#goat draws#furry art#commissions#commissions open
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FNAF Movie Requests - CLOSED
Requests CLOSED as of November 16th, 2023.
(Requests are now closed, and I am keeping this request form up in case I have need for this again.)
So, I highly resisted the urge to fall into the fanfiction hole with the Five Nights At Freddy's Movie characters, but here I am lmao. Josh Hutcherson is so wonderfully sat, wet, and pathetic and I can't help myself.
I have tweaked my prompt list for this fandom, and you don't have to use these prompts when requesting fics, but please keep in mind that I am more likely to write and complete a request if it is simplistic and can be written in a shorter fic. I aim to keep request fics under two thousand words (around three thousand words at most).
Characters I write for: Mike Schmidt, Vanessa Monroe (Afton), and William Afton (Steve Raglan). (I may also write platonic fics with animatronic characters if people want to see that?)
Note: I will be writing for the movie version of the characters, but because I am a fan of the games, I am not against making references to the games and playing around with the canonicity. I care much more about the themes of the games than any solid sense of canon.
Requests can be sent to my ask box here or to my ask box over on my writing blog @sundrop-writes - I am probably not going to get to requests right away because unfortunately I am feeling sick right now, but I wanted to post this request form to help me get inspired. Please read all the rules/guidelines below before sending in a request.
(More information below the cut - please read it before requesting.)
(Also - warning, this prompt list technically does have some mild spoilers for the movie.)
I will accept requests for poly ships. (Character x reader x character.) I love requests like this - I think for this fandom, the only one that really works is Vanessa x Reader x Mike (which is one that I would really love to do), but under certain circumstances, with the right request, I might write Mike x Reader x William.
In your request, please specify if the reader character is female, male, or gender neutral. When I write gender neutral fics, I do not describe what kind of genitals they have in any way, so I don’t write ‘GN AFAB’ reader fics. If you want the reader character to have a vagina, that would be a fem reader in my fics.
EDIT: Typically, I don't write for reader characters that have specific traits - like a specific race, height, described as having specific looks, etc. but my one exception to this rule is that I love writing plus sized/fat reader fics. I love spreading love for fat bodies, especially through fics, and I love making people feel good about their fatness through the gaze of a fictional character. So feel free to send in requests for a plus sized reader character, it's one of my favourite things to write!
I will write smut, angst, or fluff, but I mostly prefer writing smut or angst. When requesting smut, please specify if you want the characters to be dominant or submissive. In your request, write ‘sub!reader’ or ‘dom!reader’ or something like this to let me know. I am a big fan of writing submissive men, so know I don’t shy away from that, but I will write any dynamic as long as it’s properly communicated to me.
I will for a lot of dark topics and different kinks. In general, the list of things that I won’t write is a lot shorter than the list of that I will. So if you’re wondering if a request is okay with me or not, just ask!
Just for reference, my big no-nos are: virgin!reader, sexually inexperienced!reader, or innocent!reader - I am okay with doing a ‘faux’ innocent reader or writing about the canon character being a virgin and having their first sexual experience with the reader. I am okay with writing about sexual cocercion, sexual blackmail, or dubcon.
Also, I don’t write fics about miscarriages, safeword use, or extreme choking kink. While I don’t write about miscarriage, I am okay with writing about pregnancy (and it’s something I enjoy writing about).
Smut Prompts/Ideas:
The canon character is a virgin (ex: virgin!Mike)
“Just the tip.”
Stuck and Fucked/Situational Bondage
Hate Fucking
There Was Only One Bed
Caught Masturbating
“Can you teach me how to do (blank)?” (ex: “Can you teach me how to give someone an orgasm?” “Can you teach me how to perform oral?”)
Late Night Semi-Public Sex (bathroom sex, kitchen counter sex, etc.) where they shove a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet (or purposefully try to make you scream)
Overstimulation
Breeding Kink (or Faux Breeding Kink with a Strap-On)
Extreme Dirty Talk
Phone Sex
Underwear Stealing
Them taking dirty pictures of you
Unknown surveillance/Perv!Canon Character/Them getting off to you doing something mundane
Dumbification Kink/Objectification
Daddy Kink or Mommy Kink (their reaction to being called Daddy or Mommy for their first time)
Them masturbating to the thought of you
(There is more kinks that I enjoy writing, but this is just all that I thought to add to this list)
Angst Prompts/Ideas:
(You should definitely send in some of these, I love writing angst but people don’t request it as often. I will even write hurt/comfort just to write the angst part, so you can send in a hurt/comfort request if you prefer.)
