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#'wicked' women is a better title
fideidefenswhore · 6 months
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Scholars have usually treated Katherine [Parr] sympathetically, partly because of Foxe’s revelations about her problems with Henry, but often they have ignored her political ambitions. In early 1543, shortly after the death of her husband, John Neville, Lord Latimer, Katherine was considering marriage to the two single men who were the closest relatives to [Prince] Edward, the king’s heir: Henry [VIII], himself, and [Thomas] Seymour. When Henry died, she quickly wed Seymour and supported his intrigues against his brother.
Wicked Women of Tudor England: Queens, Aristocrats, Commoners, by Retha M Warnicke
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wileys-russo · 3 months
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jenni hermoso ”i knew i would find you from here” a house party
j.hermoso II never too late
"i'm just gonna get some air!" you yelled over the music, kissing your best friends cheek who nodded, downing your drink and dropping the cup on a table on your way out, exhaling at the sudden peace and quiet of the backyard.
you pretended not to notice the few couples littering the back patio, curled up together in darkened corners and pool chairs taking advantage of the privacy as you wandered a little further away, sitting down at the edge of the pool.
this was supposed to be a high school reunion of sorts, though it felt a little sad to watch some of your now near thirty year old classmates try to re-live their 'glory days' most of the class now married, engaged or on call for their kids babysitters.
you of course had none of the above, having chosen to study right out of school and though you had a very high paying well respected job to show for it, you couldn't help but feel robbed of some other aspects of life you'd been too careless with.
"i knew i would find you here."
speaking of things you'd missed out on.
you looked up at her voice, a smile settling in your features as you took in the woman in front of you, no longer the awkwardly tall teenager you'd messed around with in empty classrooms during your free periods.
"jennifer hermoso fuentes." you smiled, pushing yourself up to your feet, stomach fluttering a little at the knee buckling grin she sent your way. "in the flesh, hola hermosa." the girl opened her arms for a hug as you settled into them, laughing as she jostled you side to side gently, kissing your cheek.
"of all people i expected to run into here, you weren't on my list jen." you admitted, the two of you breaking apart and taking a seat beside one another, legs dangling in the pool.
"mm and why is that?" she asked with a curious smile, leaning back on her hands and watching you. "a title winning national football campeón? slumming it at a house party with us campesinos." you teased as she playfully rolled her eyes and flicked you with water.
"what can i say? the honor is yours." jenni winked and you'd be lying if you said your stomach didn't do a little flip just like when you were a teenager.
"vale enough about me now! y tú? what are you doing with yourself?" jenni finished catching you up on everything around a half an hour later, bumping her shoulder into yours as you shrugged.
"-but sometimes i feel like i blinked and ten years has gone by, and i have a career sure but i do not have much to show for it in a way of a personal life." you wrapped up your summary, cheeks blushing pink as you looked away.
"what are you-" you questioned as the taller girl grabbed your hands inspecting them. "checking for a wedding ring, i would hate to be flirting with a married woman." jenni grinned cheekily as she dropped your hands and you couldn't help but smile.
"you have not changed." you chuckled at her abrupt boldness, jenni never afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve, one of the most honest women you'd ever known even if sometimes you did not ask for her honesty.
"i have too! i grew up, i am an adult." jenni stuck her tongue out at you as you shook your head. "big child in an adults body maybe." you teased, pushing her as a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you, the faint pulse of the music inside as the night ran late and the party started to slowly die out.
"hey you have something that none of the idiotas here have." jenni stated as you gave her a curious frown, caught off guard as she leaned in and pecked your lips.
"you've kissed a world cup winner!" her lips curled into a wicked grin as she lay down looking up at you and you had to laugh, touching your lips where they tingled a little at the familiar sensation of kissing her.
"maybe you have changed..." you mused, leaning down closer as she quirked an eyebrow, playful glint in her eyes. "...you used to be a much better kisser." you whispered, patting her chest and sitting back up as she looked up at you incredulously.
"es que tan?" jenni sat up quickly, clearly offended by the statement which only amused you more as you nodded. "sí, de verdad." you confirmed, features painted into a smirk.
"mmm well maybe you have changed too princesa." jenni echoed as you now raised an eyebrow at her, though before you even had a millisecond to comment you were plunged underwater, feet hitting the bottom.
"you used to be a good swimmer!" jenni laughed, doubled over as you resurfaced coughing and spluttering, eyes narrowed into a filthy glare.
but you hardly had a moment to condemn her as she dove in to join you, popping up in front of you with a wiggle of her eyebrows and a pearly white toothy grin.
"i did not miss you cabrón." you spluttered, treading water as the footballer swam even closer. "yes you did." jenni nodded, hovering right in front of you now, her face only a few centimeters from yours.
"i did not." "you did." "you wish." "maybe i do."
another silence fell between you as your eyes roamed one anothers faces, drinking in every little detail both new and old that had stayed or appeared in the ten or so years you'd not seen her up close.
"why did we break up?" you were caught a little off guard at the abruptness of her question, sighing at the way her eyebrow creased curiously.
"i don't know jen. you were getting serious with football, i was going to university. we just...we went down different paths of life that didn't cross over." you struggled out an answer, neither of you really holding any ill will with the other but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't occasionally found yourself doing a little internet deep dive into what your ex was up to.
"i only came here hoping i would see you." again you were caught off guard by her statement, searching her eyes for any signs that she was messing with you but only finding blunt honesty, her speciality.
"well...here i am." "here you are." jenni smiled and those butterflies appeared as you reached across to push a few wet strands of hair from her forehead, shivering lightly as a gust of wind blew hitting your damp skin.
"vamos, lets get dry." jenni nodded toward the steps, the two of you swimming over, jenni hopping out first and extending a hand to help you. "you didn't think this through, did you?" you questioned, motioning to both of your soaking wet bodies and not a towel in sight as she smiled sheepishly.
"well...i'm not staying far from here. i have a very spacious shower in my hotel room, and lots of towels, comfortable bed, movies on order, snacks." jenni grinned hopefully, poking at you as you smacked her hand and wrapped your arms around your wet form.
"are you asking me to come for a sleepover hermoso?" you teased as the taller girl chuckled and shrugged. "maybe. but just, with a little less sleeping." she hinted with another wink that had your stomach twisting, offering you her hand with a charming smile, brightening as you grabbed it and the pair of you headed off toward the side exit.
maybe it wasn't too late for some things to work out for you after all.
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kyleoreillylover · 1 year
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𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
Rhea Ripley x Dominik Mysterio x Fem!Reader
Summary: You lose your NXT Women’s title, and Rhea and Dom are here to pick up the pieces.
Warnings: Cursing, typical wrestling violence, anger, etc.
Word Count: 3,138
A/N: We all saw what happened on Raw, so I just wrote this as a lil comfort fic for myself. Hope you enjoy!
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You shut your eyes as you held your side, trying to block out the sound of Becky Lynch’s music playing in the air, trying to ignore her standing over you, a smirk on her face as she held your title. That was yours! You were so close to winning, so close to putting Becky away and making her eat her words that she’d been spewing for the past few weeks, make her regret her stupidity by making this match an Extreme Rules match.
Just a couple minutes ago, both of you were fighting, and you wee bruised and beaten, blood gushing from your face. Becky wasn’t doing much better, her arm bleeding and her elbow was fractured early through the match when you hit it with a crowbar. You were fighting in the crowd, beating the absolute hell put of each other with kendo sticks and anything you can get your hands on.
You tried to fling the kendo stick at her again, but she dodged it, and it clattered onto the floor. Your eyes widened at the angry look she was giving you; like this was the beginning of the end and you knew if you wanted any chance at winning you needed to stay away from her direct line of fire.
You bolted down the stairs, taunting her to follow you and she gave into the bait, hurrying right behind you as the crowd got louder with anticipation, wanting her to beat your ass.
You rolled into the ring, maneuvering over the chairs sprawled out but you didn’t get very far because she punched you from behind, taking you down with hit after hit after hit, her anger consuming her as she beat you into the canvas. You laid there limp, your mind hazy until she got you to your feet, trying to set you up for the manhandle slam.
You panicked, pushing her away and kicking at her elbow to make some room between the two of you. She fell to the floor, yelling out in pain. You spotted your title next to you, still in the ring from when you tried to hit her with it before. You saw Becky starting to get up, and you knew it was now or never.
You slammed the title against her face the minute she stood up, following that up with a ddt on the chairs. She was knocked out, and you smirked as you went on top of her for the cover, ready to finally prove to her that you were the better women.
“1... 2... 3-” The ref was about to slam the mat for the three count when you felt yourself getting dragged out the ring. Your groaned when your body hit the floor hard, but anger overtook the pain. You had her beat!! Who the fuck did that?!
You got your answer when you looked up and saw no one other than Tiffany Stratton standing over you, a smirk on her face as she stared you down. “That is supposed to be my title!” She screamed at you, her high pitched voice grating on your ears. “It was supposed to be Me vs you! But you chose Becky, and now you’re gonna pay bitch.”
You stood up, making your way to her with the nastiest glare she’d ever seen on your face. “Don’t blame me because your an untalented blonde bitch who can’t wrestle to save her life!” Tiffany took a step back but it was too late, you punched the taste out of her mouth. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek as she tried to get away from you. Clearly she didn’t think this through.
“Now you’re gonna pay, bitch!” You yelled at her, enjoying the look of fear on her face as you stalked her. She bolted for the ring, and you chased after her.
You were right on her heels, running into the ring determined to beat her plastic face in when you ran right into a steel chair striking you square in the face, sending a jolt of pain surging through your skull.
Your vision blurred for a moment as you stumbled backward, clutching your throbbing cheek. Becky had a wicked smirk on her face as you collapsed to the floor, the taste of blood lingering in your mouth. You had no strength left to defend yourself as she hit you on the head, in the ribs, anywhere she could get the chair on you, over and over again. Eventually she lifted you up, hitting the manhandle slam on you onto of the steel chairs.
You groaned when your back made contact with the chairs, barely able to see through the haze of pain as Becky covered you for the three-count, the cheers and boos of the crowd sounding like a distant echo. The referee's hand slapped the mat, and your heart dropped when you heard the bell ring.
You lost. Everything you've worked so hard for, everything you've wanted for so long, slipped through your hands in three seconds.
Three. Fucking. Seconds. The number repeated in your head over and over again as you left the ring, storming backstage. It's where Dominik found you, pushing past wrestlers and crew members yelling at the ones who gave you pitying looks. "What are you looking at?" You screamed at a screen tech, who froze in fear as you pushed past him.
"Baby!" He yelled, trying to get your attention. You heard him but you didn't turn to him, you couldn't bear to look at him and the look of disappointment and anger he would be wearing on his face. Why wouldn't he be disappointed in you? You just lost in the fucking main event to one of your biggest enemies, and now your title is in her dirty little hands. He was probably disgusted with you right now. And Rhea. God, Rhea was probably repulsed by you right now. You ignored him calling you and quickly made your way to the Judgment Day locker room.
