#Callous Heir

[wooataes]

a wilted rose - ljh

pairing: mafia boss!lee jihoon x fem!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au, angst, hurt and comfort, mentions of violence and guns, injuries, bruises, crying, swearing, implied murder, slight fluff, jihoon being protective (yes, that’s a warning)

summary: an unfortunate encounter has jihoon realize his true feelings for his wife.

a/n: toyed around with the idea of mafia!boss jihoon and this is what popped out 🙊 happy new year, friends!

- tae 💜🌸✨

Masterlist

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Lee Jihoon’s family is known as one of the most feared Mafia families in South Korea, his great grandparents having made a reputation for themselves that has been held up for generations.

Jihoon was born an only child and singular heir to the Lee fortune and the Lee legacy; having known from a young age that he would eventually end up being the leader of the Lee clan. He knew the family business was dangerous, and since being taught the ropes at 13, he knew that his relationships could be used against him from rival clans. This reason alone caused him to be cautious and callous with who he associated with. He only has two important people he would consider his friends.

His closest friend, Kwon Soonyoung also doubles as his right hand man. Both men grew up together due to Soonyoung’s father being close with Jihoon’s. Their frequent meetings caused the young men to be around eachother for long bouts of time, eventually being homeschooled together while their father’s talked business. For Jihoon, Soonyoung is the one and only person he could trust on this earth- time and time again, he has always proved his unchallenged loyalty to Jihoon and his father’s family. If Jihoon was irrational and unfiltered, Soonyoung was his voice of reason and his level-headed decision maker. To him, it was a match made in heaven.

The second person he considered his friend, or used to, was you. You came into both Jihoon and Soonyoung’s life at 8 years old, your family having been hired by Master Lee to work as live-in staff in their mansion. You were the only other child Jihoon and Soonyoung’s age, and despite Master Lee’s cold heart, he grew to treat you like his daughter and let Jihoon frequently spend his younger years playing with his two closest friends when they weren’t being homeschooled together until he was of age to get into the family business.

12 months ago, when Jihoon had just turned 25, Master Lee announced his soon to be retirement to his son. The only condition for Jihoon to step up to be head of the family business was simple but to Jihoon, was absolutely atrocious.

“I don’t understand why you think me marrying would be advantageous to the family, father.” He hisses, adjusting his chain around his neck, glaring at the stupid red rose, the Lee family staple, perfectly pinned to his lapel.

“It is not to a random woman, Jihoon.” Master Lee frowned.

“That makes it worse!” He barked, leaning his head back in frustration.

“Jihoon. You have to know that no one can be trusted in this business. I am not allowing you to marry outside of who we trust. They can slither their way into your heart and when you are at your most vulnerable, they take everything out from under you. If the enemy knows you’re committed to someone already, it keeps them from hurting us from the inside.”

“Yeah, it also makes Y/N the number one target to the enemy and they will try and swipe her away from under our noses!” He’s yelling now.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he cares too much for you. You’re too good to be associated with the dastardly business that is associated with being in the mafia; you’re a good hearted person who happily serves the Lee family alongside your just as good parents. You’re the one good thing that Jihoon has left, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t protect you.

“It’s not like you’re going to be parading her out for missions and stake outs.” Master Lee frowns. “She is only for the parties. So others know that you’re a committed man that will not waver. I guarantee you she will be protected. She will be treated like a queen in here, and she won’t ever have to see the dark side of the business. Son, I promise you.”

For 12 months, Jihoon, in the public eye was the perfect model husband with you. He stayed by your side faithfully at galas and parties, parading you around with a look of what was perceived as adoration by others. Behind closed doors however, Jihoon treated you like a ghost. Long gone was your once closest friend who you stayed up late with to binge watch stupid movies, playing video games and pranks on Soonyoung. The only thing that remained was a quiet man that only greeted you for one meal a day, to his insistence for the sake of ‘normalcy.’ In your opinion, it felt anything but. Your attempts at conversion were shut down with one worded answers or sometimes none at all, and over time, you grew to enjoy your meal with your husband in silence before going about your day around the Lee mansion alone.

Jihoon thought his father’s plan was working. For 12 months, his wife was safe and protected and never got caught up with any of the mafia business. He was in alliance with most rival clans and worked out plans and deals to work for the foreseeable future.

Sadly for Jihoon, Master Lee was full of shit.

Jihoon is frantic. The staff had alerted him while out for a meeting with an ally clan that you had been injured. They were intentionally vague with details, knowing their boss would fly off the handle at the extent to what your injuries were.

“She’s at home.” Jihoon hears Soonyoung’s voice over the phone.

“What the fuck happened, Soonyoung.” He is sure he is making his driver break at least 10 different road laws right now to get back to the mansion. He makes a mental note to contact the local police and send some generous gift baskets.

“The guards don’t know. I’m trying to get it out of them, but no luck yet.”

“She shouldn’t have been out unsupervised.” Jihoon winces, rubbing at his temples. “Tell them if they don’t give you an honest answer by the time I’m back, I will have their tongues.”

“Just go to her right now, Hoon-ah.”

Marching into the living room, Jihoon makes his presence known by the heavy thuds of his boots on the tiled floor. His eyes scan the room until they finally land on you, his childhood friend and arranged wife, sitting anxiously on the couch. He feels his eye twitch at the sight of no guards in sight, you having been left alone since you have returned.

You lift your head up shakily, your eyes widening at the sight of your husband. His long hair, usually sported in a bun atop his head is now strewn about and falling out of the elastic holding it together, suit jacket scrunched and twisted, red rose nowhere to be found. You’re astonished, having grown so used to seeing your husband with his perfect red rose on his lapel at all times. What you didn’t know that after having found out about your capture, he thrown it to the ground in frustration of his worst fears coming true.

“Jihoon?” You blink nervously.

This is the first time you’ve seen him properly (minus your daily lunches) for maybe a month. He stares intently across the room at you, scanning your body. You’re cradling your left wrist in your hand, a bruise in the perfect shape of a hand print forming around your wrist. His eyes lift to your face, his blood boiling at the sight of a small cut across your cheek, your right eye swelling up and starting to turn purple.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, biting down on your lip. “I know I shouldn’t have-“

You flinch at the sight of Jihoon striding forward, only to pause when he walks straight past you and into the kitchen, causing your shoulders to deflate. You were stupid to think your best friend had come back for only a moment. You sink sadly into the couch, curling up slowly.

Your head stays facing down at the floor as you run your fingertip over the hand print on your wrist, wincing and hissing as you press a little too hard. You sigh after a moment, moving to stand up before you pause at the sight of Jihoon’s expensive dress shoes directly in front of you.

You look up nervously at him as he reaches out, delicately taking your wrist, face neutral as he runs his fingers gently over the bruise just like you had done, eyebrows furrowing. You shiver slightly, this being the first physical contact you have felt from your husband in months. Next, he reaches forward and tucks a stray hair behind your cheek before examining the darkening bruise over your eye. At this, you see his eyes darken, heaving a heavy sigh through his nose.

“Who the fuck did this to you.” His voice is soft as he eyes you.

“I-I…”

“I need to know who did this.” He pleads.

“It was Hwang.” You whimper.

His jaw clenches. Hwang has sworn vengeance against the Lee family ever since Master Lee cut ties and alliances with the Hwang’s over his unethical practices. In Hwang’s words, he wanted to poison the perfect garden of roses that Master Lee built.

“H-he said it was a warning..” you can’t look Jihoon in the face. “T-to keep your wife on a leash or else something could happen. Jihoon, I’m so sorry, I really shouldn’t have gone out, I didn’t want to cause any more trouble.” You’re crying softly now, wincing at the pain that your swelling is causing.

You tense up as you feel something cool delicately rest on your cheek, opening your eyes to see your husband holding an ice pack gently to your face. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as he moves you so you’re sitting down on the couch once more.

“You stay here until Soonyoung gets back to look after you, okay?” He instructs you as you just stare at him, bewildered. “Do you hear me, Y/N?” You nod your head slowly as you cradle the ice pack to your cheek. “Good.”

You watch Jihoon turn around and march back towards the front door of the mansion, pointing to Mr Kim, one of the guards who has been in Jihoon’s family for years. “Make sure no one comes inside this mansion except for me and Soonyoung. You guard her with your life until he gets here.” The man nods his head sternly as he moves to stand in the doorway between the living room and the entryway.

“J-Jihoon? Where are you going?” You ask nervously as your husband adjusts the gun holster around his waist, his voice cold and deadly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m going to kill the fucker who thought he could touch my wife and get away with it.”

And with that, the door slams behind him, leaving you alone with Mr Kim eyeing the door sternly.

You stay anxiously in the living room for what feels like an eternity, waiting to hear anything from Jihoon or his guards. You jolt at the sound of the door after only 15 minutes of sitting in silence, breathing a sigh of relief as you see Soonyoung rush inside and run straight towards you.

“Soon…” you whimper as he meets you halfway, immediately pulling you close and hugging you to his chest.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He breathes out, shaky. “The one fucking day I had to go run some errands…”

You hate the fact that Hwang probably waited for Soonyoung to be away from you to strike.

“Soon, it’s fine…” you whisper, wincing as he pulls away to look down at your face, closely examining your swelling eye.

“It’s not fine, look at you!”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” You whisper, and he just sighs with frustration, leading you to the couch and sitting you up against the cushions, laying a fluffy blanket over you.

“You’re going to sit here and we are going to watch some tv until Jihoon-ah gets back, okay?” He settles down beside you.

“Soonyoung, you can go have a shower or eat or something...” Your voice is low as he scrolls through random movies to play on Netflix.

“Nope.” He made a promise to stay with you until Jihoon gets back, and he will stay true to his word. Eating and washing up can wait.

“Y/N-ah.” Soonyoung glances at his phone after a few hours. The ice pack against your cheek is now lukewarm, your legs having shaken non-stop since you’d been forced to sit down.

“Hm..” you hum in response.

“Jihoon-ah will be home in 5 minutes. He asked for me to give you both some privacy and take care of some clean-up. Will you be okay with Mr Kim watching you?”

“Okay.” You respond nervously, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Soonyoung gently touches your good cheek with his finger.

“I’ll be in the other room making calls if you get scared between now and then. Okay?”

“Thank you, Soonie.” You whisper, looking up at him with a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back before turning around and walking down the hall, leaving you alone once more as the panic begins to rise in your body.

You’re lucky you don’t have to wait long, as true to Soonyoung’s word, Jihoon steps inside his mansion and into the living room not even 5 minutes later, heaving a sigh. When you spot him, you rush quickly to him, immediately noticing the blood on his shirt and causing you to panic even more.

“Oh god.. you’re bleeding, what have I done? Your father will have me for this.” You quickly try to wipe the blood off his shirt (which you’re relieved to realize isn’t his). Jihoon surprises you both as he reaches forward to take your injured wrist again, pulling you to him and wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

He pulls your head into the crook of his neck, squeezing you to him as his chin rests on top of your head, grip tight on your shirt. You’re shaking before you just melt into his embrace, holding onto his jacket tight as he hums.

“Are you okay.” When you just nod, he pulls back to look into your face. “I need to hear it from you, Y/N. Please… just humor me.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Hoonie.” You breathe out with wide eyes.

Why does he look so scared?

He sighs with finality before he pulls you back to him, hugging you tight for the first time since he was forced to hold you at your wedding over 12 months ago.

“We will need more security.” He mumbles to you as he holds you tight. “Guards at every post. When we go out, when you’re out in the garden, everywhere. It’s clear they know your schedule so we need to throw them off your scent.” He is talking a mile a minute as he keeps you close to his chest, afraid you’d slip away. “As a precaution, I will have guards sweep the house for any bugs they could have planted. Tonight, we will sleep in the safe house. Is that okay with you, Y/N?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You whisper, your face buried in his shirt. You don’t want to leave his side as much as he doesn’t too - this being the most affection you’ve gotten from someone in 12 months.

“Fuck.” Jihoon didn’t account for the fact his safe house only had one king size bed. “You can take the bed, okay… I can take the couch.”

“Don’t be silly.” You hum, already dragging him to the bed. “We’re both adults here. I think we can handle sharing a bed. We used to in school, right Hoonie?”

“I mean yeah, but we weren’t married then.”

“We’re only married on paper. Why are you being so iffy?” You laugh, wincing as your smile hurts your bruising cheek. Without thinking, he reaches out to cup your face worriedly, examining the bruise before rushing out to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a small ice pack to press to your cheek.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you were close, Hoon. Please.” You ask quieter now as he rocks awkwardly on his heels.

“Only until you’re asleep.” He bargains, and you nod quickly.

“Deal.”

After an awkward intermission of you both getting ready to share the bed for the first time since your wedding, you’re finally drifting off, curled up beside your husband as he sits up against the bed head, stiff as a board in sweatpants and a large jumper. Jihoon lays on top of the blankets so he can make an easy get away when you fall into a deep sleep.

He’s about to up and leave as your breathing evens out, thinking you’re asleep when he feels you shift. You scoot closer, hand finding his as your head nestles comfortably against his shoulder. You visibly relax at his warmth, your shaky hands slowing to a stop as you essentially glue yourself to his side. He tenses up, looking down at you with wide eyes as you finally fall asleep. He frowns deeply at the sight of your bruise showing before aggressively sighing to himself and wrapping his free arm around you to hold you against his chest. He is unable to resist your cuteness. That, and he wants to protect you, of course.

Jihoon refuses to sleep a wink in case someone tries to break in, but after hour four of him stroking your arm delicately with his cheek resting on top of your forehead, he feels himself drifting off.

When he wakes up, he sees you’re still cuddled up to him, but almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Soonyoung standing at the foot of the bed with a knowing smirk on his face.

“It took you long enough to treat your wife like she is your wife.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hisses out as quietly as possible to not wake you, his cheeks bright red. “If she wakes up, I’ll have your head.”

“I’m sure you will.” He winks.

“Kwon Soonyoung I swear to god if my wife wasn’t sleeping against me right now, you’d be six feet under.”

“Mhm~” he sing songs, stepping out the bedroom door.

“If you tell anyone, you’re dead.”

ljh taglist

@breakfastburritosattiffanys @mar-627 @milopenne @lanatheawesome @sunnynapp @jaeminsbuckethat @opheliaas-stuff @hotricewoozi@lavayeon @seventeenthingsblr @zaggprincess2 @markleehee @kwanniesboo @beardedartgamingbakery @iarayara

permanent taglist

@misshale21 @etaerealboy @kawennote09 @im-gemmy @devinkelsey19 @woozieeeee @loveless-lie @lixiel0ver @keymins @nen-nyy @i-dont-give-a-fok @miriamxsworld @jojowantstocry @roe-sinning @sun-daddy-yoriichi @coveyland @side-angel @rinalouu @flwerrchild @apobangpowrld @ldysmfrst @adeptiixiao @lisaaaaamanobannn @jovialpartyneckoaf @sarahisupset

#TSUNDERE WOOZI THOUGHTS GO BRRRRRRR #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #lee jihoon x reader #woozi angst #woozi x reader #lee jihoon angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #woozi fluff #jihoon x reader #mafia!au #woozi mafia au #seventeen mafia au

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (10) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coryo haunts your every moment.

word count: 1,737

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: another shorter chapter rip, reader is conflicted, pet names (petal), not proofread

“Get out of bed!” your mother said, grabbing at your blankets and trying to pull them off of you. 

“I shall not!” you protested, holding onto the blankets with all your might. She tugged harder on them, but you wrapped yourself around the edge she wasn’t holding so that you could become further cocooned. Your mother let out a frustrated shout before finally releasing her hold. 

“And why not?”

“I…am ill.”

“The King is expecting you at the ball.”

“The King can kiss my ass,” you mutter. 

Your mother shouted your name so loud that you were sure the Cardews, who lived on the other side of the square, could hear her. She made another grab for the blankets, yanking so hard that you were pulled out of bed with them. 

“I refuse to go,” you snapped, throwing the blankets off of yourself and attempting to crawl back into bed. Your mother grabbed at your ankle, stopping you from getting much further from the foot of the bed. “Tell the King I am sick or that my courses have came and I’m in terrible pain.”

“I will not tell your betrothed about your womanly issues,” your mother hissed. “Why must you be so difficult? Weren’t you getting along so well with the King before?”

Oh, you were getting along with him, if only because you were playing the role of a dutiful bride. You called him Coryo, you accept his kisses and kissed him in return, you let him hold you. When you found yourself bored out of your mind at home, you would traipse over to the palace. You would pretend it was an effort to stay close to Coryo, but truly you only sought out the comfort of the vast library. (Though, it was not as if you despised his companionship like you did before. Was he poisoning your mind by keeping you in such close proximity?) 

“I can get along with him after we are married.”

You barely saw your mother rolling her eyes. “You would best get used to getting along with him now. After you are wed, you will have to do whatever he pleases regardless of your own feelings on the matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She let out a long sigh before sitting next to you on the edge of your bed. She stared at her lap for a moment, then reached over for your hand. You were sure it was more for her comfort than anything for you. “When you are wed, there are things that you must do to appease your husband. To produce an heir, you will…have to lay with him.”

Your mother continued with an awkward description of what “laying with him” meant. To your chagrin, she did not spare any details about the discomfort you would experience with the act. How men are seldom kind with it. How, even after you gave him children, he would still force you into bed for his own pleasure. How you might never experience pleasure from it. Would Coryo be like that?, you wondered. He was like other men in a lot of ways. He could be cold and callous and demanding. But he was different, too. He let you be mouthy and do as you please. You often thought he enjoyed the way you would never just let things be. Coryo could be kind, in his own strange way. Would he be like other men, or would he surprise you? Would he treat you differently?

“…I think I might actually be sick now,” you murmur. You squeeze your mother’s hand, grateful for once for her presence.

“I don’t say all of this to scare you, dove,” she continued, “but I would be a failure as a mother if I let you go into this union completely blind. I would be like my mother. I would not forgive myself if kept the realities of marriage from you.”

And, suddenly, it dawned on you why your mother seldom cared for your father’s presence. He, too, was like other men.

“I …thank you.”

Your mother squeezed your hand back, then let go. She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I will give you a few moments to collect yourself, then I shall send your lady’s maid in so you may get ready for the ball.”

You cannot change my entire perspective on how a marriage operates and leave like nothing happened, you wanted to say. But you still felt queasy. You worried if you said anything, you might be sick all over yourself and the floor. It would take so long to make you presentable again, you would surely be late for the ball. Coryo may be a kind man at times, but you knew him well enough to know that he would feel disrespected if you missed this event. Especially when he through all the trouble of planning it.

So, you nodded and took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. 

“Well, if you aren’t the perfect picture of a bride-to-be, I don’t know who is,” Livia said, joining you at your side as you entered the palace’s ballroom. “It almost makes me wish I was getting married.”

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know you think so. There are still plenty eligible young men, and plenty of time left in the season,” your mother said, holding back a laugh, before slipping off to join the other mothers of the ton. 

Livia nearly grimaced. “Perhaps I should have waited until you were alone to say that.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t tease me anymore since I hit back harder, so she’ll aim for anyone she perceives as weaker.”

Livia looked unconvinced as she watched your mother laugh with hers. “We’ll see. If I end up engaged by the end of the week, I will write you to a letter to say I told you so.”

“Or you could tell me in person.”

Livia blinked. “In a week’s time, you’ll be in your honeymoon period with the King. By the time I see you again, I could be married and off for my own honeymoon.”

“Oh. I…I forget that it’s so soon. So much has happened in such a short while.” And, oh, how you wanted to tell her. Or perhaps not Livia specifically, but someone. Tell someone about the secret deals between your father and Coryo, how Sejanus tried to convince you to run away with him, how you’ve pretended to like Coryo for so long that it didn’t quite feel like pretending anymore. 