They break up with you to keep you away from danger (this one would work really well with Vanessa)
Attending to their injuries after a fight (or, them attending to your injuries after a fight)
You are attacked (verbally or physically) and they step in to save you
Their reaction to you being killed/your death (bonus angst: you died before they got to confess their feelings to you)
One of you has been brainwashed and completely forgets the other
(Directly inspired by the movie) - you are in a coma and they confess their feelings for you thinking that you can't hear them
They save you from a near-death experience (or you save them)
They find out you are alive after thinking you had died
Being reunited after years, but you didn’t part on good terms
“Who did this to you?”
Unrequited Love (they see you with someone else, they think that you’ll never love them back, etc.)
(For hurt/comfort, I can do any of these with a sappy ending!)
Fluff Ideas/Prompts:
They confess their love for you
Your first kiss together
They surprise you with a cute date
(I am really stalled for ideas for this list, I suck at writing pure fluff lmao)
(Again, you don’t have to use these prompts, I just think that these are good examples of things that will fit the 1k-2k mark.)
#sundrop speaks#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt#vanessa monroe#vanessa monroe x reader#vanessa afton x reader#william afton#william afton x reader#fnaf movie#fnaf movie fanfiction
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As an avid little nightmares enthusiast, what are your serious beliefs on the often overlooks Wax Bellman? Any theories or headcanons?
Frankly? I don't really have anything.
Don't get me wrong -- I find it very sweet that the fandom has always tried to involve him into the fan content, making him part of the crew of the Maw even though he was cut in the end. Considering how involved he was in the marketing of the game up until 2016 we have good reason to believe that the guy was also beloved by the crew; he must have been a "last second" cut.
(Pictures from the previously mentioned con.)
His situation is really a sad one because it would have been awesome to have him run around in the game. Would have made the runtime longer.
HOWEVER! His presence is still tangible in the Maw, in spite of him being gone. This is something I will gladly get into: bring little details to light is something I am very fond of doing.
We see him directly in a couple of paintings owned by the Lady, both in the Residence and in her own quarters. She has a habit of keeping pictures of her employees; this is a good indicator that he was on the Maw during her reign. Might be an obvious statement, but you never know with the Maw... In all of these instances, he is found hanging by his neck; considering his jack in the box is also in a room where a Nome is swinging aggressively on a lamp attached to a long wire, the "cord around neck" part is a prominent aspect of this character.
((This is, most likely, one of the reasons why they ultimately cut him out. I cannot imagine how hard it would be to animate a guy walk around with a cord around his neck all the time. Adding to that, his face looks hard to model and keep consistent, so that's a point against him as well.))
Keeping his profession in mind, one could really call him a dog on a leash. A bellman is a person who helps the guests carry their luggage inside their place of residence and shares information about the establishment and its services. From what we can discern from the first painting, we can also see that this particular Bellman was also the one in charge of the booking and the tickets, so doing check ins and things of the like.
Generally, he'd be the one to look after the Guests more closely, which lines up with the traces of him we are left with...
You see, in the 2016 con, the Wax Bellman was shown hiding behind a two-way mirror. He could only be seen once the light was turned on, on his side of the mirror. Meaning that the two way mirror we see in LN 1 is most likely one of the places he would have resided in.
That in itself is not too obscene considering the other customs of the Maw, but the mirror is in a bathroom. And he has a chair. With toilet paper.
... Yeah, uh. Very interesting, Tarsier Studios! 😁👍🏻
About Tarsier Studios, actually! This ask reminded me of something they said in regards to the Ferryman and the Wax Bellman. A few years back, LN twitter referred to the Bellman as "Ferryman"; for this reason, it was believed for a while that the two characters were either the same person, or that one replaced the other in the lore. This was confirmed to not be the case!
(From this awesome interview! I suggest you go listen to it, because this screenshot is hard to read + it reveals a LOT of Maw lore!)
So we can finally put a stone on this lost soul. He is lost to time, but never forgotten. Keep the fan content of him coming!
#little nightmares#ln meta#the wax bellman#the bellhop#ln bellhop#ln wax bellman#ln the lady#the lady#the lady ln#the ferryman#ln the ferryman#the ferryman ln#{hes kind of a weirdo tbh#strange guy ong#and yk its something when I say hes weird#the room in the bathroom caught me SO off guard when I played the game again when i was older#THE TOILET PAPER ESPECIALLY LIKE😭 WILDDDDD#a friend of mine dubbed this the 《wanking room》 and i fucking hate it#anyway. uh. yeah the Maw is definitely a place that exists}
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