Your fists clenched, and you threw anything within reach—chairs, bags, water bottles—across the room, all while cursing loudly. The sound of your frustration reverberated off the walls, and the locker room atmosphere grew tense. "Fuck!" you shouted, sending a chair flying across the locker room. "This should have been mine! I had her!"
"Mi vida, it's okay! You did your best," Dom finally found you and walked in, trying to console you, his voice gentle, but you whirled around, your eyes blazing with anger. "Okay?! Did you see what just happened out there? I lost! I let everyone down!" Your voice trembled with frustration and regret.
"You didn't let anyone down, mi amor! Especially not me!-"
"Stop lying Dom!" You spat at him, throwing another bag at the wall. "I fucked up, now you and Rhea can go leave me now that I don't have a title. So stop acting like you care!"
Dominik walked closer to you, eyebrows furrowed at your words. "I'm not fucking lying! I don't know who the hell told you this shit, but Rhea and I would never leave you, title or no title." He grabbed your hand before you could throw another bag, ignoring your glare and wrapping his arms around you. "Let go, Dominik!"
"You need to calm down, mi corazon!"
"You should listen to him." The two of you stopped arguing and looked in the direction of the voice. JD Mcdonagh was standing in front of the door, giving the both of you a wry smile.
"Excuse me?!" You asked him with a scowl. Who gave him the audacity to interrupt a clearly private moment between you and Dom?? Dominik tightened his arm around you, giving you a warning glance that you ignored. JD was either oblivious to your attitude to chose to ignore it, acting like he heard nothing from you.
"What do you want JD? We're busy here." Dominik asked with an exasperated sigh.
"I saw what happened out there love."
"So did thousands of fans here and at home. What's. Your. Point." You questioned him, your piercing stare making JD falter for a second before he continued again, and Dominik prayed he didn't say anything stupid. JD already had Priest almost beat him up, he didn't wanna add you to the list.
“I just wanted to tell you have nothing to be ashamed of, honestly." He walked closer to you, a sympathetic look on his face. "And that it's okay, everyone loses sometimes. Some more than others, but not everyone is good enough to win all the time," he said, and Dom facepalmed internally. He might've been Finn's friend, but god was he dumb as shit. Dominik knew this wouldn't end well.
You went silent for a moment, narrowing your eyes at him and removing yourself from Dominik so he didn't get hurt before you hurled a table across the room and advanced on JD, shoving him against the wall.
J.D. tried to stutter out an apology, but your angry glare cut him off. "Mind your own business!" you spat, your voice dripping with venom. "Stop getting in my business! Stop acting like you're a part of Judgment Day! You never will be, you short piece of—"
“Baby, calm down!” Dom stopped you, trying to hold you back before you killed JD. "Calm down, amor.” Dom urged, his voice soft but firm.
You glared at JD for a moment longer before finally letting him go and taking a deep breath, your anger wavering and the sadness you had been trying to ignore consuming your mind. Dom noticed the change in your demeanor and gently put his hand on your face, his fingers grazing your cheek. You looked up at him, and for a moment, all the anger and frustration melted away as you met Dominik's caring gaze. He wiped away a tear that had escaped your eye and whispered, "It's gonna be okay, mi vida. We're here for you, no matter what."
But you turned away, unable to accept his comfort just yet. You didn't deserve it. "I don't want to hear it, Dom," you muttered, your voice choked with disappointment. "I lost. That's all there is to it."
Dominik sighed, his heart aching for you. He knew you were taking this loss hard, and there was nothing he could say to make it better. But he couldn't stand seeing you like this. "I'm proud of you, you know," he said softly, his hand gently turning your face back toward him.
You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over again. "Don't, Dom. Please."
He gave you a disappointed sigh, but he didn't push you any further. "Come on, I'll wait out here, you grab your stuff and we'll go," he said, wanting to do nothing more than wrap you in his arms and take all your sadness away from you. You nodded, and he made his way out of the room while you got your stuff. He quickly pulled out his phone, texting Rhea, who was back at the hotel.
Rhea<3 Were gonna be at the hotel soon, mami. How bad is it, baby? I saw it on the TV. She didn't look okay. It's bad. She's not doing too good. Physically or mentally?
Both, but mostly mentally. I've never seen here like this. She's about to come out the locker room, see you later mami. I'm gonna kill both of those stupid pricks for hurting her. Drive safe, baby <3
You slid out the room, your bag in hand and a look Dominik couldn't read on your face. "You ready?" He asked, grabbing your bag from you. You nodded, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of the room.
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The drive was mostly silent, with you staring out the window, lost in your thoughts, and Dom stealing worried glances at you.
When you finally arrived at the hotel, you both entered the elevator in silence. You felt Dominiks stare burning a whole through your skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. You felt like you had let everyone down, especially Rhea. She had been your biggest supporter, and now you had lost the title she had helped you fight for.
The elevator doors opened, and you both made your way to your room. You hesitated for a moment in front of the door, not sure how to face Rhea. But Dom encouraged you to go in first, his hand on the small of your back leading you into the room. As you entered the hotel room, you were met with the sight of Rhea sitting on the couch, her eyes filled with worry. "Baby, are you okay?" Rhea rushed up to you, concern etched on her face. She reached out to check on your injuries, but you pulled away, unable to meet her eyes.
"Leave me alone, Rhea," you muttered, heading toward the bedroom, trying to avoid her touch and gaze. You were sure she was disappointed in you, and it hurt too much to face it.
Rhea followed you, eyes never leaving you as you avoided her gaze, "I know you're probably hating me right now," you muttered, your voice trembling. "You and Dom must be so disappointed. Just break up with me already; I know you want to."
Rhea's face fell, and she motioned for you to sit next to her. You hesitated but eventually sat down when she gave you the look that meant she wasn't playing around. She pulled you into her lap, wrapping her arms around you tightly. She examined the bruises on your face, her fingers gently tracing the marks. "That's not true," she whispered, her voice filled with a softness that few people heard her speak with. "I could never hate you, and we could never leave you, not for something like this. I love you, and I always will."
"I lost, Rhea. I lost the title," you mumbled against her skin, feeling defeated.
Rhea tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into her eyes. "And you'll win it back. I'm not mad at you, love. You did your best. It took two of those bitches to put you down." She stroked your cheek, her anger rising looking at the bruises on your beautiful skin. " I'm angry at Becky and Tiffany, and I promise you, I'll deal with them. But I couldn't never be mad at you, baby."
"But I-"
"No buts." Rhea cut you off, giving you a serious look and tightened her grip around you. "It's not your fucking fault, you hear me?" You nodded, but she shook her head at your action. "I need to hear words, love."
"It's...not my fault." Rhea knew you were still hurting and trying your best, so she didn't push you for more. She gave you a kiss on the cheek and glanced over at Dominik. The two shared a look, communicating without a word. Dominik quickly got up to your side and helped you up. "C'mon hermosa, you'll feel better with a bath. You wanna walk or you want me to carry you?" You didn't say anything, just walked into his arms, making the both of them chuckle as Dominik carried you to the bathroom, his strong arms making you feel safe.
He filled the tub with warm water and returned to help you undress, gently tending to your wounds and bruises. The warm water eased the pain, and you let out a sigh of relief as you sat down. As you soaked in the warm water, Dominik joined you, sitting behind you and gently massaging your shoulders to help ease the tension in your body.
Dominik carried you to the bed afterward, making sure you were comfortable. Rhea joined you on the bed, her fingers expertly massaging your tense muscles. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension slowly melt away under her touch.
"Go to sleep love. We'll be here when you wake up." Rhea whispered to you, stroking your back. You hummed back as answer, and Dominik smiled at your tired state and kissed your forehead. You smiled at the gesture and relaxed into Rhea's arms as you slowly went to sleep.
Rhea gently brought you into the covers, trying to not wake you as she tucked you into the bed. She made sure you were completely asleep before turning to Dominik, her voice changing from sweet to threatening. "I am going to kill Priest."
"Mami..."
"Don't mami me. Your injured. Finn's injured. He was supposed to be there for her. I told him to have her back, and he failed." Rhea hissed out, standing up and clenching her fists. She gave him one job, and he couldn't even do it. Didn't even show up. How pathetic.
Dom was quick to sit Rhea back down, trying to calm her anger down. "I know you're mad mami, I'm pissed off too. He left her hanging."
Dom held his hands out, and Rhea immediately slipped her hands in his slightly larger ones. He brought them to his lips and kissed them, relishing in the small smile Rhea gave him. "I know you want to deal with him, but please, for her sake... wait until Raw." 
Rhea sighed, looking away and biting her lip in thought. Dom grabbed her face, gently turning her back to him, meeting her eyes.
She gave him a resigned look and nodded at him. "Fine. You're right, Dom Dom. I don't want to overwhelm her." She turned to you, staring at you sleeping peacefully, looking like every bit of the angel that you are. "But Monday, I'm putting him in his place, and you can't stop me. Got that?" Dom nodded, knowing he couldn't fight her on this even if he tried. Once she wanted to do something, she'd do it no matter what.
"You can deal with him, but you need to get some sleep first, mami." She nodded at him, getting up and going to the bathroom to change into her pajamas. She came back to the sight of Dominik already in his pajamas, sleeping soundly and cuddling into you. She smiled at the both of you before slipping into the bed as well onto your other side. She laughed when you immediately pulled her into you, Dominik stretching out his long legs and throwing it around both of your waists. She cuddled up to you as well, stroking your cheek as she watched the rise and fall of your chest.
Her anger rose as she looked over your bruises and your face swelling at all the hits you took. She forced herself to calm down for you and Dom, grounding herself by caressing your skin. She'd let sleep overtake her later, but as she looked at you, she promised herself one thing.
Everyone who hurt you was gonna pay.
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crash-and-cure · 11 months
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Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley. 
A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted ​ for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting  after 30K (don’t judge me)
Then 
There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would. 
These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior. 
Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.
It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances. 
I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable. 
But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore. 
And to think this is all over some musician.
She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion. 
As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen. 
He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking. 
While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot. 
And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind. 
Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way. 
But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process. 
Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.
All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally. 
She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him. 
So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit. 
She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.” 
He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks. 
“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for. 
“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name. 
“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back. 
“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents. 
She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”
He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her. 
It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past. 
Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be. 
“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.” 
“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.
“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”
“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script. 
That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.
Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.
So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again. 
She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is. 
“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.
“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her. 
“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is. 
“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.
“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.” 
“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back. 
“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.” 
“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?” 
“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”
The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town. 
“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.
Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it. 
But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this. 