“Perhaps then I should remind you?” a teasing voice came from your side, followed by a kiss to your cheek. You painted a smile on your face as you looked up at Coryo. “I can’t have my bride forgetting such an important day.”

“You shouldn’t have swept me up in such a whirlwind then, Coryo,” you said. It still felt strange to call him by his nickname, especially in such a public setting. It was a bit more natural in private, when there wasn’t prying eyes and listening ears abound. This felt too…vulnerable. Like you were exposing yourself to the ton. 

Coryo beamed, his pretty white teeth sparkling. Even if calling him by his nickname left you feeling vulnerable, you knew it put you in his good graces. You had hated seeing him so enraged at Sejanus, worried about the lengths he would go to prove you could not be stolen away from him. Calling him Coryo was the only way you could get him to see reason. 

“Ah, but then I couldn’t do this, could I?”

In front of everyone, Coryo pulled your face close to his, planted his lips right on yours. It wasn’t his usual sort of kiss, all tongue and teeth. No, this was softer, gentler. A kiss that made you believe that maybe he did love you all of these years, that he did truly propose three times before finally getting to call you his. When he pulled away, a soft smile on his face, you had to force yourself to tear your eyes, to ignore the quick thump-thump-thump-ing of your heart. 

Oh, but looking away was worse.  

For it seemed like the entire ton was enraptured by your kiss with Coryo. So you looked back at him, hoping that the ton would fade away from your peripheral vision. 

Coryo’s hand found yours. He intertwined his fingers with your own, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand. “I want to show you something,” he said to you. To Livia, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Cardew.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, Coryo pulled you away. He led you through the crowd, ignoring anyone who attempted to start a conversation with him. He was the perfect picture of focused.

“Do I get to know where you’re stealing me away to?”

Coryo huffed out a laugh. “I’m hardly stealing you away, petal. You looked overwhelmed out there. I thought you might like some fresh air.”

He took you out to the balcony that overlooked the gardens. You chose to focus on the beautiful rose bushes you could see, the white petals shining under the moonlight. “That tends to happen when everyone is watching an unmarried woman be kissed.”

A brow raised. “I can’t kiss my wife?”

“Of course you can,” you said. You offered a teasing smile. “When I am your wife. Until then, it’s private kisses only.”

“We’re in private now.”

“How convenient for you.” You placed your hands on his chest as he grabbed your waist. “Did you bring out here on false pretenses? Playing the role of my knight in shining armor so that you might continue to defile me before we wed? My, my, you are such a snake.”

“Would you blame me if I did?”

Yes. No. Maybe. You were never less sure of anything than you were about Coryo. He burrowed  himself under your skin, tore you from the inside out. But when he was sweet, oh, he could be sweet. When he was like that, you were half convinced that your teeth might just all rot away. Snow was everything that you hated, but Coryo could be everything that you loved. Damn him for containing multitudes. 

“Just kiss me. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

[fantasyescapes17]

Patience (Part 1)

An elaborate charade- that is what your life has been for these past few years, and it has taken the help of more than one person to balance your delicate lies and secrets. Now entering your final season as an eligible young lady seeking wedded bliss, will you be able to keep up the act in order to achieve your dreams?

Genre: Choi Seungcheol x female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Jeonghan's sister so your last name is Yoon, but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 4.1k+

Part 2

Series Masterlist

"I'm afraid the upcoming season will be Miss Yoon's final opportunity to secure herself a decent husband," the obnoxious woman remarked. 

She did not seem embarrassed that the subject of her gossip (i.e, you) sat immediately across from her in the lavish parlour and well within earshot. She looked straight at you and silently dared you to respond to her callous comment. 

You did not indulge her. You merely sipped your tea. 

"Oh, surely not," her friend replied with a hint of embarrassment. "You mustn't say that, Mrs. Patty! Miss Yoon still has plenty of time before we can write her off as an old maid. She should be perfectly eligible for another two or three seasons, I dare say."

"She might have been, if not for that darling younger sister of hers. I believe little Miss Mina is eighteen now, and will be making her debut in society next season. Am I correct, Miss Yoon?" Mrs. Patty demanded of you. 

You couldn't ignore a question addressed directly to you. You placed your teacup on the table and nodded reluctantly. 

"Yes, Mother believes that my sister should be ready to debut next year," you replied softly. 

Miss Patty looked triumphant. "Well! There you have it! Anyone who has laid eyes on Miss Mina knows that she is the loveliest little creature and I am sure her paltry dowry will not prevent an eligible man from proposing to her. Miss Mina will be snatched up  instantly- and then what shall happen to our dear Miss Yoon? With her younger sister married before her, she won't have a chance!"

The other woman frowned. "Indeed, Miss Mina is uncommonly beautiful. She will have her pick of eligible men."

You rose from your seat abruptly. "Pardon me, ladies. I shall call for some more tea and cakes- we seem to be running short."

You exited the parlour before they had a chance to object, and cursed your mother for leaving you alone to handle the guests. Mother should have known that these infuriating women would show up the instant they heard that the Yoons had arrived in London for the season.

You turned towards the kitchens, hoping that the maids would not offer to help and make your journey redundant. Luckily, the servants were busy unpacking and carrying in your family's belongings. It had been a long journey from the countryside to your London abode- but a necessary one. The Yoon family could not absent themselves from the London season when they had two eligible members of marriageable age.

You turned the corner of the main hallway and came face to face with the other eligible Yoon. Your half-brother, Jeonghan. 

"Jeonghan!" you called out to him hopefully. "Are you going out? Will you take me with you?"

Jeonghan was in the process of lacing up his riding gear and stood to greet you. As your father's only son from his first marriage, Jeonghan became the heir to the entire Yoon estate upon your father's passing. 

"I'm afraid not, sister- I am going out riding with the Lees. You would be required to bring a chaperone," he replied slyly, reminding you, quite unnecessarily, that you could not be seen in public in the company of other single men without a female chaperone present. 

You sighed. "All right- but could you stop by the parlour room before you leave?"

"Why? So that Mrs. Patty may set up a meeting for me with her third niece? There are many things I would do for you, dear sister, but subjecting myself to Mrs. Patty is not among them," Jeonghan replied calmly as he continued to tie the straps of his riding gear. "I am sacrificing plenty for you already. I shall have my hands full at the Grisham's ball tomorrow."

You blinked. "What will happen at the Grisham's ball?"

"I have heard that a certain Mr. Hessington has expressed an interest in you. We shall have to take precautions to ensure he does not find the opportunity to express this interest in front of your mother."

"Oh dear. What does Hessington want?" you despaired. 

Jeonghan smirked. "He wants marriage. They all do. That is the purpose of this elaborate charade of having a season and attending all these social events, is it not? To find a suitable partner in  marriage?"

"Jeonghan, there is only one season left," you reminded him miserably. You reached for your brother's arm. "You must make sure nobody proposes to me this season. From next year everyone will focus on Mina and I will be forgotten- and once she is married then my prospects will be entirely extinguished. You must ensure nothing comes in the way of this."

Jeonghan sighed. "You must be the only woman in London who is actively trying to make herself less eligible for marriage."

"And I have been doing a wonderful job so far. Mrs. Patty said herself that I'm as good as an old maid next season if Mina gets engaged before me. And she surely will be. After that, they'll throw me aside with the old maids and governesses and widows."

"Six months more?"

You nodded eagerly. "Six months more. I will be in your debt forever, Jeonghan."

He sighed. "You certainly shall be. I've become nothing short of a villain in my step-mother's eyes since you persuaded me to tell her that I had reduced your dowry. She has most of the ton convinced that I am an evil brother stealing his sisters' rightful inheritance."

"But we had to do that. A large dowry would make me attractive to men looking to marry for a fortune," you reminded him. 

Jeonghan sighed. "I know. All the same, I've set aside your money. You and Mina will have your dowries once this charade is over. All of the dowry, I mean, not the paltry amount I told your mother you would receive."

You shook your head with a smile. 

"I don't need it."

"Don't refuse money when it's offered to you, good god, woman, have you lost your senses?" Jeonghan said lightly. He placed his hands on his hips and smiled back at you. "You seem more cheerful  than usual."

"We're almost at the end of this charade. Six more months," you replied excitedly. 

"Well, do try to look less cheerful. For all the ton knows, you're a woman with little dowry, no prospects, a prettier younger sister, and getting on in age. People will begin to wonder what you have to be so happy about."

You smiled to yourself. 

You had plenty to be happy about. And Mrs. Patty and the rest of the ton could choke on their tea and biscuits- they would never find out.

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

Your mother maintained a tight grip on your arm as she steered you around the corners of the large ballroom on the Grisham's summer estate. 

Your arm was beginning to feel numb.

"Now," your mother said firmly. "Don't you be discouraged by what Mrs. Patty says. You're a young woman of good breeding and though you're not nearly as charming as Mina, there's nothing wrong with you. Lesser women than you have secured wealthy husbands, do you understand?'

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes, mother."

"But you mustn't become lax about this. You need to consider what might happen to us if … if that boy Jeonghan decides to cast us out. You and your sister must marry well before that happens."

You turned to your mother in surprise. "Mother! Jeonghan would never do such a thing!"

Your mother had very little love for her stepson and she was not shy about admitting it. "Well, he's already stolen half your dowries, there's no knowing what he'll do next. We may be on the streets soon. Even sooner, if he decides to marry and his new wife decides to be rid of us. Your marriage is important."

You sighed. "Yes, mother."

"Now put on a smile and look a little more graceful."

You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders. It was a delicate line you walked in social events such as these. You had to look dignified and well-mannered enough to satisfy your mother, but not so captivating that you captured the attention of any potential suitors. It only got easier with time. You were older and consequently less attractive than the young girls in the room, and the ton would certainly have heard the news of your reduced dowry. 

You tried not to make eye contact with any men as you quietly moved through the crowd like a wallflower. You were suddenly and abruptly met by a very tall man that appeared before you. 

"Miss Yoon. May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

You breathed a sigh of relief as you recognised the man. He had a mischievous smile on his face. "Mr. Kim! Oh thank heavens, I was worried that it was an actual suitor."

Mr. Kim Mingyu had the decency to look offended as he took your hand and swept you skillfully towards the dance floor for a lively waltz. 

"Do you think that we would allow an actual suitor within ten feet of you? We've been doing this for three years now, Miss Yoon. We're professionals now, I dare say. There's one of us stationed in each section of the room and we are ready to intervene in case any man shows the slightest bit of  interest towards you."

You laughed. "Well, don't I feel well-protected."

"You are."

"I'm very sorry that you all have to spend your social gatherings watching out for me in this manner. Hopefully, this is the last season that this will be required," you apologised honestly. 

"Nonsense. I rather enjoy it," Mingyu chuckled. 

You shook your head. "I don't believe you. Surely you would rather save your dances for a woman in whom you have a genuine interest? I notice that the young lady in cerulean blue over there cannot keep her eyes away from us."

Mingyu cleared his throat and took a quick peek in the direction you nodded your head. "Ah. Well, that can't be helped. She's better off without me in any case, I've garnered a reputation as a rake. Dancing with me would only tarnish her prospects."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replied simply. 

"I suppose I cannot argue- being in the unique position of not caring about my own prospects makes me a poor judge. May I ask what you have done to have yourself labelled as a rake by the ton?" you enquired. 

Mingyu smiled. "Other than being naturally charming, rich and handsome?"

"I'm afraid those qualities make for an eligible bachelor, Mr. Kim, not a rake."

Mingyu merely chuckled without offering further explanation as the dance came to an end. He gracefully led you off to the side, where you were drawn into a conversation with some other co-conspirators- namely Mr. Lee Seokmin and Mr. Kwon Soonyoung. 

"Miss Yoon," was the cheerful greeting you received from a grinning Mr. Kwon. "I hope your quest to prevent all offers of matrimony fares well? I am pleased to report that the ton seems to be losing interest in you."

You smiled gratefully. "You bring glad tidings, Mr. Kwon. But I heard that Mr. Hessington…."

"Mr. Hessington is being informed of your reduced dowry and impending state of poverty at this very moment," Mr. Lee Seokmin reassured you. His eyes subtly darted towards the other end of the ballroom where your half-brother was in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Hessington himself. You could not hear what was being spoken, but there was no mistaking Mr. Hessington's alarmed expression at whatever Jeonghan said to him.  

"Delightful," you replied. 

"We have further pleasant tidings for you," Mr. Kwon continued. His hand slid into his waistcoat and he cast a furtive glance around before withdrawing something and slipping it surreptitiously into your hands. You tucked it away into the folds of your gown hastily- but not before ascertaining that it was a small envelope. 

Your eyes brightened in anticipation. "Could it be…"

"Indeed," Mr. Kwon replied with a large smile. "I was able to stop by a certain estate that shall remain unnamed on my way to London, and catch up with a dear friend of ours. He bid me to deliver a letter by hand that he dared not risk sending by post, lest it be intercepted by unwelcome parties. It will be safe, I trust, in your possession?” 

You couldn’t hold back your smile. “Very safe, indeed.”

“I certainly hope so, because your mother approaches us and she looks rather red in the face.”

Your plans to sneak away to a quiet corner and read your letter were thwarted instantly by the approach of your mother. She was flushed and huffing, although she attempted to calm herself when she noticed that you were in the company of Mr. Kwon and Mr. Lee- while they were not the most eligible bachelors in the room, they were eligible and rich enough for your mother to greet them with her politest smile.  

“Mr. Kwon, Mr. Lee. What a pleasure to see you in London,” she tittered.  “I do hope you will find the time to call on us for tea later this week."

They both greeted her politely and accepted her invitation with the usual graces, before your mother took hold of your arm and steered you away from them. 

"Is everything all right, mother?" you asked, concerned. 

"All right? I have just heard- the most terrible news- Mr. Hessington had expressed an interest in courting you but that odious brother of yours has gone and told him about your dowry! I have half a mind to expose that conniving little man for what he is- a thief, a monster-"

"Mother, you must calm down," you insisted gently. "There must be some misunderstanding-"

Your mother was distraught. "Oh, what shall we do? If you are not married this season- we shall be left on the streets unless Mina marries exceedingly well but if that boy Jeonghan continues to ruin her prospects as well-"

"Nobody could ruin Mina's prospects. She is the sweetest, prettiest creature and you know everyone will fall in love with her when she comes into society. Perhaps we should accept that my time is coming to an end, mother…."

"No! No, you cannot give up, my dear. We shall find you a husband this season!"

You sighed. "Yes, mother-"

"Go, go back to Mr. Kwon and Mr. Lee- perhaps one of them will ask you to dance, they seem like nice young gentlemen and the evening is not yet over…"

You extricated yourself from your mother- but instead of returning to company, you slid along the length of the ballroom until you succeeded in finding a remote and private corner behind a table of refreshments and some heavy curtains. You eagerly pulled out the small envelope Soonyoung had given you and unfolded its contents as your heart swelled in anticipation. 

My love,

It has been too long since we last spoke. I hope you and your family are well. Although I have met your brother a few times this year and heard news of you from him, it saddens me that you must always be so far away from me. 

I will be travelling to London on business next week- I may not be able to stay the entire season, as you know well, but may I be so bold as to ask for a glimpse of your beautiful smile while I am in the city? I would be honoured if you would grant me a dance at Almack's on Thursday night. But do not put yourself to trouble, my love- if the thought of meeting me in public makes you uneasy or if your feelings for me have changed during our separation, know that I would never resent you. I desire nothing more than your happiness and well-being. 

Forever yours

S. 

Your heart danced wildly as you tucked the contents back into the folds of your dress. It had been too long since you had received a letter from Seungcheol- a few close calls with your nosy mother intercepting your mail had made it too dangerous for him to write to you by normal post. 

But to finally see him again after so many months apart! And on Thursday, so soon! You had to turn your face to the wall to hide your giddy smile. Three years of a secret, clandestine courtship had not diminished your adoration of the man in the slightest. You still felt as strongly for Mr. Choi Seungcheol as you had the very first time he smiled at you with his bright smile and took your hand in his gentle grasp for your very first dance, so many years ago. 

You took a moment to compose yourself (it would not be appropriate to be seen looking so giddy) and slipped out of your corner. Your brother had been poking around at the refreshment table and he approached you when he saw you- Jeonghan's expression was grim. 

"I think I shall avoid dining at home for the time being," Jeonghan told you drily. "I fear my step-mother may really intend to poison me for what I have done tonight."

You sighed. You were not ignorant of how much Jeonghan had sacrificed for your sake. "I am sorry for the trouble I have put you through because of all this, Jeonghan. I will try to calm my mother."

His eyes softened. "I don't require an apology from you, sister."

"Gratitude, then?" you offered gently. 

"If you could keep your mother away from any sharp objects or poisonous substances, that should be sufficient recompense for now," he replied with a chuckle. "So. I heard from Mr. Kwon that a certain Mr. Choi will be in London in a few days."

You bit back a smile. "Yes."

Jeonghan patted you on the arm gently. "I am glad you will have a chance to see him. Perhaps we can arrange to have your mother occupied elsewhere for the evening…"

You shook your head. "I will handle mother myself, Jeonghan," you reassured him. "You have done plenty. "

Jeonghan looked contemplative for a moment. "I sincerely hope you and Seungcheol can be happy together soon, sister. I would not have put my own reputation at stake if I did not hold his character- and yours-  in the highest regard."

You smiled. A genuine compliment from Jeonghan was rare, and that made it all the more precious. You squeezed his hand on your arm. 

"Thank you, brother."

"Now- let us walk away quickly. I see Mrs. Patty approaches and she has that idiotic niece of hers right behind her…"

—----------------------------------------------------

The days trickled past slowly and painfully until Thursday evening finally arrived. Through your own clever manipulations, you had persuaded your mother to attend a card party being held by Mrs. Patty and to allow you to attend Almack's alone chaperoned by Viscountess Hong- one of the few married young women that your mother could be persuaded to entrust you with. 

"I hope, Viscountess, that you will recommend my daughter to some of your acquaintances," your mother pressed. "You have done so well for yourself. I hope you can be a positive influence on her."

Viscountess Hong smiled. She had not been married long; her husband, Viscount Joshua Hong, had been renowned as one of the most eligible bachelors in London not long ago. It did not come as a surprise to anyone when their marriage was announced in the papers, however. The gossip-minded members of the ton had long known that Viscount Hong was smitten with a young lady of humble origins. 

Your mother admired any woman who could achieve the difficult task of marrying above her station. 

"I will be a responsible and careful chaperone, Mrs. Yoon. You may rest assured that I will take excellent care of your daughter for the evening," the Viscountess promised. 

Your mother waved you off and you could not help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as you climbed into the Hongs' carriage. Viscount Hong was waiting outside and greeted you in his usual kind and pleasant manner. 

You thanked him nervously. "I'm very grateful for your invitation. I was worried that my mother would not be persuaded to let me visit Almack’s tonight without a female  chaperone."

Viscountess Hong took your hand warmly. "Of course, we would never allow that! I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Seungcheol often this past year, and the man never smiles quite as brightly as when someone mentions your name. I'm afraid the man is quite devoted to you, Miss Yoon."

You felt shy, and bit your lip. "I-I do care for him a great deal."

Viscountess Hong beamed.

It was a pleasant carriage ride to Almack's- the Hongs kept you engaged in conversation and their friendly presence helped calm your nerves. As Viscountess Hong told you about the day she first met her husband, your mind drifted back to your own fateful introduction to Mr. Choi Seungcheol four years ago. 

—------------------------------------

The estate was magnificent. 

"Oh! A marble fountain! It is so beautiful!" your younger sister Mina cried out in delight at the sight of the immaculate gardens and the enormous white fountain that towered in the centre, gently spouting water. 

Your mother (despite being notoriously difficult to impress) also looked at the enormous estate and manor appreciatively. "Indeed, this estate is quite lovely. Perhaps we should plant some flowers like those back home. You say this manor belongs to Mr. Choi?" she asked your brother. 

Jeonghan nodded. "Yes- Mr. Choi Seungcheol was a close friend of mine at Oxford. His father passed away two years ago and he inherited the estate. He was more than happy to invite us all to stay at the manor while I take care of some business here in Derbyshire.  The weather is lovely here this time of year."

"Very generous," your mother remarked thoughtfully as a servant unloaded the marriage behind you. "And… is there a Mrs. Choi?"

Jeonghan smiled tightly. "There was. she passed away in childbirth four years ago."

"He is a widower, then. And has a child," your mother remarked, displeased. 

Jeonghan nodded. "Yes."

"Pity," your mother whispered to you, as she took your arm and walked towards the manor out of Jeonghan's earshot. "I was almost beginning to imagine you being mistress of this lovely estate. But you may find a way to have a marble fountain without having to marry a widower."

You blinked at your mother in surprise. It was no secret that she had not been your father's first wife. 

"But you married a widower," you said, surprised. 

Your mother shot you a sharp look. 

"Exactly, my dear."

Before you could question her further on this hypocritical viewpoint, the entrance to the manor burst open. Servants emerged to unload your carriage and carry your things inside. They were followed by a tall, well-dressed man with a handsome smile that you barely managed to glimpse before your view was blocked by your brother stepping into your path. 

“Seungcheol!” 

The two men shook hands warmly, and you could see from Jeonghan’s unusually relaxed manner that he carried a great deal of affection and trust for Mr. Choi. They exchanged greetings for a moment, before Jeonghan finally stepped aside and allowed you to feast your eyes on Mr. Choi properly. 

“Seungcheol- allow me to introduce you to my family. My father’s wife, Mrs. Yoon- and my two sisters, Miss Yoon and Miss Mina.” 

You curtsied without taking your eyes off the startlingly handsome man. Seungcheol bowed politely in return. His manner was calm and suited a respectable and confident man- but there was something in his large eyes that sparkled with liveliness and joy. You had seen handsome men before- Jeonghan often had friends over for dinner and you had spent time in society. 

But no man had ever made you feel quite so giddy. 

“We are very grateful for your hospitality, Mr. Choi,” your mother said performatively. “Your estate is lovely. My daughters and I were just discussing how delightful that marble fountain is.” 

Seungcheol smiled and glanced at the fountain. “Ah- yes, that was my own personal selection. I am rather fond of it myself. And allow me to say, madam, that it is a pleasure to be host to you and your lovely daughters. Your arrival has been long-awaited- not only by myself but by certain other members of my household.” 

It was only then that you finally tore your eyes away from Mr. Choi’s smile and noticed that another person stood behind him. A small, dark-haired boy of no more than four years old with the same bright eyes as Mr. Choi was clinging shyly to his father’s legs. 

“Allow me to introduce my son- Jiwoo.” 

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

A/N: So this is my first time posting for Seventeen! I used to have a moderately successful fanfiction blog for a different kpop group on here a few years ago but I took a break and just wanted to start afresh since Seventeen is the only group I keep up with these days, and I miss writing.

I mostly plan to write some fantasy AUs over the next couple months (got some more regency, royal and other fantasy ideas brewing) so we'll see how it goes.

#seventeen fanfiction #seungcheol fluff #seventeen scenario #seungcheol angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt #svt imagines #regency!au #historical!au #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fanfiction #seventeen scenarios #s.coups #s.coups fluff #s.coups angst #s.coups fanfiction

[eydi-andrius]

Don't Get Sad, Get Even

warnings: cussing, implied infidelity/cheating word count: 743 words summary: You and your House Dressed Up for Revenge. This fic is highly inspired by Taylor Swift's new song "Vigilante Shit" from her new album Midnights. Unedited fic cuz I just want to write it out. divider from @firefly-graphics

Aemond Targaryen has been called the younger version of his uncle Daemond Targeryen but more callous and reckless.

A foolish one-eyed fool, they said. His reputation precedes him — really. And everyone would agree that he was following his uncle’s footsteps heedfully. Aside from his bloodlust, he is also following him when it comes to marriage. The same way his uncle disregarded his bronze wife and claimed that the sheep were prettier to fuck.

He is treating me, his lady wife, the same worst way. But much more shameful, as he brought back a pregnant whore with him from Harrenhal. He never cleared the rumors that the child might possibly be his bastard.

And to add insult to the wound, he brought her to the private dinner which was supposed to be for the family of the King only.

The moment my house found out about what happened, they were seething and so was me.

Maybe —  it was now time to put the Targaryen men to their rightful place.

“Final tribute!” Your husband said as he raised his cup. He banged the table before standing up, taking everyone’s attention to him.

The tension in the air was palpable. You could almost taste it. His tribute came out as a shock as no one expected him to speak anymore, as giving tribute already ended earlier. 

However, contradicting some of the rumors, you knew your dear husband more than anyone in this room. 

Probably, even more than his mother.

The giggle Lucerys made while the pig was served in front of Aemond wasn’t missed by your sharp eye. 

You saw that the little chuckle wasn’t also missed by your prince and he gave his nephew a challenging stare which was not taken seriously by the young boy who continued to laugh.

“To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them, handsome, wise...Strong.”

Before the blacks opened their mouths to protest, you also raised your cup and stood up. “And let’s also drain our cup, for the cooks who prepared this wonderful….pig. This is the best pig recipe I’ve ever tasted in my life. What a wonderful day it is to gather here and eat scrumptious meals, especially, this pig.” You said with confidence and a wide grin adorning your face.

You specifically said the word pig over and over to make an obvious point that he doesn’t have the right to be mad on this peaceful night. 

You are mad. You are furious.

And you will not let him get away from this. It was your honor that was tarnished. It was your house’s name on the line. Not consummating a wedding can be forgiven.

But what he did tonight will not be dismissed. He will pay for the shame and hatred. All of it.

Even without looking, you've heard Daemond’s boisterous laugh and Aegon’s snickers. The smile you gave them in return was nothing but polite.

In the corner of your eye, you can see the worried scowl adorning the Queen’s face, Princess Rhaenyra’s sigh and Otto’s exasperation while draining his own cup.

Meanwhile, your prince was still standing when you already decided to sit down. He was staring at you now with that cold eyes of his. 

As a final insult, you just tipped your goblet in his direction and drank it without stopping — without removing your eye contact with him.

Remember, you will pay.

You didn’t flinch when he threw his goblet to the ground and walked away from the hall. The lady, Alys, followed him obediently. Like a fool that she is for accepting an invitation that she shouldn’t be in, in the first place.

The Queen Alicient dismissed the servant who poured another wine on your goblet. “Do you really have to do that? With all of these people?” “My grace…… your son is just the second prince who has no land under his name. 

I am an heir.

So yes, if I have to make a point that I am no lady nor a house to be trampled upon, then I would. I will….

This…. will be the last time your son will bring forth shame to my house. 

I can end things as easily as this agreement started.

Remember that. My queen.”

You smiled and tipped your goblet before drinking its contents. This is just the start of the war Prince Aemond had started between you two. And may the strong house….wins.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond x you #aemond fic #drabble #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #house of the dragon aemond #ts10 midnights #vigilante shit #midnights

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Reader x Young!Plutarch Heavensbee, Reader is the daughter of President Coriolanus Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew.

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning in and of itself. Cursing, family secrets, mentions of death/murder, paranoia, um think that's it

You're the youngest of the 3 Snow siblings. The children of President Coriolanus Snow, a man as cold and beautiful as his name, and First Lady Livia Snow nee Cardew, a shrewd woman whose golden looks hide her abhorrent nature. Like your older brothers, Kronos and Leonidas, you grew up spoiled with wealth and riches in the presidential palace.

But unlike you, your older brothers couldn't stand your parents. It was so bad that once they graduated from the Academy they had opted to move out. Of course your father got your brothers, first Kronos and then a couple of years later Leonidas, their own penthouses in the best buildings that money could buy.

Only the best for the sons of President Snow.

If only Kronos and Leonidas lived up to the expectations of the Snow name.

Yea… Your brothers were both disappointments to your cold, stoic, stern, and calculating father. He felt that they're foolish, selfish, little bastards. Reincarnates of your mother. And talk about your mother, well, she felt that your brothers lacked social charm and grace- what was needed to succeed in the Capitol's games of politics.

You on the other hand was the apple of your father's eye. He viewed you as the one and only good thing to come out of his horrible, hate filled marriage with your mother.

It was no secret to you and your siblings that your parents couldn't stand each other. The only time President Snow and his First Lady are seen together is at events and galas. Other then that they're never together.

Not even at meals.

No, there's no such thing as family dinners in the presidential palace. Your mother eats by herself in her solar while your father eats in either his study, the large dining room, or the sunroom. More times than naught he's taking his meals in the sunroom.

You split your meals between them. Alternating who you eat with. But, since you're a total daddy's girl, you share more meals with your father than your mother. Which delites Coriolanus and pisses off Livia.

Coriolanus doesn't give a shit if Livia gets pissed. He's loathed her since the day he said I do. Livia disliked him, but didn't straight up hate him until a few months into the marriage. But being compared to his dear little dove; his heart's true desire, day in and day out, will make a wife despise her husband.

Truthfully, the only reason you and your older brothers were born was because your father needed heirs to carry on the mighty Snow name. Your mother had to pop some valiums and xanaxes to handle your father's dominant nature in bed. Hell, around the time your brother Leonidas was conceived your mother had taken a secret lover in the afternoons while your father was having power lunches at a high end gentlemen’s club, so who knows who your brother's daddy really is.

But, despite their horrible marriage, at least your parents love you.

Well, Coriolanus loves you, but truthfully it's up in the air when it comes to Livia. She's been hurt so badly by your father's callous words and actions that the poor thing is a shell of a woman that knows how to say lovely things, but is mostly just all about appearances.

And appearances is what prompts her to bring up a potential match with you and Seneca Crane despite the fact that you already have a boyfriend.

One Plutarch Heavensbee.

“But, mother, I've been seeing Plutarch since last year. Why would I dump him for Seneca Crane?” You asked, sipping on your breakfast tea while your mother nursed a bloody Mary.

Despite it being 7 in the morning, Livia's face was caked in 5 pounds of makeup. Makeup that covered up the bruises your father's hands left when he repeatedly smacked your mother around last night when she requested him not to see his beloved little dove because she knew that he'd be paying her a visit today.

But that didn't pertain to you.

“Because, Y/N, Senaca’s the heir to the Crane assets and hotel line in District 10, which is a very popular and prosperous vacation destination due to the Dude Ranch craze.” Your mother told you, putting her glass down only to pick up her smoking case. Opening it and pulling out a cigarillo, she said, “You'll be graduating from the Academy soon; it's time that you secure yourself a husband that's worthy of being a part of the First family.”

“I need to go have breakfast with dad, but thanks for the morning tea, mother.” You told your mother, setting down your teacup while she lit up her cigarillo.

While you rose from the table, your mother took a long drag of her smoke and told you in a tart tone, “He's your father, Y/N. I don't know why he lets you call him dad, but he shouldn't.”

You didn't say a word, just left your mother's private solar to go have breakfast with your father in the sunroom.

“Morning darling.” Your father greeted you with a smile while peeling the shell off his hard boiled egg. He looked perfectly regal, not a platinum hair out of place or a wrinkle in his crimson three piece suit.

As you made your way to your seat at the table, the President complimented you with, “Why, don't you look beautiful? I bet Plutarch’s going to be speechless when he comes to pick you up for school.”

“Dad, I'm wearing the same Academy uniform I do every day.” You shook your head, deflecting his comment.

“But you've done something different with your hair. That boy of yours is sure to notice that, darling.” You father said while fixing you a cup of coffee.

“I don't think it matters, dad. Mother wants me to end things with Plutarch.” You sighed as the president placed your cup of coffee in front of you.

Going back to his hard boiled egg, your father asked, “Why?”

“She wants to match me up with Seneca Crane; she thinks it'd be beneficial to my future to arrange an engagement between Seneca and I because he's the heir to the Crane hotel empire in 10.” You explained while grabbing a few things from the platters set up on the table and putting them on the white china plate that was laid out for you at your place setting.

“Do you want to end things with Plutarch for Seneca?” You dad asked in between eating a bite of his hard boiled egg.

“No, but mother-” You began, only for the president to hold his hand up and silence you with, “You stay with Plutarch and let me deal with your mother.” Reaching for his cup of coffee, your dad gave you the advice of, “Y/N, I know that you care about your mother and want to see the best in her, but you shouldn't. In fact, you need to keep her at arm's length; she can't be trusted.” sipping on his coffee, he sighed, “I’d hate to see you get hurt; I don't trust Livia not to hurt you.”

You gave your dad an incredulous look. Did he really think that your mother would intentionally hurt you? Why, what would she gain from it? You're her only daughter, she'd never hurt you. The thought alone is absurd.

Right now, you think your regal platinum father's a bit paranoid.

But unknown to you, he has reason to be. Everyone has a past and he never lets a piece of his lie. Once a week like clockwork he visits a part of his past with a bouquet of roses. That fact drives your mother up the wall mad. But the president believes that your mother crossed a line, one that was costly to him in the past.

So, your dad has valid reason to believe that your mother would hurt you, whether that be emotionally, physically, or mentally, to further her agenda and to cut him down.

When President Coriolanus Snow was a young man, serving as the Head Gamemaker and running for a Senate seat, he underestimated Livia Cardew's shrewd hatefulness and cunning ways. She didn't come across as somebody to blatantly destroy somebody who she felt got in her way or was a threat to what she wanted: money, power, glory, but she was.

President Coriolanus Snow is older, wiser, and even more paranoid than he was in his youth. These characteristics are the reason why he'll be in office until the day he dies from complications of his alchemy hobby. And he'll be damned if anything or anyone, especially your mother, hurts you while he's still alive and breathing.

After breakfast, you went upstairs to your room while your father went to talk to your mother. Since your mother's solar wasn't far from your room, you walked upstairs with your dad until you had to part ways.

After putting on your pristine white coat and double checking your hairbow in your mirror, you left your room. While passing your mother's solar, you heard the raised voices of your parents echoing from the other side of the door. You should've just walked away, but curiosity got the better of you and you decided to press your ear against the door to listen to what your parents were fighting about.

You hope that they weren't fighting over your relationship with Plutarch.

But, sadly, they are.

“Of course you support Y/N’s relationship with that spaz Plutarch. Considering your own past with your former campaign manager, I'm not surprised that you're encouraging our daughter to sow wild oats.”

“Do not bring Juniper up to me, Livia.” President Snow ordered in a loud roar. “You did it last night and got your face rearranged; you wouldn't want a reason to have to get another nose job, now would you.” President Snow threatened his wife, only to snap, “You stay away from my daughter. I won't let you hurt her.”

“You really think that I'd stoop so low as to hurt our daughter, Coriolanus?” Livia asked, her raspy smoker’s voice full of disbelief.

“I underestimated you 25 years ago when I ended our first engagement and it cost me dearly; I won't underestimate you ever again, wife. And I'll do everything in my power to protect Y/N from you.” The President answered, his baritone loud, but tight. As if he was trying to control his emotions. Emotions that were already filled with rage.

“You're so overprotective of her, but you don't give a shit about our sons! Why, Coriolanus? Why is that?”

“Y/N’s the one good thing to come out of this hateful farce of a marriage, but those boys are your sons through and through. Hateful, greedy, little demons- just like you.”

Livia Cardew tilted her head at her husband, only to twist her lips up in a sneer. “I hope you cut your damn fingers off while pruning those ugly white roses for a bouquet to bring your beloved Juniper.”

“You fucking bitch, I told you not to say her name in front of me.” The President roared, only to launch himself and his wife and backhand her so hard that she flew to the ground.

Hearing a loud thud inside of the room, you decided to back away from the door and rush downstairs. Plutarch should be arriving soon. And only God knows that you need to tell him about everything you overheard your parents fighting about.

As soon as you were in Plutarch's car, you unloaded on him. Plutarch, being a devoted boyfriend, listened to every word that you said. And when you were done, he simply asked, “Do you want to spy on your dad? See where he goes today?”

“Yea, but we can't. We have classes.” You told your boyfriend as he turned down a road that was in the opposite direction of the way to the Academy.

“I know a guy from 3 that can hack the school attendance records; have us marked as attending classes today.” Plutarch told you while grabbing his phone from his dash.

“How do you know somebody from 3?” You asked, a bit bewildered that your boyfriend has friends outside of the Capitol.

“Met him while on that student exchange trip to 3 to learn some tech stuff last year.”

“Oh.” You simply nodded. “I went to 2, stayed with the Plinths.”

“Of course your dad sent you there, he owns Plinth Munitions and is close to the Plinths.” Plutarch muttered under his breath.

Honestly, Plutarch couldn't stand your father. He thought that President Coriolanus Snow had a few screws loose. But, he pretended to like your dad for your sake.

“I can send my contact a quick text telling him to hack our attendance records, then double back to your place and park behind a bush so we can spy on your dad; see where he goes today.” Plutarch offered while pulling into the drive thru of a high end coffee shop.

“Okay.” You simply nodded.

It feels like you and Plutarch have been hiding out in his car, behind large shrubbery near the gate of the Presidential Palace’s driveway whenever it opens and your father's sleek black sedan rolls thru the gates.

“Plutarch, he's by himself.” You pointed out to your boyfriend, who’s waiting for your father to get far enough so that you won’t be caught following him.

“Wonder why. The President doesn't seem like someone to drive himself around.” Plutarch remarked while pulling away from the shrubbery and following the path your father did.

“I know, but maybe he doesn't want Bentley to know about his mistress.”

“Drivers don't care about whether or not their clients have mistresses, princess.” Plutarch told you while making the same turn he saw your father make. “He's driving himself for another reason.”

“Don't lose him, Pluto!” You ordered in a loud shriek, pointing at your dad’s car as it weaved in and out of traffic up ahead.

“Your dad drives worse than a blind 80 year old grandma from District 4. How the hell did he get a license?” Plutarch asked while doing some risky driving maneuvers in order to keep tailing the president.

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “Just don't lose him. I'm curious to know why my mother seems so jealous of this Juniper lady and why my dad flips his shit when my mother says her name.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Plutarch asked, watching your father cut somebody off before taking a turn.

“No.” You shook your head. “Just that she used to be my dad's campaign manager and that my parents were engaged twice.”

“Hmm…interesting…” Your strawberry blonde boyfriend hummed while turning down the road your father did.

After a few more minutes of driving, you ended up following your father to, of all places, the graveyard. “Are you sure he's meeting his girlfriend, Y/N?"

“That's what my mother said.” You told Plutarch, watching your father as he trudged along the graveyard until he reached the Snow Family mausoleum- which was a large building with roses crawling up and down it- in the back of the graveyard.

“Do you want to follow him? See if he's meeting her inside?” Plutarch asked, putting his car in park.

“Yea.” You nodded.

Since Plutarch parked far enough away from your father's car, you weren't afraid of getting caught. You and Plutarch carefully made your way to the Snow Family mausoleum. Not wanting to be caught, Plutarch has the two of you pressed against the back wall of the large building. There's a small stained glass window that you can peek into, if you want to.