“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”
“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it. 
“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.” 
Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob. 
Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with. 
Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged. 
“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.
“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.
“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive. 
“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.  
Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately. 
Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought. 
“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.” 
“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended. 
“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer. 
Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole. 
“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”
He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”
She is not buying it though.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this. 
It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”
“Why?” she asks, not really thinking. 
“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”
She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.” 
He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile. 
“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”
He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely. 
Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two. 
“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.” 
“I-I don’t follow.” 
“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.” 
“Sweetheart everybody sees me.” 
“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”
“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.
“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,” 
“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”
“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”
“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”
“So how long you been in the business?”
Without missing a beat. “50 years.”
He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”
He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?
“Never.”
He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm. 
After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on. 
“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her. 
“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”
“And Toni’s husband?” 
“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head. 
“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks. 
“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.” 
“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence. 
She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up. 
“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover. 
“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.
1, 
“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone. 
“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?” 
2. 
“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen. 
“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”
That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same. 
But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster. 
“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it. 
The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx. 
How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.
How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay. 
How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena. 
She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”
Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage. 
Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control. 
In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away. 
She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife. 
Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now. 
Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur. 
“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation. 
“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”
“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”
“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…” 
“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”
Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas. 
“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”
“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.
Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day. 
They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible. 
She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day. 
There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady. 
Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day. 
They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.  
Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe. 
In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.  
“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”
For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers. 
And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day. 
So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go. 
The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset. 
Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.
“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve met my mother.” 
Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.  
Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.” 
It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing. 
The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter. 
Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them. 
Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been. 
What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune. 
No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters. 
Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about. 
One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters. 
Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.
It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another. 
For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.
By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her. 
“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.
“Actually she’s going with me.” 
“And you’re going to wear that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.
Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?” 
“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.” 
A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister. 
“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”
Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?
That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister. 
It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons. 
He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.  
Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.  
Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road. 
It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane. 
She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.
Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences. 
“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”
Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.
It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.
Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.
“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”
“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”
“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback. 
That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her. 
It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.
It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor. 
But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door. 
Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers. 
Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette. 
He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before. 
She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible. 
They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had. 
She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all. 
They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things. 
That was the way she learned that her sister was dead. 
She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.
It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her? 
As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon. 
She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears. 
She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.
Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun. 
But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself. 
In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place. 
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger. 
Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime. 
He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.
She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world.  The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena. 
“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”
“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing. 
“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her. 
“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.” 
“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.
“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at 
It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?
“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”
Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears. 
It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative. 
She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent. 
But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace. 
Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.
The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.
At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her? 
“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”
Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”
“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep. 
The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain. 
This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.
This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras. 
It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others. 
When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable. 
She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.
It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous. 
Sorry for your loss
It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words. 
It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone… 
Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time. 
What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.
She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.
She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two. 
She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.
Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA. 
But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive. 
And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.
It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her. 
Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her. 
Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister. 
Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone. 
As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.
Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child. 
I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican. 
She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.
Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head. 
She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon. 
As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way. 
What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.  
It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.
Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera. 
She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her. 
Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed. 
And she decides neither will her baby. 
She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more. 
Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.
Now
Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.
But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long. 
Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did. 
Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did. 
Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.
“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him. 
It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting. 
Three black women huh?
That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to. 
It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed. 
Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react. 
It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react. 
“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes. 
They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her. 
He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading? 
If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise. 
He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.
She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in. 
He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would. 
He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces. 
His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her. 
The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project. 
The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years. 
He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go. 
But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.
He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood. 
In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.
He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching. 
If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him. 
He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.
Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers. 
He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side. 
He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life. 
But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit. 
Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21
It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.  
The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You. 
He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd. 
He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this. 
In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon. 
But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.
He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted. 
He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come. 
It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress,  bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel. 
“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually. 
He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss. 
“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back. 
He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”
Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”
Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath. 
She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.” 
“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig. 
“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose. 
“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.
“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.” 
He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”
“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?” 
She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories. 
“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.  
“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below. 
Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him. 
It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you. 
Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head. 
“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama. 
Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. 
He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around. 
“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth. 
“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…” 
She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth. 
“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption. 
“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”
It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life. 
“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.” 
“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.
“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.
“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that. 
“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.” 
“Really?” 
“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”
Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand. 
But there’s one part that eats at him still.
“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point. 
That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”
Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”
She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set. 
She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse. 
Not if Elvis had any say about that.
He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.  
“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.” 
The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask. 
But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.
It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms. 
Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long. 
They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this. 
They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her. 
He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and 
The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.
But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself. 
“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened. 
That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from. 
But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?
So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”
Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.
And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was. 
He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there. 
He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together. 
But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go. 
It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.
Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP… 
His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign. 
But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth. 
The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out. 
It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something. 
He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out. 
But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here. 
But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.
Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way. 
It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.  
But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.
As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t  in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name. 
It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.
At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset. 
When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.
It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment. 
Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards. 
“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation. 
“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him. 
He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp. 
He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.
But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter. 
He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.
Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.
His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.
He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself. 
But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever. 
Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?
After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration. 
There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.
The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point. 
All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?
But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.
It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence. 
Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine. 
This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her. 
But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him. 
His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it. 
He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to. 
But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article. 
He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this. 
It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of. 
Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country. 
Really he just wants to lay down. 
Sometimes forever. 
In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again. 
At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.
He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one. 
So he’s not about to let her go so easily.
Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.  
He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open. 
“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”
So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be. 
She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down. 
“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.
He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what 
“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”
“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”  
“Wh-what?”
“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words. 
“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”
She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.” 
“But… I’m not…”
She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”
“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words. 
“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”
She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.
He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.
He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him. 
This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.
When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily. 
But she’s not one to be swayed so easily. 
Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office. 
Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.
Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach. 
Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.
It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass. 
He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday. 
He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted. 
He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers. 
She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did. 
Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.
Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her. 
And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer. 
Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.
Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.
It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. 
He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet. 
The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.
Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb. 
It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek. 
“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek. 
The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it. 
In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him. 
Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.
“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms. 
“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?” 
“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp. 
Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.
“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.” 
He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.
“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”
“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.
He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.
That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission. 
He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away. 
He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door. 
“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”
She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it. 
“Why would I want them to be yours?” 
A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention. 
She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.
He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her. 
When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight. 
He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip. 
What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.
She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.
“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits. 
“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement. 
“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her. 
“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.” 
He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest. 
But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.
“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”
It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment. 
“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break. 
She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”
If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer. 
As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why. 
“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.” 
She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose. 
He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.
She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go. 
Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up. 
“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh. 
“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers. 
She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat. 
Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day. 
If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her. 
He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.
His baby.
He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act. 
With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone. 
Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.
He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him. 
This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back. 
But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living. 
Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms. 
Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby. 
On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day. 
It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it. 
As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer. 
A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk? 
Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms. 
In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it. 
Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?
What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?
Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.
But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi. 
But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.
So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story. 
How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set. 
Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department. 
“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck. 
He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out. 
“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment. 
 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her. 
He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”
“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”
Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”
“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”
He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them?  How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up? 
“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”
He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.
“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.” 
She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is. 
Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door. 
He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?
“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…” 
“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are. 
“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.” 
Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.
“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”
And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror. 
He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.
He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.
“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers. 
And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.
She’s right, this isn’t a movie.
So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back. 
He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light. 
If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one. 
What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image. 
It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.
No.
She’s not gonna deny him this. 
Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together. 
He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house. 
He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters. 
Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one. 
That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it. 
Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.
Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life. 
The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town. 
Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.
That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.
Alejandro and Mireya.
Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them. 
By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.
But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies. 
Everything except for a father. 
Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.
So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head. 
How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.
How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch. 
How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure. 
How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.
How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies. 
If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.
Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way. 
After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day. 
His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements. 
“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”
As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.
So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”
Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man. 
“And what they been sayin’?” 
“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”
As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out. 
“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.
“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 
“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.  
He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave. 
“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”
The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate. 
He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together. 
Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table. 
Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.
“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”
The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.
“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”
“...what other things?”
“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”
The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.
“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production. 
“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command. 
Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground. 
“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.” 
It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made. 
Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat. 
“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”
The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him. 
The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically. 
“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg. 
Elvis does not acknowledge this. 
Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with. 
“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them. 
With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now. 
Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father. 
Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.
And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.
It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.  
Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.
But how can he just let her go? 
Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.
So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works. 
She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department. 
It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner. 
So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA. 
Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.
The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.  
“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly. 
“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here. 
“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”
This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that. 
“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.
She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”
“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.
“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.
“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.” 
The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to. 
“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it. 
“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer. 
“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.” 
She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…” 
He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come. 
The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for. 
But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them. 
They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him,  Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot. 
The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there. 
“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.
Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys. 
So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.
This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.
Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is. 
Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama. 
In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment. 
It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.
He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him. 
The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them? 
“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused. 
“Let’s get goin’ already.” 
The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.  
Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two. 
Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.
“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”
Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with. 
Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image. 
Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces. 
His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.
He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two. 
Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand. 
Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him. 
He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first. 
He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back. 
After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore. 
The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink. 
This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.
And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this. 
The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.
Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars. 
“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.
In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs. 
The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there. 
The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.
They call your daddy Big Boots
And Big Boots is his name
It takes a big man to wear big boots
That's your daddy's claim to fame
It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore. 
Gonna tell you a little secret
You won't believe it's true
Did you know your daddy, Big Boots
Once wore little boots like you
Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio. 
But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…” 
His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”
Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest. 
Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp. 
Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.  
One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon. 
Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice. 
He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her. 
She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her. 
She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.
“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”
“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”
He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”
This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas. 
“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.” 
He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”
Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”
“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”
This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put. 
“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”
“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”
She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”
The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes. 
Good.
After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father. 
“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”
He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away. 
“The world the studio pays for.” 
She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”
He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.
“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.
“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.
“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”
“I would neve-”
“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”
Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know. 
All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time. 
He needs them in his life.
He needs her in his life. 
“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.” 
Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. 
But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense. 
And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them. 
He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.
He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today. 
“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him. 
He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in. 
The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear. 
He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he 
“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her. 
Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.
But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass. 
“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…” 
He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.
“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.” 
He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night. 
Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.
So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through. 
Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future. 
That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him. 
He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy. 
He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this. 
He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her. 
Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.  
Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland. 
“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible. 
He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again. 
Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time. 
Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.
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gingernut1314 · 8 months
Text
The Luck Child - Chapter 1: Superstitions of a Dying Age
Buggy x F!Reader
Summary: You are called back to Marine Headquarters after five years of working undercover within the crew of the Wild Wood Pirates. There, you are told by your superiors who they wish to grant the title of Warlord to and are assigned a new mission: join the Star Clown's crew and make sure he dies if he fails in his challenge.