You and Plutarch were expecting the President to meet with his secret lover inside of the building, but that's not what you saw when you looked into that stained glass window. To your shock, your father was removing old, dried up and withered white roses from the brass flower holder on one of the wall grave markers.

“I brought you and the little one fresh flowers, my darling rose.” You heard your father say as he placed the bouquet of fresh roses he brought into the brass vase welded onto the grave marker. “I wish you were here. It's been 25 years and I still miss you.”

You and Plutarch looked at each other wide-eyed. He wasn't meeting his mistress, the President was bringing fresh flowers to somebody he loved and had lost. But he said little one. Who's that?

“Livia wants to ruin my daughter's life. Thinks she needs to dump Plutarch and get into an arrangement with Seneca Crane. But I won't allow it.”

“I never liked your mother. Stupid drunk whore.” Plutarch whispered in your ear.

“Be nice.” You whispered, lightly smacking your boyfriend.

“I won't let that evil bitch ruin my daughter's life. She ruined mine by having you killed. And I know she was behind it, even if I can't prove it. Damnit, it was an Avox in her brother's employ that shot you, but it seems like the Peacekeepers just shoved it under the rug. Even your own brother didn't want a long investigation.”

You and Plutarch shared another wide-eyed look. Oh boy…If your father truly felt that the Cardews (your mother's family) had paid off the Peacekeepers to keep the truth of the shooting (a murder?) of his lover under wraps then no wonder he was afraid for your safety when you're around your mother.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I've got presidential duties to get back to. I'll visit you and our little one again. Same day, same time.” The President said before exiting the mausoleum.

Once he was gone, Plutarch turned to you and asked, “Do you want to go inside? See who still has such a strong hold on your father after all these years?”

“Yea.” You nodded.

After making sure the coast was clear, you and Plutarch entered the Snow Family mausoleum. It wasn't hard to spot the section with the fresh white roses. You and your boyfriend walked over to it, only to read a plaque on the wall.

Juniper Marie Halvir & Unborn Baby Snow

Death: July 1st 15ADD

“I think maybe you should take your dad's advice and keep your distance from your mother.” Plutarch told you while rushing you out of the mausoleum.

You just nodded. Your head's spinning at the secret you found out. The President’s secret that he's kept hidden for so long. No wonder he's the way he is. And now you can understand why your parents are always at each other's throats.

Now you understand why your dad's so protective of you; doesn’t like you around your mother too much.

In a way, you wish that you never uncovered your father's past. It would've kept you naive to your mother's true nature. But maybe you needed to know.

“Do you think that's why he's so cold? You know, losing them?”

“It most likely is.” Plutarch told you while leading you over to his car. “I've seen a picture of Juniper with the President in my dad's old Academy yearbook. They seemed to be close friends, sweethearts even.”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore, Pluto. Can we just go get ice cream or something?”

“Anything for you, princess.” Plutarch smiled as you reached his car.

There's a reason why your Uncle Livinius Cardew died before you were ever born. Why your grandparents died before you were born too. Your father got revenge on the Cardews after marrying your mother, Livia. He poisoned them; made it look like food poisoning. He made sure that he killed the Cardews and took over their bank, all because they took the most precious thing in the world away from him.

The only reason he kept your mother alive was because he needed heirs. But now, well, he's highly considering having your mother drop dead from a bad case of food poisoning. He needs to plan it perfectly, so maybe he'll do it during a dinner that your mother has to attend with him. One of those should be coming up soon.

Or he could just poison her and make it look like a suicide.

Either way, you'll be burying your mother before the games and before your graduation from the Academy.

But your dad, President Coriolanus Snow, just wants what's best for you. He has to protect you from your mother, so you don't get hurt. The only way to do that is to permanently get rid of her. You're grown now, so Livia's has outgrown her usefulness to President Snow.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #tbosas fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #president coriolanus snow #plutarch heavensbee #young!plutarch heavensbee #coryo snow #thg fanfiction #thg x reader #tbosas fic

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Patch It Up Baby

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Summary: It’s 1977 and Jesse Presley has never loved his family more or had more chances to prove it. When America’s last dynasty implodes, it‘s up to the Presley heir to mend and rebuild what’s left. His first and least glamorous commission is to take his little sister Daisy Mae to rehab in Texas after she embraced their daddy’s rock n’ roll lifestyle a little too thoroughly. In the great game-plan of getting mama and daddy back together, keeping up appearances and bolstering up his siblings’ spirits, what Jesse doesn’t expect is Donna. Just…Donna.

Warnings: mentions of past hard drug use, mentions of withdrawls, a brief but recounted callous comment encouraging death, children dealing with parent’s divorce, publicity of said divorce, paparazzi stalking, a panic attack, Jesse being a bit hardcore like his father to a stalker and mentions of his previous violence, brief sexual scene and occasional mentions of sex.

My thanks to all the dears who helped me so much with this, who added their lines to this and aided in the plot, @prompted-wordsmith @elvisabutler @stylespresleyhearted @ab4eva @butlersxbirdy @eliseinmemphis to mention a wee few

NOTE: In this chapter the baby that is referenced as growing inside Elaine was conceived during Elvis and Elaine’s divorce, and ends up being Danny. Jesse refers to his upcoming sibling as a “last” and “surprise” baby, which he was. However he was neither the last nor the only surprise for Elaine and Elvis. Danny came and a few years later was followed by Shiloh. So uh, that means better times must be around the bend, right? But of course, Jesse wouldn’t know that. ;)

2nd Generation Refresher: as this is out of order and missing many key pieces, I understand it may not make perfect sense yet but I hope y’all enjoy getting a glimpse into the family later on. You’ll meet Elvis and Elaine over the phone and the older kids as they grow into their maturity. Everyone is a bit spread out in their different pursuits in this one compared to the last one shot when it was all young, familial domestic chaos, but there’s little updates in here I think y’all will enjoy. Xoxo

Jesse’s long and ringed forefinger pecks peevishly at the Rehab Center’s grimy rotary dial. He waits for the phone connection to be made with studied nonchalance, leaning casually against the bleach white wall in a tiny alcove, checking like a studied dandy for dirt under his nails. It’s a photogenic sorta lean, one boot crossed over the other and bell bottoms flaring in a way that naturally carries the eye to the belt buckle at his tapered waist.

Daddy taught him well enough how to cut a figure, and daddy was the reason why Jesse had any need to pretend nonchalance when calling home.

Home, he wants to scoff.

Not Graceland while this fiasco lasted.

Graceland was too storied and way too watched. Home was Palm Springs and warm weather and privacy to figure out what the hell the rest of them were gonna do with their lives and if mama and daddy could still make it. Together.

Home, where mama could cook this last little one that precious few in the outside world knew was coming, home where daddy could eat crow and stay sober.

Jesse’s teeth ache from the way he grinds them in his stress, he rubs at his cheek and wills the tenseness away, if he answered with clenched teeth mama would be able to tell. And mama would worry. And mama had done enough worrying to nearly cost her her life.

“Hello?” came through the receiver.

Jesse felt guilty for one brief second at his immense relief that she’d been the one to answer, not daddy, but then a flood of very legitimate grievances against one Elvis Presley came flooding in and he shrugged it off. “Hey mama.” he kept his voice down but he couldn’t help the smile that lifted his tone at just hearing her sound so soft and rested. “How’re you doin’?” he ventured, keeping an eye at the nurses and patients passing nearby, always aware of potential eavesdroppers.

“I’m good baby, I’m real good, how’re you holdin’ up?”

Jesse listens for any trace of a fib in her tone but for once she doesn’t sound strained when she says she’s good. He’ll take it that physically she must be finally good for the first time this whole pregnancy. “Thas good.” he whispers, cupping the receiver closer, “He takin’ care of you, mama? He’s being gentle a-and he’s -he bein’ respectful?”

Of her space and her nerves and her whole taken for granted self. He’s picked a cuticle till it’s bleeding on him, wincing he sticks it into his mouth, full lips curling around it, something his mama gave him in a face strikingly similar to his father’s. The scowl he sends at a lurking relation of some inmate in this druggie bedlam is entirely his father’s and he’s grateful for that one singular legacy. It’s come in real handy as folks come up to him and pepper him with questions on the football field like:

-is your dad strung out on coke or heroin these days? is it true what happened to your sister, man? did your daddy force himself or is your mama so pathetic she couldn’t say no to a man she was divorcin? got anythin’ I can trade off ya, Presley?-

Benign, regular family questions. Sorta questions most 20 year olds have gotta answer, for sure. He sucks harder and tastes copper round his finger.

“Oh yes. Really darling, I’m fine. We’re fine, in fact.” Mama’s talking again. That’s a bold statement. To refer to them as “we” and to say they’re fine. She’s not mean enough to lie to him now, not now it’s all crashed and crumbled and they’re trying to pick up the pieces together. His little cupcake world of happy families is sorta shot to hell by this point, anyways. Least Mama can do is be truthful about it, and learning from his daddy’s mistakes, Jesse chooses to believe her when she says she’s well.

That they’re good.

“Ok, good.” he breathes for what he realizes must be the first time in awhile, his fingers are numb and his lips feel tingly, he’s gotta stop doing that, he’s gonna pass out one day, he can feel it. “The baby?”

“Fine. We’re all fine, Butnin, I asked how you were.” she reminds him gently.

“I’m fine, mama.” he is, now that he’s back to breathing. Breathing is good for one’s health. He’s gonna keep it up. “Daisy is settling in alright, too.” he beats Mama to the question, glossing over some of the more queasy aspects of heroin rehabilitation. “T-the nurse here, uh, D-Donna, she uh, she said we oughta be over the worst of it. The uh, initial withdrawls and such.”

“Was it bad, Jesse?” poor mama, how’d it come to this that she has to ask it.

“Yeah, fairly.” he admits, recalling his baby sister’s foaming mouth and dilated eyes and seizing throat. Holding her as she scratched at herself like a maniac, forced her to tear at him instead. Donna, the nurse, has got him fixed up with plasters all up and down his forearms and hands. “But that part’s worn off.” he assumes mama knows what he means, if she hasn’t dealt with it directly with daddy she at least knows of it, even if his were all prescribed. “She’s just real sleepy now. Sleeps all day and most the night. I try to keep her talking and singing and playing stuff so, uh, so that she’s tired, ya know? So she’ll sleep heavy. She’ll get better quicker. That’s what Donna says, the more she sleeps the faster she’ll detox.”

“My sweet boy.” Mama murmurs and that’s compensation enough for how little sleep he’s gotten this past week and everything else.

“Happy to do it.” he mumbles, and he means it.

“I know,” she answers earnestly, “and we’re grateful.” they both let that lie and after a minute she speaks up again, a saucy undercurrent to her tone that throws him for a loop. It's been such ages since he heard it: “So, this Donna, you’ve mentioned her last time and before that, too. Is she an experienced nurse, dear?”

Jesse groans into his hand only to realize it’s amplifying the sound through the speaker. In his loneliness here he may have forgotten how obvious it is that he’s latched on like a limpet to the one genuine human who’ll give him something besides canned answers when his sister aspirates on her own spit in the bathroom floor.

“I-I-I lost one sister this way already.” he’d gasped to sweet little Donna and her baby cheeked self as they peeled Daisy off the floor and got her on a stretcher, “Jo, Jo died from this.”

Not a drug withdrawal, of course. Jo had drowned inside mama. But still.

-Aspirating.

It held a bizarre terror for him, that fancy word, his whole childhood and the whole nine months of waiting for Marie to come out healthy. He’d never forget asking his daddy one day at table how they could be sure this new baby wouldn’t drown, too. Daddy had gotten so angry before bursting into tears at the head of the table. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before or since. All that grief just stored up, and him scared as any of them for a repeat and no kid’s tactless inquiry and it all surface. “We don’t know.” Mama had said and daddy cut her off harshly, “No, Elaine!” he’d near yelled, “No, don’t even say it. This one’s gonna live, I'm demandin’ it.” Mama had bit her lip and replied softly, “Then we’d better start praying so.”

And that’s what they did every night for eight months, Daddy led them all in laying their hands on mama's growing belly and prayed and prayed until Marie came screaming into the world with clear lungs. And so Jesse got himself on the floor and beat at Daisy’s back while praying and Donna did it too, right with him.

“Uh, Donna’s pretty young but she’s capable.” he answers mama’s question.

“How old?” there’s nothing sly in her tone now, just genuine concern for the quality of her daughter’s care takers.

“She’s nineteen, mama,” Jesse admits with a wince, “she’s my age.”

“Ah.” and a long pause follows.

“There’s others too, but she’s the most eager, most -caring.”

“That’s good. Thank God he sent someone for y’all. I knew He would.”

“Yeah, she’s, she’s real sweet mama.” he assures.

“Oh is she?” there’s a smirk in her tone now.

“Nineteen and sweet.” that’s daddy’s voice coming through the phone from a distance and Jesse starts to stiffen. “Does this Donna happen to be pretty, too, son?”

Jesse is back to grinding his teeth and it sends a spark of pain up to his temple.

“Elvis!” His mama honest to god titters and it’s been such a while since Jesse heard that sound he suddenly feels like forgiving his daddy a few things just for that. Just for bringing that back. It makes his eyes sting.

Donna has hair the color of mamas but with a touch more red in it and it curls and fans in such a messy and unstudied way as to remind him of an artist, all while smashed beneath a nurse's cap. And her smile is sunshine incarnate and her eyes are as blue as his and her lips as plump as strawberries and she’s the first person he feels like he can trust in ages. Not that he’s trusted her with much besides showing he’s at the end of his rope with exhaustion and emotion. But she never missed a beat.

“I-I-I don’t mean to keep mentioning her it’s just-“ he bites his lip harshly before deciding to be frank, “it’s hard to trust anyone. Even here everyone is gossiping about us, they think I can’t hear ‘em but I do and it’s all the time and I ain’t going up to one of those tongue wags and asking them to help Daisy when she’s that vulnerable. I just can’t. So -so it’s Donna.” he explains.

It’s dead silent on the other end for a length of time that oughta be uncomfortable but instead it soothes something in Jesse’s soul to think that he got his point across enough to shut his smartass father up for a whole minute.

“I’m sorry this is so damn hard for you, son,” it comes in a deep rumble and bitter as he is, Jesse feels his hands sweat and his cheeks too, or else that sting has overflowed and he’s crying. In public. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ to pay for my sins.”

“I-I-I’m just glad you’re back.” he croaks and looks about the place frantically to make sure he’s unobserved.

It had been so good that day daddy walked through the threshold at Graceland looking twenty pounds lighter and stone cold sober, there to sort out his children, there to intervene for Daisy. The day mama’s body gave out on her and she puddled like so much water on Graceland’s foyer floor, as if her body trusted Elvis to take care of her family even if her mind wasn’t sure he’d forgiven her for the divorce. Daddy had been perfect that day, picked mama up like a baby and took her to the hospital, made press statements like a ordinary human sayin simply that he’d “jacked it all up and was here to make amends.”

Mama and him tucked off to California to grow that baby that made her faint and Jesse was charged with Daisy and bringing her here to Dallas. It had felt like old times, Sergeant Presley and all that famous stage presence ordering them all to battle stations.

It wasn’t till later that Jesse wondered how the hell the man had the gall to show up and demand respect. Turns out mama had kept that fire going bright enough all the kids just fell in line like nothing had ever been askew. Jesse wonders if now he can go back to being nineteen again. He’s a little scared to hope. That’s the worst of it, he’s not bitter, he’s scared.

Twenty year olds have futures with little nurses named Donna. For now Jesse is not a normal almost-twenty year old.

“I’m glad you’re back.” he repeats to his daddy, “Please…stay…back.”

It’s what he begs Daisy when she tries to bribe him to sneak her illegal shit next morning.

“Enough of that, you’re nearly sober and you’re gonna stay sober. Please stay good, f’me! Please.” he begs and weedles until her big blue eyes go from watery to scornful and she has fun at his pathetic expense but Jesse doesn’t mind. It gives her something to do, teasing him for being a blubbering softy over her. It distracts her. It assures Daisy she’s wanted, that somebody -more than one in fact- would be devastated if she didn’t win this fight.

She’s become a skeleton as the detox racks her. Hospital food tasting bad on a good appetite, it’s ever worse on a poor one and Jesse tears out clumps of his now shaggy black hair in desperation to have her stay nourished. He’s not supposed to be sleeping there overnight but Donna fibs for him. He’s not supposed to sneak shit into the clinic but Donna takes him back to her house, lets him use her stove to cook pancakes -Daisy’s favorite- and helps him smuggle them in under his leather jacket. All for the price of a motorcycle ride.

Jesse’s belly burned for nights after where her little hands had overlocked to hold onto him during the ride, burning him and cooking his guts hot and wanting even beneath the leather and the layers.

“Donna’s got the same spatulas you use, mama.” He’s reporting by the third week.

“The baby’s the size of an cantelope.” she reports back.

“What’ve y’all been doin?” he tries to make conversation and even to his own ears he sounds suspicious. When did he start to sound like Jack? How much more could daddy possibly screw this up? Knock his ex-wife up doubly? Like a cat? Jesse snorts and covers with a cough.

“Talkin’ mostly, floatin in the pool.” he can hear her shrug from here, “It’s terribly hot.”

“Mmm.” he sympathizes.

“We got a marriage license yesterday.” Daddy pipes up and Jesse lets out a stifled sob of relief. The gang is back together, it would seem.

“Cool.” he rasps before Donna passes and then approaches in concern for his blotchy face.

“You ok?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah fine,” Jesse scrambles, “hay fever. Killer.”

“Who’s that, Butnin?” mama asks.

“Uh, umm nobo-“

“Is that Donna?” she guesses and he winces for the umpteenth time at this damn phone.

“Mamaaaa.” he begs.

“Can I talk to her? Please, please!” she begs in turn.

“Mama no!” Jesse pleads right back and Donna backs away with that keen sense of intruding while unable to suppress her fond smile at this cute, boyish side to such a burdened young man.

By week four Donna and him have taken to walking Daisy along the corridors, getting her strength back and making her move, her always lanky frame a featherweight between them now. They all share a laugh at how Daisy towers over Donna’s tiny self, has to hunch to use the petite nurse’s shoulder while Jesse’s height makes her strain to reach. They can use a laugh, the stares they get as Daisy’s famous face gets hauled past in pajamas and socks makes Jesse lose all appetite afterwards, his fingers going cold and his lips numb. He’d like to punch something but everything here is breakable, his sister and his family’s reputation, most of all.

It’s not fair to her and it’s more work for her but this loss of appetite worries Donna and by the end of their long day’s shift they’re together again as she force feeds Jesse tacos from a nearby stand, as they walk around the old part of the city and inadvertently become friends. He may have sucked some mango salsa from her fingers, but neither of them mention it. Too busy watching the others' faces as the sun dies out and eventually he drives her home, her body tucked behind his on his bike, wind whipping her hair that’s escaped his offered helmet.

By the fifth night of this routine he steals a kiss. It’s not hard fought, she leans into him eagerly and for the first time in his life there’s nothing about conquest in the act for him, it’s just…nice. So nice he tries it the next night while they’re sat on his bike, parked by a dance hall. It’s less nice and more like licking fire this time, suddenly his sweet intentions for her are a burning mass of need and that night Jesse goes back to his dinky motel alone and engages in wasteful practices in the shower. Donna had asked where he was staying and when he told her she’d been aghast.

“I just prefer something more -normal.” he’d said.

“Sure but -but that place is dangerous, Jesse.” she’d been so concerned for him and he gobbled it up like a starved man. “Normal folks don’t stay there even.”