Warnings: spoilers for the anime (Marineford Arc and onward), canon divergence
Word Count: 4.5K
A/N: This is done in collaboration with the wonderful @fanaticsnail and her Sapsorrow series--go read it if you haven't already!!! She also was brilliantly kind enough to beta-read this for me! And thank you @i-am-vita for creating the beautiful banner and storyteller collab masterlist!!
I actually haven't gotten to the Marineford Arc yet so please forgive me if anything is not completely right. I tried to leave things very vague for that reason but the events surrounding Buggy were just too perfect for this series! I hope you all enjoy!
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“Not so long ago, in the depth of the Grand Line, where it is so cold, that very cold is considered quite warm, two cold hearts shadowed over the land. One beat cold in a cruel government, the other in a terrible beast: The Griffin. And it happened in a week with two Fridays, that the cruel government heard of a prophecy.” 
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The halls of Navy Headquarters were lit like they had allowed the very sun into its walls. No shadow graced its well-maintained halls, not even the likes of your own shadow to accompany you into the awaiting meeting hall. A meeting hall whose doors, which swirled with silver detailing, towered over you like some great, twin titans as you came to a stop before them. 
Titans. 
That was who sat, waiting for you behind those doors. Titans whose very will had sent for you days prior. Who had nearly torn the very delicate position in the pirate crew you had infiltrated to shreds. 
The Wild Wood Pirates; a pack of wild women born from chaos and blood. Women whose power almost rivaled that of the Kuja Pirates and their Warlord Captain. They were a threat to the world government and all who bent the knee to their will. 
A threat the government had not taken to so kindly.
Sending the Snake Princess of the Amazon Lily herself to destroy these wild women had been one of the many ideas sprung to deal with the hardened villains, but your superiors had thought of a different approach--a better, more calculated, and…gentler approach.
Spy on them. Become one of them. See how they slipped from the watchful eye of the Navy and how they could get from one side of the Grand Line to the other in a matter of hours. 
And out of the thousands upon thousands of Marines to choose from for this task, they had chosen you. 
You, the daughter of a well-respected Vice-Admiral and the strongest Marine produced from your class.
You, who was vicious in your attack upon the pirates that sailed the Grand Line. 
You, who was bloodthirsty in your pursuit of the bandits and petty thieves that roamed the streets of the bases you occupied. 
Wild. You were wild. Too wild, many a superior had spat, to be a Marine. So wild you had gotten yourself demoted and benched more times than you could care to count on your own two hands and feet. 
It was why you had made the perfect candidate to infiltrate such a group of pirates. Unknown by most--overlooked--you and your savageness had been sent off to wander the Grand Line. Had been allowed to spread chaos and fear in your travels. Had been allowed to run wild. 
You had earned your own little bounty, on the promise it would be cleared upon the success of your mission, and had been welcomed into the Wild Wood Pirates ranks with a few, messy kills. 
It was crooked. Wicked of your superiors to allow you to do such horrid acts, but it was all in the name of discovery. Of committing little evils to behead that of a greater one. 
You rose in rank gradually throughout the years you had joined their crew. Had gained favor with your new captain. Had gained such favor, you had been allowed on their main ship; The Robber’s Den. A grand vessel with a twisting and turning tunnel-like underbelly and home to a strange forest that grew over the deck.
Had just, after death and back-breaking labor, been allowed to be above deck as they traveled through the Grand Line at in-humanly fast speeds. The answers you sought had been in your grasp--your mission nearly complete when those very same superiors who had assigned you this years-long mission, sent a messenger bat to recall you. 
You tugged at your white uniform. One you hadn’t worn in five years. Tugged and pulled and shifted it over your body, trying desperately to get comfortable in its hold. 
Too tight, too thick, too itchy. It didn’t feel like your uniform any longer. It felt like a costume. A disguise. A poorly made disguise at that. 
How had you ever had the patience to wear such a monstrosity?
The answer is you never had and coming fresh off the seas, where one did as they pleased, when they pleased it, the uniform was already trying your thin patience.
You shifted the cap upon your head, it having begun to itch right alongside your uniform, as you stared up at those giant doors before you. 
In and out. 
You willed--no prayed--for this meeting to be as swift as The Robber’s Den’s speed. An hour--an hour and a half at most is all you knew you had the tolerance for.
A progress report. That is what they had written in their letter. It would be a simple meeting. A very simple meeting, seeing as they had whisked you away from those Wild Wood Pirates before you could glean their biggest secret from them.
With a great, chest-expanding breath, you pushed your way into the meeting room full of glorified titans. 
You wished beyond all hope to have your shadow by your side for company at that moment. 
“Ah, so the feral girl finally makes her appearance.” The grating voice of Akainu spoke, stopping all idle conversation that had bounced around the rounded table and room. He was the first you spotted, signature pink rose on his breast and the basic, marine-sanctioned cap on his head, which led the eye to the large scars littering the right side of his body.
You let your eyes scan over the others around the table--all faces you recognized but many whose ranking seemed to have changed in your absence. 
And Akainu, whose voice filled your ears with white-hot rage and made boiling magma to match that of his devil fruit powers roar through your veins, had been gifted the most gracious promotion. That of Fleet Admiral. 
It did not surprise you he had climbed this high in rank. He was smart, cunning, and powerful. It did, however, have your curiosity stifling your coiling anger for a mere moment. 
Why would a Fleet Admiral need to be present during a simple progress report? 
You felt your muscles move on memory before your brain could rush to keep up with its sharp movements. Heels brought together, hips and shoulders on level, legs straight but not so firm as to lock up your knees, and right hand brought to meet your right brow in respect of your higher-ups. 
“Forgive me, sir. I had been making my way to old headquarters before I realized its relocation.” The man let a mouth full of smoke escape his lips, which a half-smoked cigar still lay between. 
“I didn’t expect anything else, Apprentice.” You hardly were able to refrain from outright snarling at the Fleet Admiral. 
Seaman Apprentice. One rank up from being a lowly recruit. A rank you had received only a week before you were given your undercover assignment. “I see those wild women took every last ounce of civility from you.” He said, giving a wicked laugh at your reaction. 
“With all due respect, Fleet Admiral.” Another member, sitting closest to the entrance, spoke up before you could lose your already lost temper. His chair blocked him from view, but you knew the dull voice of your father too well. 
“Y/N took a great risk in joining the ranks of the Wild Wood Pirates. Took a greater risk still in coming here on such unexpected notice. It shows her dedication and devotion to our government.” Your father finished, making no such move as to look upon you. To see what had become of his only child in the time spent with the enemy.
Akainu let another mouthful of smoke filter out between his teeth, his dark eyes scanning over you from beneath his cap. Eyes that reignited that itch your uniform made crawl over your skin like a thousand ants had marched their way under it. It made your fingers twitch in want to relieve it.
“At ease.” He grated out, like he was disappointed in releasing you from the restricting position. You let your arm fall to your side before it joined your other behind your back, feet spread shoulders width apart. “I assume you have heard of the battle at Marineford and our…unfortunate happenings with the Warlords.” 
Hardly. You had hardly heard such news had it not been for the News Coo bird you’d paid discreetly and at risk of your own personal being. You let your superiors know of your little knowledge of the battle. 
“We are looking for others to fill the voids left by Teach, Jinbe, and Gecko Moria. We have filled two of these vacuums.” Akainu gestured for you to find a seat around the table. Your feet carried you to an opening next to the quiet likes of Tsuru, the Vice-Admiral hardly sparing you a glance. “The file before you holds all the information we currently hold on the pirate we believe might fill this last position.” 
Your fingers smoothed over the fine-coursed blue file that sat before you, flipping it open you had not expected to be met with the sparkingly and laughing grin of a pirate whose reputation whispered around even the likes of the isolating Wild Wood Pirates. A reputation of cowardice and overall weakness that your crewmates had loathed.  
A grin you had wanted to punch off his panted face ever since you had first met him in the flesh at the start of your five-year undercover mission. 
You chuckled. No--not chuckled, laughed. A belly-shaking laugh as you grabbed at the edge of the wanted poster to tilt it towards your vision better.
“This is who you plan on granting the title of Warlord to? This bumbling fool?” You shook your head, wiping a stray tear from your eyes as your laughter continued to keep hold of you. “You are right, Fleet Admiral, I have been away from civilization far too long. You wish me to believe this clown is a threat to the Marines? To the World Government?”
“You have been gone far too long. You have forgotten your manners, Apprentice.” The rank had your laughter dying quickly in your throat. A rank hissed at you in a warning. 
Manners. You truly did need to relearn your manners. If you didn’t, your higher-up would demote you to a lowly recruit--maybe even to that of chore boy and you would be nothing. 
Nothing but a wild mess of a person--a failure. A reject. A disappointment. 
“The Star Clown led a mass of prisoners out of Impel Down, of which he managed to escape with hardly a scratch.” You pursed your lips together to keep any remaining remarks down. 
You hadn’t seen that in the news. Must have missed it in your isolation.
“He led those highly dangerous prisoners against us on the battlefield and still holds them under his command. He is becoming a threat.” Akainu all but spat your way.
“He’s just been lucky.” An admiral, sitting to the left of the Fleet Admiral, spoke, leaning back in his chair in dismission of the clown.
“Too lucky. We need to nib this luck at its source before it grows out of our power to control.” Akainu snapped at the admiral next to him, who hardly seemed phased. “If we--”
“A luck child,” Tsuru spoke from beside you, cutting off the Fleet Admiral. You almost threw the woman a wicked smile in approval had you not remembered she had a disliking of you right alongside the rest of her comrades. “Poor as penance, rich as snow, a great captain of a great captain. Wise men prophesied this child would one day achieve greatness.” 
The room fell silent as the words fell heavy over the air. Words you had never heard once in your life, but ones that seemed to flicker in recognition in the eyes of the Marines around you.
“Have we fallen so low as to start believing old superstitions of a dying age?” The admiral to the left huffed. “It was no wise man who spoke those words. Gold Rodger was out of his mind by the time Death came for him. First this luck child, then that foolish proclamation about the One Piece. He was spewing utter nonsense.” 
“Luck is a gift. A blessing. It cannot be undone.” The Admiral scoffed at Tsuru's words once more.
“Akainu, are you going to--”
“Then he is more of a threat than we originally thought. His escape, his ability to gather powerful individuals under his command, his connections to Red-Haired Shanks and the Rodger Pirates, and now this--prophecy.” The Admiral shook his head in disbelief at his superior’s words. “Something needs to be done about him.”
“Then why not just kill him?” You spoke on a gruff, gaining Akainu’s magma-filled gaze once more. “He is more trouble than he is worth. The other pirates mock him--he is their court jester, not their lord. Kill him and be done with it.” You all but hissed, throwing the clown's wanted poster down. 