“Maybe I’m not normal.” he’d quipped and Donna thought about his mother and her mafia connections, the ones with the dirt that sank Colonel Parker during the divorce, she thought of the bike clubs that Jesse is seen frequenting in the magazines, she thinks about how far the Presley’s might go to reconnect with normal folks -she holds her tongue. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, lil, I can handle myself.” he’d assured her as he thumbed out her frown.

“I know.” Donna had replied, “I mean, I’ve read about how you handle yourself.” and she’d run an admiring hand down his bicep before kissing him again.

That was another thing he liked about Donna, she didn’t play stupid about his family and she also didn’t pry. She’d read about him and Jack bustin’ those guys asses for what they did to Rosalee and she mentioned it. And left it at that. Jesse liked that maybe most of all. He also liked how everything he’d trusted her with never got related by anyone else. No nursing staff gossip or a sweet insider tip for a newspaper. Donna took his trust and tucked it tight inside her chest, right in that tender heart of her’s. He liked that about her, right next to her sweet smile and her warm nature and the feel of her breasts smashed to his back on a long ride.

“You’re in love.” Daisy goaded him the next day as she scribbled in the journal he had gotten her. They encouraged writing here and Daisy’s material had gradually shifted from juvenile doodles and giant block letters proclaiming “JESSE IS AN ASSHOLE” to something that looked alarmingly like stanzas as he snooped over the top of the pages.

Jesse colored brightly at her goad and adamantly refuted it. “That’s the drugs talkin’.” he joked.

“So you’re just passin’ time with her.”

“I-I-I dunno, Daisy.” he spluttered, “It’s not exactly hoppin’ here when you’re out cold. Can only call mama so many times a day. Gotta talk to someone.”

“Does mama hate me?” she asked suddenly and he stopped cold in the middle of tuning her guitar to stare at her dumbly. “I mean -I deserve it I just…”

“No she don’t hate you!” he found his voice, “Don’t be an idiot. That self pityin’ mope don’t help the beauty of those dark circles none. She’s just wore out.”

“I wore her out.”

“Mm well, we all had a hand.” Jesse fudges.

“Ella told me to just get on with dyin.” she reveals, and Jesse puts his pick down for good this time, taking a deep breath and trying to listen coolly. “When mama was taken to the hospital and layin’ there unresponsive, Ella said I’d brought her to that, said if I was so intent on killin’ myself that I should get on with it and spare mama the suspense.”

“Well,” Jesse tries for a moderate tone, “that was a shitty thing to say.” he concedes, “And you -don’t pay Ella no attention. She’s worried and scared to death half times that Johnny won’t come back from ‘Nam. And now she’s takin’ care of Marie on top of her own baby. She’s just a little vinegary, thas all, pregnancy hormones. Took it out on you.”

“I think she’s scared the guy she married in such a rush is gonna come back.” Daisy growled. She crossed out a line angrily and Jesse was really starting to worry about those scribbles.

Jesse let her finish before he asked, “Why’s that?” It’s not like he got much thinking done lately between the court hearings and getting his head knocked about on the turf.

“She don’t love him.” Daisy rolled her eyes heavenward in an action that mama would have looked on with annoyance. Jesse glared at Daisy in her stead.

“People love in different ways, Daisy.” he sighed even as he had no bullets to fight her argument, Ella had left in uncharacteristically rash fashion, seemingly unable to take the atmosphere at home anymore. “And she says John’s a good man.”

“All that means is he don’t beat her.” Daisy snarked.

“Well, that’s a step towards romance.” Jesse joked back and they let the subject lie.

Each day Daisy gets stronger and writes more and more in that little book. Not that Jesse sees her at it most times, it’s just the pen she wedges in to keep her place gets closer and closer to the middle, and then towards the back. Snooping isn’t an option but he imagines they’ve got a lotta heartbreak on those pages, maybe bled out like lyrics.

Now days he makes the walk with her without Nurse Donna, and it’s both sad and a victory in one. Now that she’s strong enough to notice the stares Daisy takes delight in feebly flipping off her voyeurs and that’s a fight Jesse doesn't have it in him to win. If it makes her grin, he allows it, that stupid, crooked little boy grin that his daddy plopped right onto a young girl’s face. She’s perfect, she’s perfect and getting healthy and the stares don’t matter much. Not till he hears a voice he’s become very attuned to, snap at some idling nurses:

“Haven’t you got any work to do?”

And his head spins like a top on his neck and sure enough, that was Donna, temper snapping for what might be the first time in her sweet life, and Jesse feels his tingly gratitude down to his very toes.

“She’s alright, that one.” Daisy smirks beside him and little does he know her enthusiasm stems partly from last night when Daisy gave a little sisterly admonition to Miss Donna that her brother liked her and if she didn’t treat his soft heart gentle like, then Daisy was gonna unstring her guitar and end her with a metal cord.

“How ya doin, mama?” he asks her on a Tuesday and even to himself his voice sounds better. He may be far more tired than he was when he first came in here but his relief at Daisy’s progress colors his tone in hope.

“Doing good Butnin, real good.” she sounds good alright, more than good and Jesse uncurls his fist and let’s himself relax a little as he gives his daily report on Daisy. And Donna.

“Rosalee told me she’s gonna pop in and see y’all.” Mama informs him.

“Good time for it,” Jesse hums, “Mae Mae’s better enough to chat but she could use the encouragement.”

“I bet.” Mama sounds sad again. That won’t do.

Jesse lip curls up in mischief as he asks next, “Jack been by to see ya?” he inquires about that little sea creature hybrid he’s been missing and must call brother, “Brought any dolphins home to meet ya yet?”

“Oh Jesse! Stop!” she laughs a sweet peal of laughter and Jesse smugly twirls the phone cord round and round at his success, “He’s coming to dinner tonight, he has been too caught up before, he’s been out on the ocean for six weeks! I’m scared to see the state of his skin!”

“Welllll,” Jesse drawls, “No way the sun could burn that dimple off so, he’ll be fine.”

“He actually saved someone’s life, uh, day before yesterday.” Daddy’s voice rumbles through the receiver and Jesse’s eyes roll backwards a little at the way he’s never caught his parents separate on this trip, not even once. He can picture the patio phone and its loungers and its umbrellas right now, and imagines that daddy is probably cradling mama’s belly like he can push that magic healing through the skin and make that baby the healthiest infant California’s ever seen.

“Did he now?” Jesse admires, “Makin’ us proud, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, hauled someone who’d been adrift for ages, right up into his boat.” Daddy elaborates without a hint of mockery in his proud tone and Jesse smiles to himself.

“Bout time he put those muscles to use, s’not like he uses them when carrying snails around.” he teases back because having a serious and admiring conversations about Jackson might be a step too far in the healing process. Not this early, mama resting and then getting remarried and cooking a baby is plenty for the plate. Conceding that Jack isn’t a walking disaster is a little too much too soon. Heroics aside.

By week six at the Center they’re into behavioral shit and Jesse can freely admit this isn't the Presley family’s strong suit, but he’s gotta hand it to his sister that she is less preoccupied during it than he is. Out of respect for Rosalee’s interest in the same profession, Daisy pays a decent amount of attention to the therapist’s counsel. Jesse would be more attentive if the first fifty pages of Red West’s freshly published tell-all of his family’s secrets wasn’t banging around in his head. Somehow, somehow it’s not even the dirt that gets to him, makes him stagger out into the hall after a while and crumple against a cart and let the world go dim.

It’s the sweet stuff, the gentle stuff, the stuff that was only ever supposed to be theirs as a family and that fuckers like Red West were goddamn privlidged to be witnesses to, spilled out for all the world to pick apart and psycho-analyze. He hasn’t told Daisy and now she’s asleep and as he’s on the floor in the deserted hall he finds there’s really nothing stopping him from doing what he wants. So he panics and lets himself work up to a dim eyed fury and only the cool shock of a wet rag against his neck brings him back from it.

“Just breathe for me, honey.” That little Texan ascent is saying as he gulps into a brown bag with the embarrassed realization he’s had a panic attack. Sure Daddy had them at his age, too, but that was to go perform in front of hundreds of folks. This is just from reading Red Fuckin’ West’s bad prose. He can hear himself laughing, hiccuping little laughs of derision at himself and it, and Donna cooing all the while.

“You can’t drive your bike like that.” she points to his still shaky hands half an hour later.

It’s comforting watching Donna shut the place down, not that it’s totally abandoned at night, not at all, but just watching her finish up her duties and stash away her papers and arrange her workspace feels as if the heart of the place, the vitality if it, is turning in for the night. And he’s going with it.

He follows Donna like a lost puppy and she doesn’t mind it, he’s sweet and soft spoken and no matter what she does she only gets weak chuckles from him.

His boisterous charm and tired joviality is threadbare and she feels like it’s the right thing to do to slip her hand into the crook of Jesse’s elbow, to gently tow him out of the Center’s fluorescent lit maze and out into the night. He giggles at her guiding him into the passenger side, a soft little noise of trusting gentleness that is bizarrely attractive in such a capable man. He folds his long limbs into her dinky car and waits patiently for her to get into her side.

“What?!” Donna asks him as Jesse keeps gazing at her with big blue eyes and droopy pink lips as she turns the key and fidgets with the windows to get some air flow, “Am I gonna have to buckle you in?” she teases at the way he’s just melted into the seat, head leaned against the headrest and long limbs folded where they first flopped.

“Mmmmmaybeee.” Jesse drags it out and giggles again -and she knows it is common to be a little drunk, a little silly, a little loopy after a panic attack as severe as the one she found him having, but she’s never heard of it or seen it be so cute. Against her better judgment to coddle a grown man, Donna leans over the small console between them and reaches across Jesse for the seatbelt, getting the strongest whiff of his natural musk and spicy cologne she’s ever gotten, it makes the musty cab of the car feel ten times hotter than it was moments ago and she fumbles in her haste to hurry up and distance herself.

It’s silly, Donna thinks, she’s being silly to find this procedure of bucking him in a intimate thing when they’ve done far more, when they’ve kissed heatedly on his bike and danced wildly to that new Elton John record in her off time. They’ve been more forward than this but somehow his pliant and drowsy magnetism has her heart thudding and her body responding in ways not even his glorious kissing could produce. But the way his breath puffs from his lips and the way he looks at her as if she’s everything he wants in this moment makes it hard to brush this interaction off as a nurse with her patient. Or a friend helping a friend. Donna brought Jesse in because he was physically unfit to drive, she is being kind because he’s obviously had an awful day, he’s loose and pliant because of exhaustion -these are familiar things to Donna, they are integral to her vocation and her expertise.

And yet there’s those eyes of his, soft and burning all at once, catching her skin on fire and soothing it right after.

It does nothing to make her breathing calm as she drags the buckle across his soft yet lean belly, down the taper of his waist, so willowy and elegant that it makes her want to cry in envy, sliding it to latch at his hip.

“Donna.” he rasps before she can pull away, his hand shakily coming up to touch her cheek and she stalls, feeling as scared as a kid for what he’ll say next, “You take the sunshine with ya, everywhere you go. M’sorry for those poor suckers we’ve left.” he jerks his head towards the blazing ball of light that is the Center amidst the dark parking lot and Donna blinks at the compliment, absorbing it slowly as his fingers on her cheek do their best to wipe her mind blank.

“Daisy is gonna be fine.” Donna assures, scrambling to order her reassurances for maximum comfort, “She’s getting stronger and she’ll be asleep the whole time we’re gone. A-and we gotta take care of you, ok? Can’t have you going down too, can we?”

“Okay.” he whispers and she realizes her hand is still pressed to his belly. “I-I’ve had a bad day.” he admits, and it’s the first self focused thing she’s ever heard out of this forever uncomplaining boy.

“Let’s uh, let’s get you home -rested. Let’s get you rested.” she propels herself back over to her side of the car and jerks the gear more forcefully than needed before driving them out. She’s not sure they actually talked about it or that it was agreed to verbally but they somehow both know they’re headed to her rented house, the place with the ratty sofa and the duck taped windows and the malfunctioning stove that Jesse cajoled into working long enough to make Daisy batch after batch of fluffy pancakes. She had nearly sprung on him back then, taken him down to the floor and ravished him for being such a nice human being.

The bar might be low for men, but since that day, Donna had learned that Jesse Presley was more than lean legs, a nice ass, a gorgeous face and an earnest desire to please. Jesse Presley was a good man. And so Donna felt no qualms about taking him to her house, plopping him down on the sofa after fetching sheets, and letting his grabby hands tug her down atop him for a goodnight kiss. A kiss that lasted, and lasted, and lasted. Lasted until he was kissing between her breasts, the neck of her tshirt tugged down in a way that would deform its shape forever as she was idiotically scrambling to undo his clunky belt, eager to see the expanse of perfect, golden skin that his face and neck promised.

Donna had never gone this far with a man before but some inner voice told her it was a once in a lifetime chance, not to sleep with a Presley, but to ease a boy who needs so much comfort right now he literally can’t breathe. Jesse’s kisses don’t stop and she doesn’t try to make them, he’s inexorable while being slow, and it’s a combination she’d never witnessed before. Perhaps if he’d rushed her, or made an outright pass, she’d have had time to consider, to deny. But he just kissed her and kissed her as his hands mapped and worshiped her, caressing her all the way from his allotted couch to her bed until she was beneath him, accepting him inside her body like she had let him in her heart.

Idly Donna wondered how many girls his father took and left with the same good intentions, winders if the generations will just keep at it, on and on. It doesn’t feel trite though, she’s not sure if it’s because it’s her first time or because of how intensely tender he is, or the way he cries partway through the act.

“Hay fever, sorry.” Jesse insists weakly.

“Killer this time of year.” Donna agrees, stroking down the sweaty muscles of his rippling back, “For me it’s the cedar.”

She feels trusted with his tears, cherished by his revenant kisses, and never once does he give her cause to regret it, to panic. It’s slow and needy, strong but kind, the whole way through -just like him. Donna’s eyes sting at the realization he’s giving her such a sweet first time, even if he doesn’t know it. She finds herself sniffling with him over the thought that it might be the only time.

“Thank you, thank you.” he gushes, sweet as anything in a thin whisper, after he scrambles out of her and she adds her hand to his to finish him off. He had dexterously snagged a pillow case off one of her pillows and after it had served its purpose, he dropped the sodden thing to the ground.

There’s nothing trite about the way they lay in sweet silence afterwards, the way he doesn’t even try to collect his autonomy but instead winds those long limbs around her and keeps his face on her sweaty chest. “You’re a rare one Donna.” he praises, sleepy and gentle over her heart.

Donna struggled against sleep for the next hour, desperate to engrave the feeling of him laying melted on her in peaceful slumber and the pounding ache between her legs that had finally known a man. Something like virginity that she simply hadn’t gotten around to tossing away, was suddenly something very dear and painfully sentimental to her now it was gone. Now it was now wrapped up in soft kisses, large hands entwining hers to the sheets and raspy endearments. She fell asleep propped against the pillow with his head on her belly, repeating to herself at the rhythm of her pulse down there -it’s just a fling, it’s just a fling, don’t expect more, you hopeful idiot.

Cold sheets, or the sound of the door shutting from his exit or the scratchy presence of a note the next morning were conspicuously absent when Donna woke up.

Instead she heard the sound of gentle babbling, like the way a person might talk to a pet and combined with the gentle wriggling she sensed beneath the sheets, Donna engaged briefly in a time warp and wondered when she got a puppy and who was talking to it. But there was no puppy here, instead, as cognisense fully set in she frantically sat up and beat at the wriggly sheets, Donna found Jesse, still long and lean and naked as she hazily recalled from the dimness last night, wedged between her legs and chatting with her muff, placing chaste kisses to it that barely parted her outer lips.

“No way.” she said her foggy morning thoughts aloud at the sight of this beautiful boy still with her in the daylight and more pressingly -face to face with her used and unwashed and unshaven privates. “Oh what are you going to do?” she wailed as that mortifying relaxation sunk in. “Why’re you down there, you nut?“

“Good Mornin’ to you too, miss.” Jesse laughed and his breath tickled her core that was feeling strangely achy and happy all at once. “I’m gonna lick your wounds, silly.” he slapped her thigh gently as he went on as if to reprimand her while tugging up a mildly bloody sheet corner as evidence for his displeasure, “Donna, ya shoulda said, dear.”

“Oh it’s not a big deal.” she insisted in a bit of a panic to get him away from her vagina and in an attempt to convince herself it didn’t mean much. “You were so good. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you shoulda told me.” he insisted gently.

“There wasn’t much time for talking.” she cringed as soon as she said it but he took that in stride after realizing she was not insinuating any wrongdoing on his part.

“Are you hurtin’ much?” he asked gently and he was still down there, broad and smooth shoulders wedged between her stubbled thighs, tapering down to his tiny waist and that peachy butt and then those legs that were hanging off the edge of her bed like so much lumber. “Donna?” he asked with laughter in his voice as her eyes glazed over in review of him.

“No, not much, you were very nice. It felt great.” she insisted truthfully and ended with a little hiss as he ran his knuckles along her petals. “I mean, I-I’m honestly not sure I’m up for more activities right this minute but it’s not bad. It’s not hurting. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Did you even…peak?” he asked and his face flushed red like he was most ashamed of not being sure of that.

“No I-I was mostly just soaking up the whole…experience.” she admitted because it was true and didn’t strike her as deplorable at all. He had been big and she was new and it wasn’t quite comfortable enough to get there. Which hadn’t diminished the experience or changed the point of their tryst anyway. “That wasn’t the point of it all anyway.” she said softly while reaching to push his hair out of his eyes. It had grown inches since she first met him. “Not for me.”

Jesse’s face softened quickly at that. Like she had struck a nerve and soothed him all at once. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it wasn’t for me either.” and it feels like a far larger confession that it is for both of them, “Which is rich comin’ from the man who got to come.” he laughed at himself right after and she did too. “Now spread these legs so hims can do a lil community service on hers poor widdle clam shell.”

Donna never would have thought such babyish, almost infantilizing gibberish could be so authoritative but the potency of its endearing qualities, with his skilled tongue and earnest desire to please, ensured her cooperation so that they didn’t leave the bed for hours yet. Donna soon forgot her unshaved legs, her need for a glass of water and the fact she’d forgotten to set an alarm -and then when she recalled that detail in a lull of his caresses, she recalled that it was Saturday and she was off. And then he wiped her mind blank again.

It wasn’t till halfway through the radio blasting Dancing Queen and Jesse discoing in jeans and nothing else while flipping an omelet that it seemed to occur to him there was a life outside Donna’s little place and Donna’s fluffy hair and Donna’s ratty rented flat, and Donna’s sunshiny smile. She watched as reality intruded on his creaseless features, an instant pucker and burdened eyes clouding that ethereally sweet face as the outside crashed in.

A world outside Donna. It felt as good to see how well she’d helped him to escape as it was painful to watch it all come back down on him, weighing like a mantle on those strong shoulders.

“Shi-eeet!” he slid to a screeching stop of his jiving in his sock feet across her linoleum floor. “I was gonna call mama, see how they’re takin’ the book release stuff.”

Donna had vaguely heard gossip about what she supposed was the book in question. A dirty little tattle tale by a fired employee is all it sounded like to her. “It’s bad then?” she asked.

“Shitty enough grammar to make me puke.” he joked bashfully and she supposed that it was his way of asking to drop it. “What’re you doin’ with your weekend? Like today? What else ya doin?”

“Not much.” she admitted, crossing her arms over the baggy shirt she’d donned to watch him cook her breakfast. “Um, I suppose I should get more groceries-“

“-I’ll make ya a list and we can go.”