Akainu rapped his fingers against the marble table before him, deep in thought as he watched you. Watched you in a way you wished he would stop. 
“You’ll find a map just beneath his bounty.” You pursed your lips together once more. 
Manners. Remember your manners.
“As I am sure you have already gathered, we have not called you back for a simple progress report. You are to take that map to him as an offering to join his crew.” You pulled the map out from behind his bounty poster. 
It was small. Old. Its detailing was lacking and few of the black lines that made up its image had faded with age.
How anyone was supposed to properly use it in its deteriorating state was beyond you.
“And what of the Wild Wood Pirates?” You asked, glancing back up to your superior. 
“What of them?” He said, seeming utterly unworried. It fueled your anger once more.
“If they find out I left to join up with another crew they will not stop hunting me until I am dead.” You said, biting back the snap in your voice. 
“Then sail clear of their territory.” Akainu snapped, uncaring to hold back his words’ own sharpness.
Sail clear of their territory--you almost scoffed. They had no territory. They didn’t care about such things. Power was all they cared about. Blood and chaos and pain. You went to tell him as such, but he was quick to shut your complaints down.
“You’re job, Apprentice, is to give him the map and join his crew. You are to take account of every last individual who has joined him, report it back to us, and make sure he finds this island. If he can find it and win the golden feather amongst its hordes of treasure, then he will receive a letter from us in due time telling of his new title. But if the beast that roams those lands defeats him, then we have nothing to worry about besides contacting the runner-up.” 
You clenched your fist in your lap. Clenched it so hard you were almost certain you had broken the thin skin of your palm.
Join him. Join that fool? No. Never. 
“Why would this feather be of any interest to him?” You asked, channeling all your frustrations into your grip. 
“It is said to be of an opposing nature to that of the Devil Fruits. Legend says it frees its user from Mother Ocean’s hold forevermore. If the stories are to be believed, he would be able to swim as he pleased in her waters, never to drown. Maybe even be given the power to deify that of Seastone.” The Admiral to his left shook his head once more at the continued fairy tales and legends. 
“And what happens when he fails to find this golden feather? When he fails to get eaten by this beast because he has run away like the slimy creature he is?” You asked, closing the file to keep those irritating green-blue eyes from staring at you any longer.
“Then you kill him as you see fit.” Akainu closed his own file. “You wild things do so love a bloody kill.” 
Manners--oh but your manners were running very, very thin. 
You pulled a thin-lipped smile to your features. 
“As you command, Fleet Admiral.” Akainu chuckled darkly, releasing another mouthful of smoke.
“Very good.”  He smirked, standing from his seat. “Then it is settled. Apprentice Y/N will see if our--Luck Child,” He said with another rumbling chuckle, “is fit for greatness as such wise men have prophecied. If not, he is better off dead and off the chess board.” You stood with the rest of the Marines around the table, right hand back on your brow as the Fleet Admiral moved through the room towards those great, giant doors. 
The three admirals were quick to follow, and so on and so on until you were left standing in that too-bright, rounded meeting room with your father. 
You felt no need for formal respect when it came to him, so you were quick to drop what little was left of your good manners and snarled like some raid animal in your frustrations.
You tugged and yanked at your uniform once more, loosening buttons and your necktie.
“Will you be--” You were quick to fix him with a daggered glare and a show of hissing teeth. 
“I stopped needing your care long ago.” Your father hardly blinked at your wild behavior.
“You may have stopped needing it but I have yet to stop caring.” He sighed, standing from his seat. 
Care. Like you were supposed to believe he truly cared for you. 
You watched him pull something from the pocket of his white dress-pants. It was a rectangular envelope in a soft shade of periwinkle, with elegant and swirling handwriting that looped over the front.
You recognized it immediately for what it was. An invitation. One you had seen many times in the past.
“The Lady Aegea of the Magmere Isle is hosting her annual masquerade ball in three days time. Many ladies will be presented--” You held a hand up to stop him before he could continue to waste his breath.
“Have you forgotten I have been ordered to worm my way into yet another pirate crew by that time? If I am not killed for my betrayals, I will be no lady of any court you wish associations with.” Your father looked--tired. Older. 
When had he gotten like that? 
“I just want to see you happy.” That only had your anger spiking in your chest. A deep anger that had been building ever since your childhood. 
“You raised me as if I was nothing more than another cadet under your command, remember?” They were words he had heard from you many times over. Words to rival that of the ballrooms and proper lady-like conversation and courtships he threw your way. Even when you had joined the Marines, he continued to offer you up on a silver platter to any lord brave enough to try for your hand and you continued to fight him. “I cannot help the path laid before me.” 
“You can throw my biggest mistakes in my face, but it will not change my hopes for your future.” You scoffed at his words. Words that he spoke in a dull drawl that only had your anger coiling tighter around your heart. “Will you at least take the invitation? In case you change your mind. I will fight to have you removed from this assignment if you do.” Your eyes scanned over the invitation. You knew there was no way you would attend such an event, not unless it was forced upon you. 
But if you took it now, it would keep him off your back for a little while longer.
“Fine.” You snapped, grabbing up the Star Clown’s file before making your way around the table to snag the invitation from your father’s awaiting grasp. “This means nothing of my attendance.” Your father only smiled--too excited for his own good. 
“Of course, of course…though, I have been told Lady Aegea has invitited the great Lord Dacule Mihawk.” He was always invited. The swordsman was the most sought-after suitor in the blue sea and Lady Aegea had a strange fixation on him. Him and finding him a suitor. “And rumor has it he will be in attendance this year.” 
“I find that very hard to believe.” You huffed, shoving the invitation amongst the rest of your newly gathered information, tucked away in the file you held. Though the Warlord had been invited to every last ball the Lady Aegea threw, he never once dared to show his face.
“He might be of some help to your mission. Him being a Warlord after all.” Your father said as you started out of the meeting hall, hardly sparing your father a final look. He was not saying this to be of any real help. It was his way of bringing the Warlord to your attention for potential courtship. 
“Good day, Vice Admiral.” 
“Wouldn’t you agree?” Your father called as you stormed out of those giant doors. Stormed out of those shadow-stealing lights and too-clean halls ways. Stormed passed fellow Marines making their way through the halls just as you did, though looking far less angered.
You yanked your cap from your head as you hit fresh air. Air that didn’t smell of cigar smoke and molten lava. Your uniform top was next, its persistent itching becoming far too much for you to handle. 
Luck child, luck child, luck child. 
Curse that foolish clown. Curse him and his horrid luck. 
There was no reward in this for you. Nothing other than a death sentence, old wives' tales, your father's nags of marriage, and your submission to yet another power you had no interest in following.
Buggy the Clown was not that lucky. No man was that lucky and you would be the one to end this ridiculous string of good fortune.
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Screams and shouting commands filled the roaring, storm-filled air as the Big Top was hit with yet another mountainous wave. Saltwater stung at Buggy’s eyes and made loose strands of blue hair stick to the sides of his face, which his make-up ran over, ruined. Saltwater that had his grip on the lines he had been retieing begin to grow weak, Mother Ocean’s power over him slowly starting to win. 
“Shit, shit, shit!” Buggy screamed as he managed to retie the rigging despite his numbing fingers. 
Screw Mother Ocean. Screw Devil Fruits and screw this freak storm that has come out of nowhere. A storm that had already claimed three of his men in its merciless hunger.
He spied Alvida, kneeling on the drenched deck, looking about ready to pass out. Her long, curling locks stuck to her smooth skin which looked all too pale in the muggy light the storm clouds allowed to slip through.
The water was no doubt taking its effect on her now, rendering her utterly useless.
Buggy grabbed for another loose line that was threatening to run free just as a large ball of wax rolled past dangerously, knocking a few of his freaks over as it headed toward the front of his ship.
Galdino, a fellow escapee from Impel Down and one of Buggy’s newest crew members, must have encapsulated himself before the water could do much to drain his own powers. Encapsulated himself in a rolling ball that, if didn’t kill someone, would surely roll straight into the ocean. 
Stupid idiot.
Buggy’s muscles loosened then and, despite his best efforts, the line he had been holding fell from his grasp, shooting up into the rain and sea-spray-filled air. Something snapped and Buggy turned just in time to give a screeching curse as the main boom swayed low, knocking into him and sending Buggy flying. 
“Captain!” The sound of his Chief of Staff, Cabaji, called as Buggy groaned at the pain zapping through his body. 
“Get--get us out of this fucking storm!” Buggy hissed, his roaring coming out more breathy as he fought to regain the air in his lungs. 
He hardly heard Cabaji’s response before the ship hit something solid. 
Wood splintered and groaned and Buggy was, yet again, thrown through the air with a scream.
All he could do was scream as Mother Ocean stole all his fight and energy. Scream till his voice ran horse and his limp body was thrown overboard. 
Buggy hit the cold water and was thrown in thrashing circles. 
His lungs burned as he held his breath against the raging waters around him. Lungs and eyes and nostrils burned like fire had been poured into them. It was hell--and just when hell seemed to get the upper hand, to just begin to wrestle the air from his lungs, he was spat out onto a sandy shore. 
Body unable to move, Buggy lay cursing the sea. Cursing Mother Ocean and the Grand Lines freakish weather. Weather that seemed was beginning to calm as if it had taken its pound of flesh from him, satisfied. 
A wave crashed into Buggy, further numbing his body and sinking him into the wet sand beneath him. 
Screw this. Screw sand. Screw water. Screw the air. Screw himself and his devil-blessed powers.
“Captain! Oh, thank the gods!” It was Cabaji’s voice again, growing nearer and nearer. Relief flooded through Buggy’s chest as his Chief of Staff came into view just as another wave crashed into him, stealing his breath once more before falling back into the vast sea.
“Get. Me. The hell. Up!” Buggy hissed as quickly as the saltwater would allow him. 
“Right, yes. Yes, Captain.” Hands grabbed him under his shoulders and dragged his limp body further inland, away from the sea still wishing to drag him into their depths. “We thought you were dead, Captain,” Cabaji grunted as he continued to drag Buggy over the shore. 
Of course he wasn’t dead. He was tougher then that.
The taste of salt water on his lips sent a shiver down Buggy’s spine.
From this angle, Buggy could just spot his precious ship laying on its side, beached like some great whale and looking like someone had taken some great hammer to its hull.
Whoever had been in the crow's nest was going to get murdered. 
“You’re luck never ceases to amaze me, Captain Buggy.” Cabaji huffed, finally coming to a stop once he had made it to the rest of Buggy’s exhausted crew. He spotted Alvida slumped on the sand just as he was, teeth grit and hissing insults Mohji’s way, who had been trying to help her. 
Luck--ha. Buggy laughed at such bullshit.
How was getting knocked into the ocean and nearly drowning lucky?