“-and, oh. Ok. Yeah. And umm, well, I need to check on my dad. I usually spend my Saturday dinners with him.”

“Oh.” Jesse bit his lip, “I-I can go…you wouldn’t mind me taggin’ along for the groceries bit?” he asked.

“Of course not!” she tried to laugh off her butterflies, “Are you worried I’ll buy the wrong flour?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll buy margarine instead of good wholesome butter.” he growled gravely as he looped his arms around her waist and tugged her to him, laying his chin on the top of her head like she was dear to him and the butterflies went rogue in her belly against all her attempts to stay untangled. “I just wanna be with ya.” he admitted and she shuddered, winding her arms around his willowy waist and clinging on.

“I’d like that.” she admitted.

“Lemme just call my Mama real quick?” he asked.

Donna cringed before admitting, “I don’t have a working landline.”

“What?” Jesse pulled away just enough to look her in the eye, his own wide in protest, “Good lord darlin’, that won’t do. Livin’ alone and no phone for me to hear if you’re alright. Well, lemme grab my shirt and- help yourself to the omelet, baby. And remind me to get ya a damn phone!” he was already disappearing down her hall and she stared at the egg and ham concoction before her, wishing the terrible anxiety she felt over much she liked him would calm so she could taste it.

They ended up swinging by the Center first as Jesse acted like he’d committed a murder when noon rolled around and he hadn’t checked on Daisy yet. Donna felt for him and recalled the feel of his tongue too clearly to a fuss as she flicked her blinker to turn left, away from groceries and phones, and back towards her workplace. Some little part of her hoped he’d forget his promise to buy her one, it was extravagant and a little embarrassing.

The thumping beat of Springsteen’s Thunder Road filled her car with verve that matched the muggy exhaust tainted breeze that whipped through the windows and the noonday sun that glinted off Jesse’s rings as his hand wind surfed out the window.

“I got to play bass on this one.” Jesse murmured like someone might mention they had a hand in scoring a strike in their local bowling championships.

“What?! On this? You’ve worked with Springsteen?” she cried in shocked admiration.

“S’all my mama’s doin’.” he insisted as if regretting he’d made a deal of it. “A-and daddy. He taught me bass.” it’s the first personal thing about his daddy he’s divulged and Donna tucks it away for safe keeping.

“Aren’t you marvelous.” Donna swears.

“Hardly,” he blushes, “S’just when your name is Presley and your mom’s got her hand on the levers -artist’s tend to let ya mess about.”

“I somehow doubt they’d let a complete dud jam on their album.” she snarks and he bites his lip and doesn't retort.

The harmonica warbles on and Jesse’s hand raps out a rhythm on the car door. “-show a little faith there’s magic in the night! You ain’t beauty but hey you're alright, and that’s alright wi’me.” he sings to her, far more melodious than Springsteen’s grit and his eyes sparkle far more than stereo light ever could.

Once parked he worries his lip between his fingers as he stares at a faintly familiar car parked by his bike. It’s probably telling enough that Jesse left the thing here and went home with someone else. Or maybe folks will assume he wandered the streets and dive bars all night. At least that would spare Donna’s reputation while at it. “How ‘bout I go in first a-and if you want you come in later or -if ya don’t mind, you could wait out here? I’ll be back! Soon, I-I won’t dawdle, I swear!” he assures.

“Jesse, take all the time you need.” she smiles at him, leveraging her chair to lay back as sunbeams bathe her in a lemony glow, “I’ll be out here working on my tan.”

His smile is so full of relief that Donna realizes he was worried she’d be offended by his distancing himself and if he weren’t so relieved then maybe she’d be tempted to be offended. But she can’t bring herself to be. It’s all a mess in her head but she figures she can not make it worse by being accepting of the fact he doesn’t want to be seen with her. It’s ok, his smile makes that ok, as does the way those long fingers unclasp his seatbelt and the way those long limbs lean over her in a mirroring of last night and she feels those plush pink lips smooch her forehead, long and devoutly.

“Sit tight, baby.” he commands with his lips barely leaving her skin and then he’s out the door and strutting across the parking lot without a seeming trace of nervousness.

Rounding the hall down towards Daisy’s room he passes by the familiar wall phone and stops in his tracks at the sight of Rosalee propping Daisy up while having the receiver wedged between their cheeks. For a flash in his mind they don’t look a day over six with their scrunched faces and contrasting hair, always so compatible while entirely opposites.

Rosalee spots him first as Daisy is busy yacking at whoever they’ve held captive on the line and her blue eyes light with sweet recognition as she teases, “Well hey loverboy, good morning. Or is it afternoon?”

That makes Daisy look up and she answers someone on the line by proclaiming, “Yeah, he juusssst nowww walked in.”

“Who is that?” Jesse mouths, his forehead a washboard of wrinkled anxiety that Rosalee can’t bear anymore so she cracks and admits,

“It’s Mama, silly.”

Jesse relaxes a little on that account, moreso for the fact Daisy has obviously gotten past her presumption of being hated by their mother, if the giggles and gumption in her talk are any clue.

“Well yeah, I think he can talk,” Daisy is saying, “I mean I dunno, I’ll ask him. He looks like he’s missing a few ounces of fluids. You still got your tongue Jess?”

“Hush up!” He begs, pink in the face at the thought of mama thinking he’s been sleeping around when he was entrusted by Daddy to take care of his sister.

Daisy sticks her tongue out at him and Jesse finds that more reassuring that she’s stone cold sober than any other behavior he’s seen from her in rehab. Checking to make sure their squabble is unwitnessed, Jesse turns back and sticks out his own.

“Eww put that away, where’s it even been this morning?” she groans and his closes his mouth so fast his sisters become convinced of what had just been a suspicion.

“Oooh…” Rosalee coos.

“Nope nope nope.” He silences them with a meaningful hand chopping motion to the throat, “I kinda had an episode last night, and uh, Miss Donna was kind enough to lemme ride with her since my hands were shakin’. That’s it.”

“Oh Jesse!” Mama’s concern is loud enough over the phone to blast Daisy’s eardrums and reach his own, “Are you ok? You gotta make sure you eat and sleep. Did you sleep? She taking care of you? Baby? Are you -is he there, y’all?”

Rosalee scootches aside and pats the tiny sliver of white wall between the twins in invitation and resignedly he wiggles between them as Daisy laughs and tugs on the cord to help it reach him. Tucked together like this it feels doubly absurd to Jesse to be so fretted over and also, entirely soothing. He flings a lanky arm around each girl’s shoulder and squats a little to help Daisy reach his ear as she holds the receiver for him.

“Mama I’m fine.” he insists mid giggle as Rosalee’s finger finds a way to his armpit.

“Yeah, so fine you can’t drive!” Mama retorts and it relieves him that she obviously thinks the best of him, that he was in bad enough shape to go to a random girl’s house and not that he’s behaving like an absolute horndog in a new city. Just to make her not worry, he half wishes she’d think worse of him and just be displeased.

“Alright so, maybe I snooped through Red’s book yesterday.” Jesse admits since he intended to see how daddy and she were taking it, after all. “And it’s such shitty storytelling I got a little worked up. You know how I am when folks lyrics are dry a-“

“-Red wrote a book?” Rosalee interrupts as does Daisy with a-

“-am I in it?”

Jesse purses his lips and nods, twirling the phone cord and waiting quietly for Mama to say something.

When she does it’s a droll, “Red made takin’ LSD sound boring.” And between Donna’s sweet lovin’ and mama’s superhuman ability to shrug off the most defaming shit on the planet, Jesse is left smiling and burdened with only one small anxiety.

“How’s daddy takin’ it?” he asks as his ear gets pinched from Daisy mashing her face to his, eager to overhear. Rosalee is just face watching and Jesse knows she’ll get more information from that than if she listened.

“Oh, a bit hard.” she admits, “It's just so -so- tacky. To do that to a friend!” now she sounds mad, “When did we ever hurt that narcissistic fool? If our lifestyle was so unbearable he coulda quit, he had two decades to do it.”

“Yup.” Jesse pops the word for emphasis and notices someone down the hall has a disposable camera pointed at their little huddle. He supposes they do look a little bizarre, stacked in the alcove like overly matured sardines.

“Anyone giving you trouble about it?” Mama adds in concern.

“No. You know it jus’ came out yesterday and I-I-I haven’t been out and about much today.” Jesse admits and Daisy makes suggestive hand motions at waist level that he pointedly ignores.

“He predicts that when we’re in our fifties we’ll get back together.” she murmurs.

“Spoilers!” he hisses and mama laughs as does someone in the background that could only be daddy. “A real, genuine prophet, that Red.” Jesse wheezes. “And daddy,” he hollers loudly in hopes he’ll hear, “he were wrong about me hating the damn rollercoaster. I shit my pants everytime outta joy, I swear. Don’t let nobody make ya doubt that.”

For a minute all he can hear are mama’s suppressed belly laughs before Daddy’s rings clatter on the other end and the kids can almost hear the scratch of a sideburn against the mouthpiece, “Y’all can hear me?” he rumbles through and Jesse’s face gets smashed from both sides as the girls crowd in.

“Yeah we can hear ya daddy.”

“Alright then listen to me, lil munchkins,” his voice sounds as deep and smooth as chocolate, even over a trashy phone speaker, and they all hypnotically sway in anticipation of his next word, “y’all know how much I love each of ya, that I’d happily burn down my trophy room ‘fore I let anythin’ happen to the window boxes with yer various uh, weeds and rocks and such in ‘em that Red was always mockin’ and uh, I wanna apologize to ya, from the bottom of my heart, that I hindered y’all in your quest to strap the Wests to Roman Candles that one christmas. Ya had the right idea.”

Jesse’s day gets magically better after that phone call, like one sentence from Daddy can patch up his whole life. But deep down he knows, it’s a thread of Donna running through the whole thing, buoying him up, smoothing out the creases, patching up the little cuts. It makes daddy’s voice sound richer and his promises truer and Jesse holds the receiver and smiles as Rosalee makes plans to drive back for classes and visit them while she’s at it and Daisy suggests baby names.

Things are as they should be and somehow that means he ends up walking out into the parking lot with his two sisters, one of whom was technically not released and piling into Donna’s beat up Oldsmobile and taking off for the grocery store as if that were a sane thing to do. Rosalee tries her best to meet the young woman driving them and Donna is anything but cagey, yet with Daisy’s blathering about her and Jesse’s blushing over her and Donna’s slightly overwhelmed joy at it all -they make for a chaotic entourage picking out butter and pickles and hamburger buns.

Next stop, Donna watches as Jesse and Daisy spend a solid twenty minutes weighing the value of different landlines when all Donna needs it for is to answer if she’s been murdered or not and during this analysis she learns from Rosalee that the auburn haired girl with the bashful grin is going to school at Stanford. Nearly gave her father a heart stack, she laughs when she tells it, but she wanted to study psychology and be nearer him -the subtext that Elvis was more often in Vegas than at his own home goes unsaid and Donna doesn’t bat an eye.

For what the papers have to say about this family, there’s never once been due credit given for their love and comradery. It couldn’t have been easy and maybe it was far from good at times, but the Presley’s didn’t create this much love from a vacuum. Some aching part of Donna wants to meet them all and watch them in their natural habitat, swear to them that she gets it, that she’s so starved for it herself she’d trade anything for such affectionate dysfunction.

The phone Jesse buys her has no superior merits in static or connection but it does have a zebra print handle on it that Daisy insisted was the height of chic, and he insisted in turn that Donna deserved sexy things. Looking down at her overalls and plaid shirt, Donna has to agree she’s not exactly in Jesse Presley’s league.

Before she can think on that for too long and get herself into knots about it, they’ve piled back into the car and Daisy is eagerly asking if they can get dinner -if she can eat outside of her fluorescent lit, sterile white prison. Donna feels for her and she can see Jesse trying to formulate an excuse, how now is time to let Donna be as she’s gotta go visit her dad. If she weren’t so convinced these dear kids actually liked hanging with her she’d never have the guts to suggest it but they’re too honest and forthright in their affection for her to doubt it so she hears herself suggesting:

“Y’all could come meet my dad? H-he loves your dad’s music. Learned drums awhile back just to match Fontana. I know he’d love y’all to bits.” Rosalee and Daisy raise a chorus of agreement in the backseat but Jesse hesitates and Dona refuses to be hurt by it. He’s obviously the more cautious of them, and he’s got reason to be. Donna thinks she saw someone taking photographs of them all as they came out of the market.

There’s also the unspoken worry about putting Daisy out in public so soon with surroundings teaming with alcohol and other temptations. It makes Donna clarify, haltingly, “It would be somewhere quiet, wholesome. My dad he’s um, he’s a recovering alcoholic, see? That’s how I got into nursing, mama left to go get more from life and I stayed to take care of him. He’s been clean for a good bit now but -he could use the friendship.”

Daisy looks like she’s about to take offense at being considered only fit for friendships with washed up drunks and Donna gets it, that it’s touchy but it needed to be said if they’re going to meet him. Rosalee intervenes instead with a soft,

“Sounds good to me, we’d love to meet him. For my schedule it works, doesn't it Jesse?” she asks, “I mean, as long as it’s somewhere quiet? Maybe out of the city proper?”

“Yeah,” Donna agrees, already having a joint in mind, “we’ll get out of the city. Maybe out by Plano? They’ve got good barbecue at this one place.”

“Jess?” Rosalee asks again, softer this time.

Jesse just turns around in his seat, long arm bracing himself and his bulging forearm stretched across the console and Donna’s mouth waters at the popping veins and nimble fingers as she watches him stare a mute Daisy down. “Can I take you for barbecue with Miss Donna and her daddy and trust you to behave yourself?”

“Oh for fu-“

“Daisy?” Jesse cuts her off, dead serious and so easily authoritative that Donna’s legs rub closed despite the inappropriate context. He’s not all sweet boy and needy young heir and it gives her shivers. “I mean I don’t want even a raised middle finger outta ya, you hear me? Just imagine whatever you do is gonna be plastered everywhere, think about that and we’ll go. We got a deal?”

Daisy seems to weigh her anger at her brother’s bossiness with the dire need for something besides hospital food and after twenty tense seconds of belligerence she gives in with a hoarse, “Deal. Gosh it’s not such a big thing, relax.”

That night Donna’s love for them gets cemented. They’re only licking their fingers of sticky sauce and ordering five different smoked briskets to try but the kids make conversation like they’ve learned a bit of everything from everywhere. Which in retrospect, Donna assumes that maybe they have, exposed as they were to the best and the worst, but she didn’t expect it to be so natural and kind, so outwardly focused where Jesse pulled anecdotes about the Korean War from her dad she’d never heard and a mention or two of Ma from happier times after one of Rosalee’s queries.

Everyone just talks, talks about the stuff they want to talk about but usually don’t. It’s cathartic and Donna hasn’t seen her daddy so recharged in ages. Jesse ends the night digging in his deep pockets for something that ends up being a guitar pick.

“I-it’s my d-daddy’s, sir,” he stammers as he puts it in Donna’s father’s weather palm, “wish he were here to swap stories but I-I-I thought maybe you’d like it. Till you can m-meet him.”

Her daddy takes it gratefully and thumbs over it with a fondness Jesse has seen a lot of folks show for the man he knows too well and they love more than seems possible for strangers. It never fails to humble him and reignite some apprecIation of his own for Elvis’ warmth that’s made it all the way into the heart of a middle aged vet from Waxahachie Texas.

“I’d sure like to meet the man someday.” Her daddy admits. “And thank ya for dinner, young Presley.”

“I hope you will meet him, I think ya will.” Jesse stammers and can’t bear to meet Donna’s surprised gaze, “We owe your Donna a heap, sir. Mama is about ready to come down here and eat her up she’s so grateful. And I uh, I intend to not lose touch.” he mutters the last bit and it makes Donna feel close to faint with hope that her father misheard as they go on to talk about how the press has treated Elaine Presley and eventually say their good nights. Jesse won’t meet her eye, just tucks her into his armpit like her short height mandates for a hug and says goodnight. After the heat of last night she thinks she’ll waste away from such propriety.

As she gets in the car to drive her dad home, working the shift, a bright light slices across their windshield and after the sparks clear from Donna’s dazzled eyes she realizes someone, probably with a professional grade flash, just snapped a photo of them. They’re ordinary people who had barbeque with the kids of a famous man and now they’re being stalked. It’s not fair to them or the Presley’s and her dad rages against the unfairness of it and how nice those kids were all the way back to his place. It keeps Donna from crying over the notion that Jesse went through all those motions this morning to make her think he liked her more than just a lay, and now it’s a sideways hug and a terse “goodnight.”

Jesse’s heart hurts as he drives the girls back to the center in Rosalee’s car, smiling softly as he listens to their protests against his ratty motel and noticing the car behind trailing their every turn. He knew that the rehabilitation was wrapping up and he knew they were getting sloppy at laying low. There’s been a countdown in his head that’s kept him going, after all, and they’re so close now to the finish line that he had burned out and fallen into Donna’s arms for the last leg. The fact it is the last leg makes him jittery with a thousand thoughts at once. The chief one is how unfair it all is.

For her mainly.

But if there’s one thing Donna taught him last night, it was to take a little time to hurt for himself. By the time he sneaks Daisy back into the Center under a cloak of darkness and drives Rosalee to a hotel fit for housing a nice girl like his sister is, his heart just about wants to burst with hurt. He sends Rosalee up to her room with a kiss to the forehead and plans to have her car back in time for her to drive back tomorrow. He goes cback out to the parking lot and making a beeline for the beater Mercedes’ parked three rows down from his ride. He raps on the window and it doesn’t even take the gun in his boot to freak the unexpecting and nosy little bastard in the driver seat.

“Hey, brother.” Jesse greets as the guy actually rolls the window down in his panic on being confronted, “You like my route?” he asks congenially but there’s an edge to his voice that isn’t false bravado, “I noticed ya liked the barbecue, too. Wanna come up to my room and watch me sleep? Or were you gonna wait till I leave and try that with my sister? Hmm?”

The guy, like most guys in the nation, knows what Jesse did to the last fella who tried something with Rosalee, how his brother Jack and his friend Sam and the whole of Sam’s squad from the Memphis police just sipped bourbon while Jesse drug the fucker by the balls down S. Riverside Dr. It makes the smirking boy at his window a lot more imposing than his decent stature, hippy length hair and strong hands seem on first impression. “N-no man I’m here- I’m here to- uh-“

“Just hand me the damn film rolls and we’ll part ways, ok?” Jesse holds out his hand expectantly and the guy hesitates a bit. Sighing heavily, Jesse reaches into his back pocket for the persuasive shit and he can see the man’s panic show in his eyes again as Jesse reaches, only for it to be replaced by confusion as he’s presented with a badge of sorts. “This here badge was given to me by President Nixon himself, alright? Back when he asked to meet my daddy in the Oval Office, and he gave me this badge and it’s got the authority to demand such private property as photographs of my face and my sisters’ faces, ya understand? I wouldn’t wanna get you into trouble none by writing a damn reportc a. Just -hand ‘em over, k?”

The guy still hesitates, doubtful he’ll get off so easily and wary to give in and still get his ass handed to him. To be perfectly honest he doesn’t care much about some badge that some impeached President gave a rockstar’s fifteen year old kid . “Really, dude, I’m just here to meet a-“

“You really wanna see what my daddy gave me for my birthday last year?” Jesse asks with burdened patience and somehow, without it even being said, the man knows that birthday gift was a gun. Elvis Presley has been downright insane for some time now, it just fits. Jesse Presley, lanky frame bent to wedge into his low window like a looming specter in the dark doesn't look much more stable. He fumbles in the passenger seat and grabs the priceless rolls containing an excellent shot of that girl he’s been hanging out with, in her car with her dad as she pulls out of the barbecue place. It hurts the guy deeply to watch them go but he comforts himself with the thought of all the earlier snaps he’d managed to drop at the publishers earlier.