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Next
Tag list: @fanshavegottensotoxic , @lostfirefly
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calisources · 10 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄   𝐎𝐅   𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒   𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒   all   quotes   and   sentences   are   taken   from   sarah   j.   mass's   throne   of   glass.   spoilers   for   the   book.   change   names,   pronouns,   locations   and   whatever   else   you   see   fit.
“Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.”
"You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most.”
“No. I can survive well enough on my own— if given the proper reading material.”
We all bear scars,... Mine just happen to be more visible than most.”
“My name is Celaena Sardothien. But it makes no difference if my name's Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I'd still beat you, no matter what you call me.”
“Names are not important. It's what lies inside of you that matters.”
“Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.”
“Sometimes, the wicked will tell us things just to confuse us–to haunt our thoughts long after we've faced them.”
"No fair maiden should die alone,"
“We each survive in our own way.”
“As my friend, you should either bring me along, or keep me company."
“Second place is a nice title for the first loser.”
“I wasn't going to kill him, you buffoon.”
"Now you must pretend that you like me, or else everything will be ruined.”
“I'm not married,because I can't stomach the idea of marrying a woman inferior to me in mind and spirit. It would mean the death of my soul.”
“Apparently, a woman can only go so long without a sword between her hands.”
“I never intended to escape.”
“I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect.”
“What's the point in having a mind if you don't use it to make judgements?”
“Would you like to dance with me?”
“If he weren’t here, I would have said yes.”
“I mean it. Why aren’t you dancing with anyone? Aren’t there ladies whom you like?”
“You always wear that necklace”
“No one deserves to be whipped like an animal.”
“You’re remarkably judgmental.”
“Magic makes people dangerous. ”
“The fear of loss … it can destroy you as much as the loss itself.” 
“There was good in people - deep down, there was always a shred of good.”
Well, 'scowling escort' is a better description. Or 'reluctant acquaintance', if you prefer.
I'm the Captain of the Guard-I'm not exactly a catch for any of them."
I want a husband to warm my bed, and my bed alone.
"I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me.
“If you'd like to unwrap me, we still have an hour until the temple service.”
“Perhaps you should consider your difficulty in getting past Wendlyn's naval defences to be a sign that you should stop playing at being a god."
“You deserve to be laughed at for such foolish thoughts! I spoke from my soul; you speak only from selfishness.”
“What’s the point in having a heart if you don’t use it to spare others from the harsh judgments of your mind?”
“Marriage is a legal contract -- it's not a sacred thing.”
“I hate women like that. They're so desperate for the attention of men that they'd willingly betray and harm members of their own sex.”
“I was merely observing; I have no agenda."
"If it pleases Your Magnanimous Holiness, I shall call you by your first name.”
 “You look rather pretty today,”
“Shall I gag you, or are you capable of being silent without my assistance?”
“If you don’t stop feeling and start instructing, I’m going to rip out your eyes and replace them with these billiard balls.”
“Perhaps allowing them to be friends was a horrible, dangerous idea.”
“I win,” he breathed.”
 “I am still your king. You will obey me, Dorian Havilliard, or you will pay. I’ll have no more of your questioning.”
“I can survive well enough on my own—if given proper reading material.”
“Beautiful. Deadly. Destined for greatness.”
“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn,”
“You could win the hand of a king, looking like that.Or perhaps a Crown Prince will do.”
“What a miserable state for a girl of former beauty!”
“This is Her Royal Highness the Princess Nehemia Ytger of Eyllwe.”
“The princess tires of your company.”
“You’re awfully quiet today,” 
“The city on the Silver Lake?
“to face a featureless young woman with golden hair and a crown far too heavy for her to bear—”
“Stop whining. No one gives a damn about your clothes.”
“You’re immensely entertaining when you’re hopping mad.”
“You certainly have a lot of stamina,"
"While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons."
“Magic calls to magic.”
I like music,because when I hear it, I … I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me.”
“Light and darkness. Life and death. Where do I fit in?”
“I should go to bed,”
“Winter was unforgiving when you lived in the shadow of the Ruhnn Mountains.”
“I  sort of wanted to kiss him.”
“Are you going to kiss me again?”
“Cain seemed bigger and bigger.”
“Dorian is more inclined to associate with ladies of better breeding and beauty.”
“What a foolish tradition.”
“Princes are not supposed to be handsome! They’re sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one … this … How unfair of him to be royal and beautiful.”
“Something about him makes me want to beat in his face.”
“She knew that sword. Nothung was its name.”
“Damn him for being so handsome!”
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agent-cupcake · 9 months
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Tagged by @tiredemomama to do this game and I love games so here we are
Challenge -> you're starring in a movie with the last person you saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title.
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I hope you all enjoy the hit new movie Wicked Game starring Agent Cupcake and Rockstar Deke Shaw (who deserves better, according to Buzz Feed)
What a wicked thing to say // You never felt this way // What a wicked thing to do // To make me dream of you
I'm assuming it's going to be some sort of weird stalker thriller murder movie. Deke has terrible taste in women and horror movie level decision making skills and I got some of that Annie Wilkes energy if we're honest.
No pressure tags for @absolute-flaming-trash and @abbacchiosbelt but also anybody else who sees this and loves talking about themselves as much as I do, please do this and also explain the plot of the movie to me it's greatly amusing. (Or tell me anonymously in my ask box I sincerely just want to hear it lol)
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allaboutcinderella · 3 months
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I’m here to talk about “Bad Cinderella” or as it was known on the West End originally, “Cinderella!” By Andrew Lloyd Webber:
This show got so much hate once it came to America, but I’m here to talk about why I love this show so much. 💕
To be clear, I love the West End version. The show originated in the UK and starred the extremely talented Carrie Hope Fletcher as the title role.
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The story begins in the town of Belleville, a town so pretty and perfect it almost makes you queasy. The citizens of this town are known for being the most beautiful people of any kingdom and they dislike anyone who dares to be different.
Cue Cinderella! A rebellious young woman who is the opposite of every citizen of Belleville and doesn’t care who knows it. She dresses in black and defaces public property, she’s a “gutter rose” and proud of it. The biggest thing that makes Cinderella a public enemy here is that she knows how fake everyone in Belleville truly is, and they don’t like someone pointing out their flaws. The women get work done on themselves on the daily, everyone is cheating on their significant others etc…
So on the day the town is due to receive the award for the Best Kingdom for the 50th year in a row, Cinderella decides to have fun and deface a statue that has been built to honor the deceased Prince Charming. (He is MIA after going to fight a dragon, so his mother The Queen has made this tribute to him).
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She spray paints it, dresses it up and due to this, the town does not receive the award. The towns people hate this and hunt down Cinderella to tie her up for the wolves.
Her childhood friend, Prince Sebastian, the younger brother of the missing Prince Charming, sets her free and rags on her for destroying the celebration. He then praises her actions seeing as he also hates the town and how fake everyone is. These two are the only ones in the town who seem to be their real selves and haven’t bought into the whole shallow fashionable scene.
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Cinderella of course lives as a maid for her wicked stepmother and vain stepsisters. All three are gorgeous and fabulous in looks but mean as the classic story goes. The stepfamily is very obsessed with status and appearances so when Cinderella ruins the town’s reputation, they fear they’ll be dragged down with her seeing as she resides with them. The stepmother threatens Cinderella that she’ll be thrown out if she misbehaves any more. Cinderella agrees to this.
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Prince Sebastian has trouble in his end as well for even being associated with Cinderella. The Queen is not subtle with her displeasure on the fact that Sebastian is to inherit to throne and is the future of their kingdom. Seeing as he is viewed as such a loser in a kingdom that is all based on being pretty and perfect. His mother continuously reminds him of how amazing his brother was and how Sebastian will never measure up. The Queen then instructs the knights to help Sebastian better himself to prep him for the day he will become King. To help speed his progress along (in her eyes) the Queen decides to throw a ball to find “the perfect Queen for a perfect King.” Sebastian is terrified of this seeing as he has feeling for Cinderella. The Queen refuses to let him move on these feelings and assure him there is a much better woman waiting for him.
Cinderella runs into Sebastian later in the market and it’s clear Sebastian has started to become a different person. He’s attempting to flirt with women in the village as they drool over him now that he’s to be the new King and is on the lookout for his Queen. This gives Cinderella the ick, but she still smiles when Sebastian asks if she’ll be at the ball. The stepmother overhears this and reminds Cinderella that she’ll only embarrass herself if she attends the ball and that she will never be in Sebastian’s league now that he has gorgeous women falling all over him. This breaks Cinderella’s heart and she runs off crying.
The day of the ball arrives and Cinderella, while helping her stepsisters get ready is again reminded that she would never be someone the Prince would be with seeing how “ugly” she is. (She is actually extremely pretty but people hate on anyone who is different right?) To this Cinderella says, “I’ll show you.”
She seeks the help of the town’s all around beauty guru, plastic surgeon and makeover master, The Godmother. The Godmother’s shop is filled with gowns and sparkly things, including a pair of crystal shoes that catch Cinderella’s eye. The Godmother is intrigued by Cinderella and how different she is. “I’ve never seen you before…” she says.
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Cinderella tells her how she wishes she was the same as everyone else but better. She asks for the Godmother to make her pretty and look like a Queen. To be so beautiful it makes people question their looks and envy her. The Godmother agrees to do this free of charge for her, but not out of kindness. She tells Cinderella, “we don’t deal in money here… we deal in dreams. To make yours come true, I need to know you are serious. Because what I do is serious.” She asks for the silver butterfly locket Cinderella is wearing as her payment. Cinderella is reluctant to give it up seeing as it is the only thing of her mother’s that she has, but regardless of her feelings, she gives it to the Godmother. This proves to the Godmother that Cinderella is serious about giving up her true self to become “beautiful.”
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The Godmother proceeds to warn Cinderella that beauty is pain and that the makeover process will not be kind. Cinderella agrees to any pain she may endure. Lucky for her, the Godmother tells her she doesn’t have the time to do any permanent treatment on her (aka surgery) but instead gives her a blonde wig to cover her dark hair, lighter makeup and a gorgeous silver gown. To top it off, she gives her the crystal shoes. The shoes are tight as is the dress, which leads the Godmother to remind Cinderella she agreed to the pain these things will cause. She then tells Cinderella to be in bed by midnight “on ice” to heal her wounds from the borrowed garments. Any longer and she’ll be in torment. Cinderella seems to be so enamored with how good she looks, she almost doesn’t hear the warning.
Cinderella makes her grand entrance at the ball and dazzles the crowd. The only one not taken by her appearance is Sebastian. He doesn’t recognize her and sees her only as another typical fake girl trying to get his crown. She tries to admit her feelings for him now that she feels confident enough to do so, but this backfires terribly for her. Sebastian scoffs at her for this assures her he would never marry some “drunk” woman who thinks she’s hot stuff. Understandably flabbergasted, Cinderella gives him space and in doing so, leaves the floor open for more chaos to ensue. Just before the clock strikes twelve, her stepsister Adele, lunges for Sebastian and kisses him. The clock begins to chime and the Queen excitedly proclaims the Prince has found his wife to be! Amongst the cheering, Sebastian tries to protest and a scorned Cinderella, rips at her dress and tears off the blonde wig revealing her real hair. Sebastian recognizes her as she runs from the ball.
Heartbroken, Cinderella sings about how she was a fool to try and be something she isn’t and will never be. She realizes she would have been better on her own rather than trying to win someone who would never love her. Sebastian catches up to her and tries to explain that he had nothing to do with her stepsister kissing him, to which Cinderella chucks one of the silver shoes at him while shouting she’s had enough of his nonsense. (He was a major ass to her at the ball so I understand her anger). She tells him she’s leaving town and to be happy with his new wife.
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Sebastian sings about how he blew his chances with the only girl he’s ever loved and the only person who loved him for who he is, not his title. He exclaims to his mother and the entire court how he will be the King they all wanted. A selfish, hateful, miserable tyrant! Sebastian says he will marry out of honor for his country but not for love. He vows to never be happy as long as he is forced to be this fake King.
On the day of the wedding, Cinderella is packing her things in preparation to leave the kingdom, but not before blackmailing her stepmother. “If you want me gone so badly, pay me to leave.” She tells the stepmother that she could easily stay in town and make their lives miserable, unless she’s paid a good sum. Her stepmother is honestly impressed with her haggling and agrees.
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Once she thinks everyone has left for the wedding, Cinderella finds her one crystal shoe in her bag and reflects on how she was so dumb in trying to have a happy ending when “girls like her don’t end up with a Prince.” While wallowing in self pitty, her stepsister Marie (the one not getting married) stumbles in and tells Cinderella to stop feeling sorry for herself. She tells her how she is also miserable living in this family and how much she hates her mother. Marie proposes they team up to destroy the wedding. “Go to the church and tell him you love him,” she says. Marie finally tells Cinderella that she is responsible for her own happy ending and she is capable of making it happen. Stunned by this, Cinderella is left with the decision to crash the wedding or just leave. She chooses to run to the church to crash the wedding. 💒🏃🏻‍♀️💨
At the wedding, Sebastian’s vows are interrupted. However, it is not by Cinderella, but instead his missing brother Prince Charming! The entire town is taken aback by his reappearance that they forget the wedding is even happening. Prince Charming announces he is back to proclaim his rightful place as King, marrying the MAN of his dreams (yep Prince Charming is gay 🏳️‍🌈✨) and relieving Sebastian of the responsibility. The wedding continues not for Sebastian, but for Prince Charming and his new love. The bells chime and everyone cheers, “long live the Prince!” Sadly, Cinderella hears this in the distance and thinks she is too late. She leaves.
At the reception, Sebastian sees a very intoxicated Marie. She laughs about how he blew his chance with Cinderella and now she’s gone. He is confused and asks what she means by “gone.” Giggling, she tells him Cinderella left town and is probably on a boat by now going who knows where. Sebastian races out of the castle all the way to Cinderella’s house. On the way, he runs into the Godmother who is wearing a familiar necklace around her neck. “That belongs to Cinderella!” he tells her. “Oh…” she says. “You must be the boy.” She tells him it’s a pitty Cinderella gave up so much to be beautiful only to be shunned by him. She leaves him with the necklace so he can be reminded of what he’s lost. Sebastian runs to the house and calls for Cinderella. He hears no answer. In the kitchen he sees the one silver shoe glistening on the table and realizes, “She’s really gone.” Just then, Cinderella walks in and explains she only came back for the shoe. It’s crystal so she had planned to sell it on her trip. Sebastian apologizes profusely to her and admits he was an idiot. Numb to his apology, Cinderella says it was just never meant to be and it’s not his fault. He then talks about how he should have never tried to be someone he wasn’t to impress people. To this, she also admits fault seeing as she did the same thing to impress him. Sebastian tells her she never had to change, because she was always perfect to him. ❤️
He gives her the locket back and Cinderella is brought to tears. She kisses Sebastian and two agree to run away together to live happily in their freedom.
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✨The end! 👠✨
So yes I think the story is fun and unique. The production is quirky and silly but also very beautiful and heartwarming. The talent in the show is unmeasurable! Everyone gave their all in this production and it shows.
The American cast was just as committed but sadly due to the changes in the script and costumes, it just wasn’t the same.
I truly love this show. I think if people go into it knowing the plot more in depth, they’ll appreciate it more. ❤️ Thanks for reading!
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gremlinvapor · 5 months
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“Right place right time” Sukuna x Cinderella
Authors note:
This fic can be read on ao3 under the same title.
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part 1/8
Summary: Due to a whim of fate Sukuna gets swept away to 19th century France. While trying to find a way back he meets Cinderella, a poor girl with a hidden talent.
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Prologue “Lost in time”
Somewhere in 19th century France poor Cinderella met her prince. They fell in love, and promptly got married. Exactly one year later during their anniversary celebration, one of the wicked sisters noticed them riding horseback between the greenery. Intrigued, she followed them. There, she witnessed wonders beyond her imagination. Tree stumps turning into chairs, a four layer cake appearing from thin air, and when the Prince and Cinderella arrived, their clothes changed into ballroom attire. All of this done by an elderly woman with a silvery-white wand. The stepsister, Anastasia, looked on in bewilderment “So that’s how Cinderella managed to go to the ball.” She hoped that if she only managed to get the wand, she could change her miserable year for the better. So she carefully slid between the bushes, hoping for a chance to “borrow” the old woman's wand. And within a few minutes,  just like an answer to a prayer, the wand flew  out of the Fairies hand straight ino Anastasia's reach. Not wasting time she grabbed the object and ran back home as fast as she could. 
Unfortunately for her, the Fairy was hot on her trail. The old woman grabbed Anastasia before she could even reach her home.
-Give me back my wand, silly little goose. You don’t know what you’re messing with.-she scolded her, grabbing the wand.
-No chance! I just need it for a short bit, don’t be selfish!-Anastasia pulled back with great force.
Soon their dispute turned into a scuffle. Neither of them wanted to let it up. All the while Anastasia tried to use the wand's magic to help herself. She pulled the wand to the sky. Holding the Fairy back with one leg she exclaimed “Bibbity-bobidy-boo!”. And soon after the young woman kicked the Fairy away, giving herself a chance to escape. She was unaware of it. But the girl managed to transport them both to Japan, though that would be hard to notice since she was running through a forest like any other. During her escape Anastasia bumped into a tall dark figure. While on the ground she glanced up at the man she just ran into. He adjusted his white robe glaring at Anastasia. His unpleasant expression paired with the unusual facial markings on his face struck fear into her.
 Before any of them could react, the Fairy Godmother had finally caught up to Anastasia. In a second attempt at recovering her wand, she jumped at the girl paying no mind to the pink haired man. They tossed around, when suddenly another spell had been cast. This time they’ve been transported back to the same forest near Anastasia’s home. And with a second wave of the wand the Fairy had been turned into stone. Ecstatic, the girl stuffed the wand into the pocket  of her dress. Though the wand was far too long to fit there propelly. She turned to head back to her home, but immediately froze in her tracks. The man in the robe, still standing in front of her. It appears, as if she had taken him with her back in time by mistake. 
-What the hell was that?-he questioned in a low tone.
Anastasia jumped in panic. She dove right past the man, leaving him no chance to catch her. Fighting old women was one thing, but facing off a man two heads taller than her was another. She ran with great speed, only stopping once she finally reached the safety of her house. Out of breath she stumbled towards the nearest chair. While resting she noticed that the house looked a little different. It was way cleaner than it was when she left. She also noticed a faint melody being played on the piano in the music room. Following it there was also an out of tune whistling on the flute.
-Weird…Mother had stopped practicing songs with us since Cinderella left. Why would she be doing it now?-she questioned in confusion- Oh, and Drizella! Did she leave all the dish cleaning in the kitchen for me to finish again?
Anastasia got up from her seat to go check the kitchen. To her surprise everything was put away, making the place look spotless. Confused, she turned to walk out when she noticed Cinderella. There she was, scrubbing the floor with an old rag. Anastasia couldn't believe her eyes. “What is she doing here?” It didn’t make sense to her. After all, she should be having a grand time with her husband right now. And then. A minute later the stepsister had connected the dots. “It’s the wand’s doing! I moved myself back in time.” She stepped a little closer to Cinderella. “And if she’s still here. Well that means the ball hasn't happened yet.”
-Hey, Cinderella!- she yelled to get her atencion.
Startled, the blonde girl turned to Anastasia.
-Do you want something?-she gazed at her sister sheepishly.
-Well, yeah. You have a calendar around? Do you even know what day it is?
-Um, it’s tuesday. Why are you asking?-the blue eyed girl hesitantly answered.
-No, no. I mean the year. Oh, whatever I’ll check myself.
She stepped in front of the wall where the calendar was hung. Just as she thought, it was 1879. The year in which the prince’s ball happened.
-Are you alright? You’re acting a little… well odd?- asked Cinderella.
-I’m fine.- she answered while reaching into her pocket.
She thought that if she turned Cinderella into a mop right now, she could make sure that all her future problems wouldn't happen. Unfortunately for Anastasia the wand vanished from her pocket. In fact it wasn't anywhere near her. Frustrated, she stormed out of the room leaving Cinderella clueless as to what happened.
Chapter 1 “Bewitchment”
After Anastasia’s quick escape, the pink haired gentleman was left alone to wander the forest. The man's name was Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses. Thinking that he was simply transported to a different part of the forest that he was in previously, he wandered around looking for his opponent. However he soon realised that this was not the case. Upon returning to the spot where the Fairy was enchanted he decided to follow the tracks of the girl that previously escaped him. At that time he also realised that he had been sent to the past. 
Soon he reached a house. The curse looked around the area trying to spot the culprit that caused his predicament. He could have broken in and killed everyone that wouldn’t give him any answers, but he felt out of sorts today. He did however catch a glimpse of the red haired girl, that he met previously, in the window. Seems she would have gone outside if not for his presence. 
Displeased, he lurked around the backyard of the house. His mind, surprisingly dim. Perhaps he was suffering from motion sickness after being thrown back in time? “Would that even be possible?” he thought to himself while approaching the windows. Focusing on the sounds coming from inside he heard:”Darn it! How did I manage to lose the wand?! Oh, and that guy. If he stays outside the house I won’t be able to look for it at all.” 
-So to get back I’ll probably need that stick she was holding.No wonder, after all it did look like a special grade tool.-he spoke to himself while observing the girl pace around the corridor.- Wonder why I haven't heard of it sooner.