“Here, Jeeze.” the guy plops them in Jesse’s large palm and Jesse’s fingers curl over them elegantly while his pointer finger beckons still.

“Gimme the one in the camera, c’mon now. I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t shoot me-“

“No, I can do way worse, believe me. The roll, give it here!” Jesse’s ringed fingers make a gimme-gimme motion and the guy notices that those rings would make a mean and gaudy sort of brass knuckle if tested. His nose hurts at just the thought.

He hands over his camera and despite expecting the kid to drop the precious thing and stomp on it or something, all Jesse does is pop the lid and take out the roll. Adding it to the others in his back pocket along with that stupid and sentimental badge that belongs in an era back when his famous daddy still had the nation’s respect.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Jesse murmurs as he hands back the neutered camera, “and I hope you understand that if I ever catch you at this again, for myself or my friends, you’re gonna have more audits and subpoenas than you do donuts in that gut. Am I understood? I’ll bury your ass.”

It’s freaky getting threatened so effectively by a teenager. Like he’s old inside and knows that paperwork is scarier than a knife when you’re tired and broke. Most of these Presley’s belong in the loony bin or the MET, with Elaine Presley being the latter and the rest of her family the former. Either way, all of them need to be under lock and key, except they're too rich for that. And they’re certainly rich enough to make the guy’s

I life a living hell. Or very rich if he were to sell pictures of Jesse Presley necking a rehab nurse on his bike.

“Yeah ok, can I go?” the guy asks, exasperated.

“By all means, get the hell away from my family!” Jesse smiles and backs away, patting at the back of the guy’s car in farewell before the man hears a screeching sound of metal ripping off.

He frantically looks behind him only to find Jesse innocuously sauntering back to his bike in the dark parking lot. Suspicious of what the kid did, and suspecting a poked tire but too scared to get out and investigate while he’s still on the prowl, the guy waits and watches as the kid’s bike revs to life. Sure enough Presley steers the thing right past his window while waving the guy’s license plate like a giant metal envelope in his hand.

“Have fun without this, man, lotta bored cops on the lookout tonight!”

Feeling very good and very angry, Jesse waits at the red light, full aware the guy is watching him and when the fucker doenst get the hint to leave the parking lot ahead of him, Jesse revs his motor and bekons the guy over like a gentlman ushering a lady through the door first. Exhaust fumes have never smelt so sweet to him as he takes a turn trailing the guy until he’s well out of Dallas and nearing Arlington, well away from Daisy and Rosalee.

And Donna. Jesse’s blood boils and the hot summer air clings to his neck as he peels off into the dark of night and heads back to his motel with its greasy bedspread and its mildew shower where he’s gunked up the drain with his fervor for her large lips and sweet eyes and eyebrows that are like busy caterpillars dancing across her forehead. He wants her so badly it’s painful and now he knows what it’s like to be with her and held by her and accepted so readily, so selflessly, so sweetly -it’s worse than before. He can’t even bear to think of settling for shower steam and his fist. He falls into bed and rolls onto his belly, pulling open the bedside drawer before placing the license plate next to the complementary motel Bible. It makes him smile, Donna’s got a phone and he’s got a license plate. He keeps staring at his tin trophy knowing fully well tonight’s slumber is merely metaphorical. He’ll not be sleeping a wink.

He’ll be thinking of her. And how he’s gotta be a bastard for a little longer to keep her safe. And how mama’s about to have a baby and daddy’s about to remarry her and Rosalee just started to sleep herself after the attack and how Daisy will be out and testing herself and how John will be coming home to Ella and their baby and -he really outta visit Ella while he’s here in Texas. And while she’s got Marie staying with her. Marie could use to see another face. There’s so much ahead and none of it needs to involve Jesse fending off reporters so he can go make professions of premature love to a little Texan with a penchant for his pancakes and clitoris nibbles.

Like the planner his mama taught him to be, he steadies himself with a hand to the bridge of his nose and lines all these frantic responsibilities into a tidy row. And to the side are his wants. For a few years now those have gotten a little dusty and he doesn’t begrudge that, not really. But right now he makes another column to this mental checklist.

His needs.

Which comprise Donna and more Donna and Donna forever. It’s so simple, the roses ahead that may take years but it is simple nonetheless.

Go get the girl, that’s what they all say. Daddy had done just that.

Jesse thinks about that phone he got her this afternoon, assuming she’s hauled it out of the trunk by now. He’s already arranged for someone to hook it up by next weekend.

Step one accomplished. He wants to laugh at his own impatience. Step one, already done. Before the end of the week he can be calling her and she’ll be wrapping her fingers around the phone like he wishes she would somewhere else and he can make comments about how nice the barbecue was and she can ask about Daisy’s progress once released.

And they can keep that up. Till he finds a time to marry her. Hopefully not in some red letter year that involves his parents remarrying or making a surprise child.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

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#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #austin butler fanfiction #Austin butler #elvis austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin x reader #austin butler elvis #austin butler smut #elvis the king #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #sarge and lil mama #sarge: 2nd gen

[pixelnrd]

obvously river ultimately made his own choices, but april put a lot of pressure on him to conform and join her dad's company and be someone he ultimately wasn't for her own gain (which wasn't necessarily NEGATIVE gain, their family needed to be provided for but still). Now it feels like instead of having learned her lesson from her own road with unhappiness from conforming she's just...doing the same thing to Dustin?? Instead of trying to figure out why he's so unhappy she's just trying to push him to do things because he's interrupting her time with the woman she left his dad for??? at least that's how it feels, idk i'm annoyed with her lol.

I can understnad this interpretation of April as being a bit... selfish? Hypocritical? She definitely is, and from the sentiments in comments about April on recent posts I get the feeling that others feel the same way about April (which is valid! not devaluing that at all).

BUT I want to counter this with a different interpretation (long post sorry!)

For all her faults, April isn't meant to be seen as unfeeling or callous. April is a product of her own upbringing and time period, and if anything she is a victim of changing societal norms in the 70s/80s with second wave feminism. Her parents gave her a great education and expected big things from her with college and a career - she became a doctor. But society also expected her to have the husband and the house and the babies. And she did all that, she played her life by the book as it was laid out to her - and ultimately found that cumulatively, over time in was a burden. It made her burnt out and unhappy. She was expected to uphold her own career, raise the kids, look after the house, have dinner on the table for them all. That's a huge burden to bear, and at a time when men weren't expected to pick up any of the slack to allow women to enter the workforce and become more than homemakers (and let's be real, plenty of men still don't do this in the 21st century). River in that sense did not make it any easier for April - he was playing his own role, one that didn't expect him to share that burden of homemaking and childreading beyond hanging out with the kids on the weekend and doing the odd handy job. He was blind to the burden that April was bearing.

April was also running in the rat race from college, to career, to wife, to mother. She didn't get time to stop and check in with herself on whether she was having a good time. In fact I don't think April could pinpoint when it started to go wrong either. It was the wearing down over time of a person who was expected to do it all and be everything for everyone.

I do feel like everyone comes out in defence for the heir (which, hey, is fair - its their story!). But I've tried to portray all my characters as having flaws and negative traits, making mistakes and not being perfect. River was far from perfect as a husband and Dad. He just slid right on into the breadwinner male role without question because in the era he lived in, that was what husbands did. He grew up in a non-traditional household and was always subconsciously rebelling against that. He grew up poor and got himself to college. He was given a career opportunity that would make him a lot of money and he genuinelly wanted that. He wanted to have material wealth to show for himself after having grown up with no electricity, eating home grown vegetables and wearing thrift clothes. Ultimately he didn't realise the cost of the lifestyle he sought, or why ultimately his parents rejected it - they were happier people, even though they had less.

It's not entirely April's fault that River went down a path that didn't make him happy. Being with April presented opportunities and a lifestyle that River bought into. But as time went on, and they had a house and kids, River became trapped in the cycle of upholding that lifestyle.

River and April were only 20 when they met. They got locked down too young thanks to societal expectations and familial pressures and ultimately they grew up during that marriage into different people. I think the beauty of their separation - even thought hurtful for all involved - was that they were finally able to explore who they really wanted to be.

That's not to say that they didn't learn their lessons. April tries to tolerate Dustin's apathy, but probably finds it hard considering the pressure her parents put on her, and the sacrifices she feels that she made to give him a great upbringing and feeling taken advantage of - after all, she was full time Mum and and a full time doctor.

When writing the character of April, I thought a lot about my own Mum and my Grandmothers and other Mums I have known in my lifetime. And I thought about how they all did double shift, coming home from their paid work to do the unpaid work of being a wife, Mum and homemaker. I wanted April to have her liberation from this system, so that was what I gave her.

I worry that April's character hasn't come across the way I intended, and that makes me feel like I haven't done her justice. If anything that's a lesson to myself in storytelling! But I hope this essay-like response can give others a different way of thinking about April 😊

#asks #answers #april jones

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Maedhros and Fingon speak of thralldom. A sequel to this, but I think it can be read separately. 1082 words, T

On Ao3

“Are we in danger?”

Startled, Fingon wondered how long Maedhros had been awake, observing him with his too-bright gaze. If he were just a little stronger, he would have every chance to attack Fingon and overpower him, catching him unawares.

“What makes you think so?” Fingon asked.

“You keep reaching for the dagger you have hidden.”

Fingon’s hand twitched around the hilt. He snatched it back.

“There have been sightings of orcs in the mountains,” he said.

It was not a lie. It felt like one, but it wasn’t.

“Do you have reason to believe they will attack the camp?” Maedhros asked.

“You can never be too careful.”

Fingon bore Maedhros’s gaze without blinking. Without even breathing.

“In that case, perhaps I should have a weapon too?” Maedhros said.

One second, two, three. A little more and Fingon’s silence would be suspicious.

“You are in no state to fight,” he said.

“No, but trust me, even left-handed, I can stab an orc in the eye.”

“There is no need for a weapon,” Fingon said. “I am just being overly cautious.”

“How very unlike you.” Maedhros reclined against the pillows and closed his eyes. “But then, what do I know?”

Fingon released his breath in quiet, short bursts. The dagger was scorching his skin even over layers of clothes.

“It is for me, isn’t it?” Maedhros asked without opening his eyes.

Fingon could not think of a lie fast enough. The moment was gone. Now his denial would not sound genuine.

“My father—” No, he would not lay the blame on his father alone in front of a son of Fëanor. “My father and I believe we should be prepared for any possibility.”

“Very reasonable,” Maedhros said.

“You must understand. It is best to err on the side of caution.”

“Of course,” Maedhros said serenely. “I suppose considering other options, such as trying to break the Enemy’s hold on my mind or even simply restraining me, is not cautious enough.”

“Would you want it?” Fingon asked, unwilling to admit that the thought of other options hadn't even crossed his mind.

“Would you?”

“We have not discussed in depth what is to be done if the worst happens.”

“But you have determined that the task of killing me should fall to you. Or are there going to be others with hidden daggers guarding my door?”

“I thought you would want it to be me.”

It sounded pitiful enough even without Maedhros’s mirthless laughter.

“What a romantic notion. Do you regret missing your chance to end my life?”

Nowadays, Fingon could never tell if Maedhros’s words were a callous jape or if he truly spoke what was on his mind. Sometimes, it seemed to him that Maedhros delighted in tormenting him.

“Was I wrong in assuming so?” he asked, determined to ignore Maedhros’s bleak suggestion.

“Findekáno, if I am a mindless thrall, do you think I would care who kills me? Perhaps you and your father believe I would hesitate to fight back if it were you before me. You must know very little of Moringotto’s thralls.”

“Perhaps you would like to enlighten us?”

The words burst out before Fingon could stop them, leaving deep, bleeding gashes in his throat. Maedhros bared his teeth in what he must believe was a grin.

“I would,” he said, “but until you are certain I am myself, you should not believe a word that comes out of my mouth.”

Fingon felt the sea salt on his tongue. Maedhros’s short hair was fire-bright against the pale pillows. Fingon closed his eyes.

“I am curious,” Maedhros said. “What prompted this? Was it my decision to cede the crown? Isn’t it what Finwenolofinwë has been coveting all this time?”

“Do not speak of my father that way,” Fingon said, glad that anger pushed all else aside.

“What way? Did he not name himself Finwenolofinwë and chase the crown while Finwë’s eldest son and heir still lived? I gave him what he wanted, and he is still suspicious, but no doubt, he believes himself so different from my father.”

Fingon didn’t want to think of the reasons for Maedhros’s bitterness. Didn’t want to wonder if Maedhros was angry because he was suspected or because he was discovered.

“You do not help your case by speaking so,” Fingon said, nearly pleading.

“Should I smile and sweet talk you and your father to prove I am not in the Enemy’s grasp? Will it convince you? As I said, you know very little of Moringotto’s thralls.”

Fingon couldn’t find an answer. Whatever he thought to say seemed irrelevant and unimportant. He silently watched Maedhros struggle to sit up on the bed.

“Come closer,” Maedhros said once he had successfully crawled up.

“What?”

“Come closer. What are you afraid of? You are the one with a weapon.”

Fingon walked to him, clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching for the dagger.

“My height is an advantage in a fight,” Maedhros said. “See these two ribs? Use them and my right knee to bring me down. Shattered and healed too many times, they will remain a weakness. My right shoulder will also hinder me, but I believe you are aware of it.”

Fingon didn’t speak for a long time. He stood, powerless to look away from Maedhros and just as powerless to stop his mind from constructing scenarios where he would put Maedhros’s advice to use.

“You just said not to believe a single word from you,” he finally spoke, desperate.

Maedhros grinned at him.

“Use your best judgment.”

Fingon had almost drowned once in an ice well upon the Helcaraxë. He had flailed helplessly as the freezing water had filled his lungs and the ice had closed rapidly overhead. In the dark water, he had lost the sense of direction and swam to the bottom of the well until the strong hands of his father grabbed him and pulled him out.

Now he felt just as directionless.

Maedhros’s quivering shoulders shook him out of his thoughts.

“Are you cold?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros looked at him, uncomprehending.

“You are trembling.”

Fingon put a hand on Maedhros’s shoulder. Maedhros stopped breathing. Fingon quickly stepped back.

“Are you cold?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Maedhros said after nearly a minute. “I am cold.”

Fingon scrambled to find a blanket and covered Maedhros, who had lain down, his back to Fingon.

He didn’t speak again. Fingon sat by his side, his hand hovering over the dagger but never touching it.

#silmarillion #fingon #maedhros #silm fic #zwc fic #it's fingon's emotional torment hours #but my clock is broken so it's always this hour for me

[merakiui]

thinking about soon-to-be king rollo who learns the sweet maid he’s been occasionally fooling around with has fallen pregnant. he’s a man of tradition, and so naturally he has to follow tradition by marrying you. it doesn’t matter if you haven’t a single madol to your name or where you sit on the social ladder. now you’ll be his wife who will raise his heir. you’ll have no say in the matter as he’s your king and you’re merely a maid. rollo can’t possibly have anyone know of such a troubling and highly untraditional situation, so he locks you away in a tower to ensure you’ll be kept as his perfect secret. if you wish not to marry him, then you can remain a servant condemned to confinement.

however, he’s a kind and fair ruler, and so he can be reasonable with you. after all, he cares immensely for you and it would be utterly callous if he forced his pregnant maid into an unlivable, unsafe environment. he isn’t a monster, or so he’ll say when you spit the nastiest insults at him—some he’s never even heard of before. perhaps that’s just a class difference. after all, he would expect that of a filthy maid who was raised in poverty. though he isn’t your usual storybook monster, he’s mean and narrow-minded. you really can’t stand him, but then he’s just barely tolerating you as well. and you’re both tethered by the child growing within you, a little miracle rollo refuses to get rid of. he’s grown attached, and once he’s attached it’s impossible to pry him from the object of his affections.

he visits you every night to check in and bring you anything he thinks you might need. you can fight him all you want, but it does nothing to sway him. he reprimands you for your foolishness, saying it was your fault for tempting him all that time ago and insisting it was safe for him to cum inside! now, as a result of that recklessness, this is your punishment.

although it doesn’t have to feel like a punishment. reciprocate his adoration, respond willingly to his touch, and you’ll find he can be quite pleasant and merciful when you aren’t actively avoiding him like he’s the plague. you’ll love him soon enough. this he’s certain of because with enough time you’ll realize he’s your only source of companionship. and with each passing month, your bump only grows more prominent and you’ve become so hormonal lately, craving the affections and attention of another. he can give that and more to you, so long as you love him.

he’ll ask again, but it never sounds like a question. you’ll marry him, won’t you? perhaps this time, rounded with his child, you’ll agree. there’s only one right answer, and rollo’s certain you’re aware of this. after all, you’ve spent too long locked away in this tower to continue holding onto hope for a future of freedom. such a thing is not to be found here, but perhaps if you finally accept your king there may be far better things awaiting you. he’s kind and fair; you just need to say and do the right things for him to show you those sweet sides. and he’s more than willing to as long as he receives your undying love in return.

#meraki mumbles #tw: pregnancy #yandere twst #i listened to music that reminds me of rollo and now he’s on my mind >_<

[no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist]

Juliette, the Girlboss Trope, and Structural Change

From what I’ve observed, stories with “girlboss” protagonists tend to be less likely to critique existing power structures and end up focusing more on slightly tweaking surface level aspects of them to allow the protagonist to prove themselves within the context of the existing system. To me, this is extremely interesting within the context of These Violent Delights because Juliette is arguably initially set up to fulfill this archetype. Because she is a girl, her claim to the status of heir is questioned by those around her more than it would be otherwise. She feels more pressure to be ruthless and to do whatever she can to earn the respect of those around her. Toward the very beginning of These Violent Delights, she threatens to kill Tyler when he attempts to upstage her, saying that she will kill him before she lets him take her heirdom away from her. Without knowing that These Violent Delights is a Romeo and Juliet retelling, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect Juliette to become the leader of the Scarlet Gang and somehow fix things from the inside at the end. She is well set up to be the Strong Female Protagonist ™ who takes what is owed to her and is hardened and kickass and ruthless and doesn’t let interfering men get in her way. 

But importantly, regardless of how much Juliette initially knows it, this is a facade. The image of the hardened ruthless heir may be one that Juliette encourages, but it is a heavily distorted reflection of who she truly is. Because at her very core, though she was raised to be the heir of the Scarlet Gang and therefore should be the literal personification of the continuation of the blood feud, that is not who Juliette is. Throughout the duology, her main motivation is protecting those she loves. At first, she believes that she can do this by working within the existing system. She tries to legitimize herself as heir within the existing power structure of the Scarlet Gang. However, the Scarlet Gang Juliette is set to inherit is one built upon a foundation of fractures that legitimizes its existence through the perpetuation of the blood feud to the extent that to solve the blood feud, or even seek to calm it, would be a violation of its very nature. The Scarlet Gang could never accept a leader that sought to do this, nor could the White Flowers, who equally rely on the blood feud as a source of power, accept the figurehead of their rival gang as an ally. To do so would be a fundamental betrayal of the nature of these two groups. Thus, Juliette must choose between legitimizing her position as heir, bringing more suffering upon the people and city she loves in the process, and giving up her position as heir and forfeiting her power. 

But if Juliette forfeits her power, who does she forfeit her power to? After all, if she merely walks away, the blood feud will still exist. The refusal of one person to fall in line cannot topple an entire system. The answer comes back to Tyler who, unlike Juliette, truly is meant to represent the continuation of the blood feud. He feels the need for vengeance and hatred at his core, and is constantly suspicious of Juliette, recognizing her lack of loyalty though it is incomprehensible to him. Ultimately, there was never room enough for both of them. When Juliette threatened his life in These Violent Delights, she did so out of fear of him usurping her place. Little did she know, he already had. In representing the longevity of the blood feud, Tyler, not Juliette represents the longevity of the Scarlet Gang. While she was the heir in name, he embodied the very lifeforce of the gang. In a way, he almost represents the Juliette that could have been. And that is precisely why Juliette had to kill him.

Though Tyler’s death is foreshadowed by Juliette’s initial threat in the first book, when she shoots him in Our Violent Ends, it is not the callous, unfeeling kill of an heir pushing aside the final obstacle before claiming their rightful place at the top. Instead, it is Juliette’s final severance from the vicious cycle of the blood feud and the illusion of her status as heir. She recognizes that the power she would wield as the future leader, or even the true heir, of the Scarlet Gang stakes its legitimacy in the continuation of the blood feud, and therefore, she would lose legitimacy as a leader if she were to act against the blood feud. This is further demonstrated when Lord Cai tells her that she can choose between dying a White Flower and being heir following his discovery of her relationship with Roma, representing her direct defiance of the blood feud, and her murder of Tyler, representing her sabotage of the longevity of the blood feud and her rejection of her status as heir.

By this point, Juliette has established that she cannot live as a part of the blood feud. She put a bullet through its heart, firing on her own kin to do so. Because the blood feud has no future, she can no longer pretend to occupy the role of heir. But at the same time, in killing Tyler, she has rejected her place within the blood feud. She cannot die a Scarlet, and she cannot die a White Flower because she refuses to be either. In the end, it is not her and Roma’s apparent deaths that aid the end of the blood feud. Instead, it is their rejection of its perpetuation through their rejection of their statuses as heirs. Their continued survival after their apparent death and the birth of their daughter stands in direct defiance to the division brought on by the blood feud. Though, as is further explored in Foul Lady Fortune, this division is still very present, Roma and Juliette’s continued survival both acknowledges that the kind of change required cannot be brought about by the efforts of one titular protagonist, no matter how world ending their sacrifice, and gives hope for a better future. Unlike the girlboss protagonist, Juliette rejects the status quo and achieves her goals by rejecting power. Instead of seeking to be the figurehead of change, which would also be extremely ahistorical, she does her part and steps back, acknowledging that as a singular person, she does not and should not have the power to fix everything. In the end, she watches from the outskirts of Shanghai, and though she is doomed to forfeit her place within her home to protect the people she loves, she is safe enough to live with her husband and raise her daughter and use her remaining connections to do what she can. Because in the end, one person cannot fix everything, no matter how powerful they are. And the spark of hope represented by Juliette and Roma’s continued survival and the birth of their daughter as well as the protection offered by their weapons ring is enough. 

#disclaimer: i am not necessarily saying that that any of this is correct and true i just sort of went into a trance and wrote this #also i didn't even touch on juliette grieving for tyler and the contrast that was drawn between them there #i might revisit this and talk more about how structural change is approached throughout chloe gong's work #and/or maybe how this is continued within foul lady fortune #or maybe the difference between the girlboss trope and the morally gray thing #hopefully this is coherent #if someone wants to add onto this please do i love overanalyzing things #i was going to wait to proofread this again after sleeping but its fiiiineee #chloe gong #secret shanghai #these violent delights #tvd #our violent ends #ove #last violent call #lvc #a foul thing #aft #juliette cai #roma montagov #juliette x roma #romajuliette #mai #katherina montagova #tyler cai

[stheresya]

Sansa being insecure about people's perception of her wits:

"Joffrey laughed. “He’s my mother’s dog, in truth. She has set him to guard me, and so he does.” “You mean the Hound,” she said. She wanted to hit herself for being so slow. Her prince would never love her if she seemed stupid.[…] (Sansa I, AGOT) …... “Your Grace,” he said sharply. “You truly are a stupid girl, aren’t you? My mother says so.” “She does?” After all that had happened, his words should have lost their power to hurt her, yet somehow they had not. The queen had always been so kind to her. (Sansa VI, AGOT) ...... […]I killed a man last night who was bigger than your father. They came to the gate shouting my name and calling for bread like I was some baker, but I taught them better. I shot the loudest one right through the throat.” “And he died?” With the ugly iron head of the quarrel staring her in the face, it was hard to think what else to say. (Sansa III, ACOK) …... “[…]The Queen of Thorns, she’s called. Isn’t that right?” “It is.” Ser Loras laughed. He has the warmest laugh, she thought as he went on, “You’d best not use that name in her presence, though, or you’re like to get pricked.” Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called “the Queen of Thorns.” Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says. Desperately she tried to think of something clever and charming to say to him, but her wits had deserted her." (Sansa I, ASOS) …... "[…] Oh, why did I have to mention Ser Robar? Sansa thought. I’ve ruined everything. [Ser Loras] is angry with me now. She tried to think of something she might say to make amends, but all the words that came to her were lame and weak. Be quiet, or you will only make it worse, she told herself. (Sansa I, ASOS) …... “You are very beautiful, Sansa,” [Tyrion] told her. “It is good of you to say so, my lord.” She did not know what else to say. Should I tell him he is handsome? He’ll think me a fool or a liar. She lowered her gaze and held her tongue. (Sansa III, ASOS) …... “Harry the Heir?” “Lady Waynwood’s ward. Harrold Hardyng. I suppose we must call him Ser Harry now. Bronze Yohn knighted him.” “Oh.” Alayne was confused. Why should Lady Waynwood’s ward be her heir? She had sons of her own blood. One was the Knight of the Bloody Gate, Ser Donnel. She did not want to look stupid, though, so all she said was, “I pray he proves a worthy knight.” (Alayne III, AFFC)

there's a general consensus that Sansa is a charming girl with great social skills. and that is true to some extent like she's not shy and she's capable of striking up a conversation with anyone. but we can see here that she's not very confident of herself when interacting with people, that she's often overthinking her words in fear of being perceived as stupid or callous. because she wants to be a graceful lady but one cannot be graceful if they're seen as non-clever. i dare say that Sansa's fervent adherence to courtesies is a way for her to deal with her social insecurities through the use of formulaic conversational phrases that she thinks will provide her with positive social interactions.

#girl cannot put up a fight in the idgaf wars 😔 #sansa stark #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

[psi-spectacular]

I had another idea for an AU! Its kinda my take on evil raz/razigula.

During a mission, right before his graduation from the junior agent program, 14 year old Raz gets taken away and kidnapped. Its all hands on deck to get him back. They manage to track him down to an old worn castle in the woods, A known possible Delugionist hotbed. They manage to sneak their way in, but when they get there, they hear chatter about a "Gzar of grulovia". But this cant be right, Gristol still being imprisoned back home. As they come to a stage, the speaker announces the Heir to Grulovia's throne's arrival. A clack of heels, and the group recognizes him immediately.

He doesnt recognize them, but his distinct height and red hair make him easy to see. Razputin Aquato, Grandson of Maligula and heir to her rightful throne. Or at least thats what he believes. He's been changed, his peppy, kind-natured personality turned cold and mean through thorough brainwashing. The sector of Delugionists, believing that the Maliks are cowards and Maligula deserves the throne, turned him into the perfect young king; Cold, Callous, and Easily manipulated. He doesn't know them, but knows they're intruders and that looking at them gives him a massive headache, and sends them to be captured.

The implant in his "temporary" crown keeps his new memories in place, but sends waves of pain as his brain struggles to get his true memories out when he sees his friends. The whole thing is a bit of a rush job, they say its gonna be used until they can find the real crown… and the others hear that its only until they can put a more permanent implant in his brain.

The psychonauts need to find a way to escape their prison and cut the connection in Raz's mind and before they manage to put the chip in a place that's much harder to fix without serious damage. Though, it seems like it wont be as difficult as it seems, as this young Gzesarevich's old personality slowly leaks through the cracks in the delusion, and flutters of old memories slowly take hold despite the pain.

#mfs be like “ill be a full agent soon!” #WRONG! Kidnapping time #king of delugion au #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts razputin #razputin aquato #lili zanotto #psychonauts au #psychonauts fanart #stuff that would have gone hard in the bad end friends era #reo draw raz consistently challenge (fail) #psi-art

[dia-souls]

== Yui as Victorian princess headcanons ==

Yui is the most beautiful daughter and the only child of the king who is supposed to be the heir to the king's throne.

Her soft blonde hair always smells like flowers.

As the princess of her land, Yui must marry a prince to ensure the survival of her father's kingdom.

Yui is upset about this forced marriage, but she cannot oppose his father's order.

She always walks in the woods to relax and caress the flowers and whispers her mother's lullaby.

Yui is a beautiful and kind princess and everyone loves her, and they love her golden heart more than her beautiful face.

The day the prince met her, she was walking in the forest and humming her lullaby.

The prince fell in love with Yui at first sight and wanted to stay with her.

Yui didn't know him, but she could call this look love.

None of them know each other's identity, but they fall in love. Maybe they decide to run away together and keep this love in their hearts forever.

Even though she doesn't know that both of them are princes, they are happy when they are together.

Princess Yui's hair:

Princess Yui loves flowers and their pleasant fragrance.

Whenever she walks in nature, she caresses flowers and smells them.

Sometimes she picks some of her favorite flowers and puts them in her golden and shiny hair.

Whenever others look at her shining hair, they see that her golden hair is decorated with natural flowers, not a golden crown.

According to Yui, the flowers are even brighter and more beautiful than the crown.

Yui's hair always smells like flowers and the sweet scent of natural flowers always flows from her hair.

Princess Yui loves books:

Princess Yui lost her mother when she was a child, but she always remembers her mother reading to her.

Her mother's stories were beautiful and made Yui fall in love with books and remember her mother every time she read a book.

Sometimes she goes out of the castle to study in peace and away from the glamorous life of the kingdom.

She walks in the woods and enjoys reading her books while smelling the pleasant scent of natural flowers.

Princess Yui's personality:

Despite being the king's daughter, Yui has a heart of gold.

Everyone knows Yui for her beautiful face, but the people who live next to her admire Yui for her golden heart.

Yui remembers the kindness of her mother who hugged her and made her happy with her love.

Yui learned to be kind from her mother. Even if she is a princess and a noble, it should not make her callous.

She loves her people and tries her best to help the poor people of her land.

The day Yui becomes the queen, everyone will fall in love with her and want Queen Yui's rule to continue forever.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yui komori #komori yui #diabolik lovers headcanons #yui komori headcanons

[darkestprompts]

do you have a personal interpretation of the heir? like their personality, relationships with the heroes, etc etc

If you mean to ask if I have an Heir OC, I don't. But I have thoughts about them.

For one, they have to have been in a bad place personally when the Ancestor's letter reached them. Even assuming the best of intentions, the whole endeavor reeks of desperation.

The Ancestor knew what buttons he had to push, the whole game he plays the Heir like a fiddle. To me that indicates that the appeal to familial duty and responsibility, as well as redemption for past deeds, resonates deeply with them. Even before the game, the Heir is already tangled in this mess.

I think their relationship with the heroes follows roughly the progression of the average player. First-time players will often be anxious to protect their heroes and play carefully, but lack the knowledge to do anything effectively. Through shock and frustration they learn best practices, yet become more and more detached, more willing to sacrifice, to send heroes away, to let them suffer rather than treat them, to push them to their limits for the good of the venture.

Basically, they descend from a vague sense of noblesse obligé to repair the mistakes of their Ancestor and perhaps carve a place for themself in the world, down into a callous, almost capitalistic focus on the end goals at all costs, worsened by a good deal of sunk-cost fallacy. It makes me think of a line from Dishonored: "We all start with innocence, but the world leads us to guilt."

The Hamlet slowly tears away their humanity not only through The Horrors, but through the choices put on the Heir's hands. By the time they reach the Heart of Darkness, lucky is the Heir who is more than a husk.

To get a sense of what kind of character I believe the Heir is, I suggest watching the original 1973 The Wicker Man, with Christopher Lee. A well-intentioned but self-righteous officer visits an isolated island to investigate the disappearance of a child. The locals run circles around the protagonist, who is shown to be a sacrificial fool, never meant to succeed. You can get great hints from him when writing Reynauld too.

#darkest dungeon #asks #anon #dd heir

[carnal-lnstinct]

Change The Fate's Design

Pairing: Goddess!Reader x War God!Goku Content: au: CLAMP’s RG Veda-inspired fic. afab reader. established rivals. love confession. hinted unrequited love. angst. hurt/comfort. possessiveness. A/N: This is just a retelling of one of the plot twists from RG Veda so spoilers but I doubt anyone is going to read that old manga. I recommend it if you like beautiful, dramatic characters and pain of which you can never recover from! But also, it's CLAMP so it has its...problems. For context: There is a prophecy that the unborn heir of the War God will awaken as the God of Destruction destined to destroy all the realms, and the War God knows.

“...Do you think destiny can be changed?” The golden-eyed war god asked suddenly.

A brow arched in response, followed by an unimpressed stare. Odd. 'You are asking me', she thinks to herself. Fate has never bound her to anything to expect anything in return from it. Everything she has, she has earned by the will of her own heart and the strength of her own two hands. Something troubles the War God to ask her of all people such a thing. Moving confidently, her feet shift around as she turns to face him with a soft, yet arrogant grin.

“To get what I want, I would rearrange the stars themselves.” Boldly left her lips without a hitch nor a blink of an eye.

Goku does not flinch at her callous answer, either. The god of war stares back and slowly a smile forms, breaking the melancholy of his expression. However prideful and selfish her intentions come across, she speaks with a sureness that came as a comfort to him, clearing his fears to reveal a path of hope for a future untethered by the stars. A better future for his son. For that wish, he will become just as selfish as the goddess— if not more— for what he is willing to attempt to save the future prince.

It felt like an affliction in his soul, worse than any atrocities the most wicked creatures could conjure. Weighing all of the heavens against the life of his innocent child, desiring the latter at the risk of calamity befalling everyone else. Including himself. But he does not waver, nor stall. Goku steps forward closing their distance to speak in confidence, sharing his forbidden words.

“Then…Would you lend me a hand in changing the path of the stars?” He asks, a gentle cant of his head as he watches her with a solemn gaze. It is just as bold to ask this much of anyone to join him in sin, let alone a court rival. And damn foolish to assume a prophecy can be changed when the stars have never been wrong. But he needs to try.

Does this push them all towards the path of the prophecy or set the stage for a more desirable future for the heir of his kingdom? 

The incredulous look he gets in return for his plea says it all. Even without sharing the context of his wish to change fate, he must know how ridiculous that sounds. For one such as herself who did not believe in fate's direct hand there has been some truth to it, crediting the natural powers of heaven itself. But... she does not need to believe in it, nor does she require the reason. It was enough he groveled to her for his fool’s errand. Desperate.

The Goddess’ arrogant grin grows and she steps closer as well, lending her attention to his cry for help and smug as can be. There’s a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Will I get what I want if I lend you my strength?” She asks, coming in closer still.

“What is it that you want?”

Her touch is soft and it surprises him, suddenly, gently, resting along the curve of his cheek. Golden eyes widened looking down at her and her own eyes were gentle and reverent of the form before her like he had never seen before.

"...You." There’s a longing in her tone, as well as a demand. But not her ego anymore.

Her intentions are clear but Goku is stunned, to say the least. She hid this well behind her arrogance and duty, perhaps biding her time for the right circumstances of just him and her. Yet, it was only for a moment he hesitated as he took in her sincerity. He understands the opportunity it gave him. 'Anything for Gohan.'

“...If fate can be changed…” His voice trailed off, eyes faltering in concede making his head lower away but her hand shifted to cup his jaw, lifting his head to bring his eyes back on hers.

“I will rearrange the stars to get what I want.” She declares. The silence stirred between them now, unwavering eyes watching the other. And then her other hand grasps his face as she lures him down into a kiss, sealing their fate. Permitting his selfishness and his foolishness to disrupt the will of the realm. They could be selfish fools together.

#goku x reader #son goku x reader #goku imagine #dbz fics #dbz imagine #My writing #this was so much longer but then I realized the rest doesn't matter #also it made me cry #not my most creative fic but its the most self-indulgent ♥

[evilprincesss]

said this in the server but my god the way that azula's relationship with femininity is so fucking insanely complex without the writers ever having CONSIDERED what they were implying abt it. or gender commentary at all frankly.

ursa's initial rejection of her in her childhood is ultimately a product of azula's failure at femininity. yes she's imitating her father's opinions yes she plays dangerous games with her friends and brother, but the latter is clearly the norm in the fire nation (remember the game those fire nation kids mention in book 3 where they like try to blow each other up or something to that effect? while that is played for laughs while azula's behavior is played for drama, it's CLEARLY representative of a social norm in their culture) while the former predates the rejection. ursa already has a strained relationship with azula before azula is shown to regurgitate her father's dark opinions as simple truths. so what it falls down to then is that azula is failing at kindness and nurturing and empathy, all of which are traits that are associated with femininity. it's fair to be put off by your child lacking the social awareness to not say something callous about death, sure, but ursa is shown to completely reject these traits in azula which azula perceives as a rejection of self. frankly, we don't have enough reliable information about azula and ursa's relationship to know how right azula was to perceive it that way, but nonetheless she did, and so her resentment of her mother is tied to her resentment of her own failings at womanhood.

however, azula is rewarded for her and encouraged in her masculinity. ozai likes her violence, her apathy, her ruthlessness. she is called prodigy for her capacity for violence through firebending. her strategic mind is nourished for the sake of military conquest. all of this is allowed because even before she becomes second in line for the throne, she's a highborn lady in an imperialist country that runs on government sanctioned violence. so azula is allowed to excel in masculinity on the grounds that she is a potential heir, and ozai projects onto her under the guise of them both being the secondborn sibling he believes deserve to usurp their firstborn brother, failing to account for both the confines of her assigned sex and the fact that she is like iroh in terms of prodigy while he is like zuko in terms of lack of paternal favor.

but azula doesn't reject femininity. after her mother disappears, she starts to wear makeup constantly. to the extent that she's only seen without it when she's going to bed. during "the beach," she attempts to mimic ty lee's femininity to obtain male validation and attention (and my thoughts on THAT in regards to her gender and sexuality are plentiful of course), dumbing herself down and making herself smaller in her attempt, even if she fails to commit to it after she gets instant gratification. although it might not seem like it, she also submits to men. her will is her father's. her mission is whatever will please him. on its own, that's understandable; he is her father and her fire lord, of course she would submit to him as her superior. but she submits to zuko in a strange way as well. not only does she go out of her way to bring him home and restore his honor and consequently defer to him as heir in her place, it seems that she was never actually the crown princess, even while he was banished. why do i say that? well, when she brings zuko back home, he's announced to their people as "crown prince zuko." of course zuko could have simply been restored in the line of succession, but given that people continue to address him as "prince zuko" in his exile and the time constraint of his return to the fire nation and lack of any known royal decree that his place has been restored, i would garner a guess that azula, for whatever reason, was never actually promoted to crown princess in his absence.

all of this and the most bryke did for worldbuilding re the fire nation and gender politics was weirdly imply they were more progressive than the water tribes because they let women fight sometimes even though the ONLY fire nation women we see fighting in any military capacity are azula, mai, and ty lee. imagine if they'd ever actually explored gender in any meaningful way... actually don't. it probably wouldn't be very good since all their best work seems to be mostly accidental.

#atla #azula