Sukuna shifted his atencion on looking for the  presumably lost wand. Unfortunately however he was unsuccessful in his search. After an hour or two he was approached by Cinderella. She couldn’t allow a stranger to destroy the flowerbeds in front of her house after all. 
-Sir! Can’t you see that this is private property?
-What?-Sukuna questioned annoyed. 
-You can’t just dig around in my bushes. Please leave.
Deciding that maybe she could help him in this wild goose chase he attempted to convince Cinderella to help him.
-I’m terribly sorry but you see, I lost something. 
-And so you’re digging around the bushes in front of my house?-her words filled with skepticism.
-Yes! You know, I was hunting in the area but one of my arows mishot in this direction. I already found the arrowhead, but can’t find the arowshaft. -To increase his believability, he pulled out of his pocket a piece of shiny metal he reshaped with his fingers to resemble a sharp end of an arrow.
-But if you have this, why bother finding the rest? It’s just a stick at this point, no?
-You would be right, but the shaft is made out of silver so I can’t afford to lose it. Please if you were to find it, tell me.-Sukuna pleaded with her- I will be around the area until I find it.
-Well…If it’s so important I can send a few of my friends to help you.-the blonde girl thought out loud while picking up a few mice. Her hand delicately scooping them up from the ground.
-They would gladly help in exchange for some cheese of course. 
Amused by the absurdity of the notion the man let out a faint laugh while adjusting his robe.
-Sure. I’ll make it a whole wheel of cheese.
Cinderella's rosy lips shifted into a smile. 
-Wonderful, but please. Refrain from looking around so close to the house. My stepmother and sisters wouldn’t be so understanding.
-Allright, allright, I’ll get out of your hair.-he said while already heading back towards the forest. 
He stepped just far enough so that her bright blue eyes wouldn’t see him. His gaze fixed onto her. She swirled with grace while she scattered around grain for the chickens. Sukuna waited for her to start speaking with the mice once again. By the way they behaved, he suspected that she was using a cursed technique on the rodents.
-Cinderella, where is that dress I asked you for?!-a voice shreked out of the house.
The blonde beauty hastley ran back in to appease whoever was calling for her. This of course caused the king of curses to move once again closer. This time he made sure to keep himself concealed to avoid future confrontation. “So, Cinderella is it?” He thought while observing her movement from the window. She went in all sorts of directions making her sometimes hard to follow. Small critters like mice and birds helping her all over. If not handing her the needed tools, they were doing the tasks instead of her. Sukuna was a hundred percent sure that she was using jujutsu on them, but seemed to be unaware of it. Sukuna’s red eyes dilated in fascination. “If she were to fully realize her power. Now that would be interesting.” Pleased, he retreated to the forest for real this time. Concluding his search for the wand for now.
======= ================================ =======
I can not describe how funny seeing all the SukunaxCinderella videos on tiktok was, it's a shame that it took me so long to actually post this thing tho.
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mavencaloreswife · 6 months
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i just finished the wicked prince by holly black… this series is getting a DNF. i didnt even like the first book but everyone said the second book was better so i read it (it was not better). the book is titled after cardan but i literally forgot dude was in the book because he appeared like ten times the whole book and all he did was dumb shit. the whole cardan and jude relationship was stupid. this dude literally tormented her for the entire first book and then his excuse was that he was trying to be worse than his brother thought he was… like ur fucking weird i dont fw u like this dumbass jude. DONT GET ME STARTED ON JUDE. SHE IS THE DUMBEST PERSON LIKE DID U SERIOUSLT THINK CARDAN WAS JUST GONNA MARRY U IN PRIVATE AND NOT HAVE A TRICK UP HIS SLEEVE? (cowboy like me reference??) taryn also pissed me off even more than she did originally. betraying ur sister multiple times for that ginger freak is actually so embarassing for u. still don’t understand how jude actually thinks of madoc as a father but he literally killed her parents. me personally im not forgiving that???? all the other characters like balekin ghost bomb roach nicasia orlaugh or howver the hell u spell it they are all so boring and flat. vivi and heather no one cares. i usually enjoy politically-centered books with fantasy and shit but this was just not it for me.
the only part i liked was that cardan’s last name was greenbriar like the greenbrier plant. PAINFULLY ANNOYING JUST like he is. i also liked when he said he liked women who threaten him. i can relate to this. thank u for ur time guys 😄👍.
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cielsosinfel · 7 months
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I never posted a list of my favorite books I read last year, so here's something brief (with links to posts I made about the books, if I did):
Fiction:
Bloom by Delilah S Dawson: An F/F horror romance that I would describe as "An Eroguro Yuri Yandere Visual Novel Bad End In Western Book Form." A woman coming out of a terrible break-up, and cutting her mother out of her life before uprooting to a town where she knows no one, falls head-over-heels for a beautiful and eccentric woman at the farmer's market. A downward spiral into obsessive love ensues. Short, sweet, perfect build-up, would recommend for an easy fun grotesque read. (Major CW warnings: short but graphic descriptions of past CSA and violent animal death.) Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh: a young human girl growing up on a space station of the remainder of human separatists, waging a fruitless war against the alien empire that decimated humanity years ago, suddenly has to confront the fact her entire upbringing and understanding of the universe and its politics and the foundation upholding her beliefs and ideals was a lie. There's F/F and M/M romance but they're not the focus (and tbh not very satisfying. The story is satisfying.) has one of the most artfully written explorations of the horror of incestuous grooming that I've ever seen written. Major CW: Characters facing racism, Incest and ever-present threats of sexual violence and forced pregnancy.
The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling: F/F SF horror fiction: a woman lies about her credentials to take on a very dangerous, but lucrative, cave diving job in order to escape her backwater mining planet has the slow realization that her employer and handler does NOT have her best interests at heart. A terrifying visceral psychological horror that spirals out of control into an emotionally and mentally abusive romantic relationship. What's better than this, two women becoming unhealthily and abusively condependent as they face the horrors of deep caves, isolation and family trauma together.
Walking Practice by Dolki Min, tl. Victoria Caudle: A South Korean self-published novel translated into English, about a carnivorous, shapeshifting alien trapped on Earth who uses dating apps to find its prey amongst the lonely citizens of a major city. A very harrowing exploration of social isiolation and ostracization of people who fall outside the majority norms, with a definite focus on disability, sexuality and transgressive gender.
The Wicked and the Willing An F/F Gothic Horror Vampire Novel by Lianyu Tan: What the title says lol. This takes place in colonial-era Singapore, where our heroine Gean Choo takes on a job as working as a live-in housekeeper for wealthy white European Verity Edevane, who she's drawn to and desires despite every single warning flag, and is introduced to Po Lam, Edevane's faithful and most trusted employee. And then Gean Choo realizes her new employer is a vampire and handsome Po Lam, who has been murdering young women for her to feed off for years, is determined to protect her. This novel does not go the way you will think it might go. There is a lot going on it that I LOVED and really recommend it. Major CW: Characters facing Racism throughout and descriptive discussion of past CSA that comes up several times.
Nonfiction & Poetry:
Wanting: Women Writing About Desire: A nonfiction anthology of short memoir pieces where women from a very diverse background and of diverse identities, write about their relationships to sex, their bodies, and the act of desiring. I really, really am glad I read this. There is some of the most thoughtful and truthful, uncensored, writing on the complicated sides of being a CSA survivor, that I've ever read, in this book. Many women also write about the intersections of sexual desire and race and culture, transgender status, non-straight sexuality, disability.
Cartographies of Desire: Male-male Sexuality in Japanese Discourse, 1600-1950 by Pflugfelder: A very comprehensive overview of the history of sexual and romantic relationships between men in Japan from the Edo Period through to the post-WW2 period, as well as government efforts to control and repress such relationships. I really appreciate this book because it heavily cites Japanese-language sources to show that the repression of homosexual relationships between men was not purely a part of Meiji-era Japan's process of "modernization" via adopting many Western moral and political concerns- control and repression of male-male sexual relationships has happened all throughout Japanese history, but for more complicated reasons than disgust and moral disapproval of men fucking.
Major CW: A lot of the text is about historical pederasty (that is, sexual relations between men over the age of 18 and boys under the age of 18) and sexual violence is a major element of what is examined.
I'm gonna add to this when I come home but I'll just post this for now since it's pretty long.
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whiterosesinred · 3 months
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the epitome of the duality of queer artists, female queer artists specifically, lies in the complete differences yet the uncanny similarities between chappell roan and ethel cain (hayden anhedönia). two women who grew up tied down by bible belt culture, hiding their identities for the sake of approval and love, then when they finally left, leaving their shackles better known as a weaponized king james faded pleather book of books and concealed micro-aggressions happily leaving the words of an ever-present parent. queerness and gender identities are realized and embraced, yet the memories are still there.
forgetting is futile.
you can make the most of the difference, thank the wicked dreams, or embrace your past, embrace the pain that came from god’s word smothering you and cursing the living soul within you and everything she is, because after all, god loves you, but not enough to save you.
you can rejoice, refuting the demand for silence and compliance, you can even deny your given name if you like. you will not be caged anymore, you’re a new person, new title, new words, new outlook. or you can hone in on your past. you’re a new and changed person…
…but you can make art of the past. what’s the old saying; “art disturbs the comforted and comforts the disturbed”? you can scream, let out the screeching protests that were stomped to breathless whispers.
and you know someone will find comfort in your raw emotion, whether it be in the shouted euphoria you revel in as one who writes freely and elatedly about what it is to be someone embracing every aspect of themselves, or in the complex world you may make of your own experiences, not hiding the horrors with useless euphemisms you heard those around you spew with a painted smile throughout your childhood, for as long as there are souls in this world looking for an ounce of relatability, you are not alone in your experiences.
this is just something i’ve had on my mind for a bit, and it was a concept i wanted to explore as someone who listens to both chappell and ethel cain and finds comfort and a way to identify myself and my experiences in both of their works, but keep in mind that this is just my personal interpretation written in the middle of the night. :]
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adarkrainbow · 10 months
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As an addendum to the previous post, but on a completely different topic:
During his intervention, Tony Gheeraert was asked a question about Charles Perrault's relationship to the court based on his own time under Colbert, and Gheeraert gave a brief but interesting answer that refered to a greater topic that allows one to better understand the Perrault fairytales.
Now, if you didn't know, at the peak of his career, Charles Perrault was working under Colbert - one of the main ministers of Louis XIV, working as a State secretary and as a minister of Finances, and this is how Perrault could become part of the royal court. The question was asked in relation to the whole "fairytale authors praised the mercantilism" of their time, because Colbert was one of the "culprits" behind this mercantilism as he was the figurehead that developed heavily the industries and the commerce under Louis XIV.
Gheeraert was asked if Perrault stayed, in his fairytales, "Colbert's man", and if his position as one of the minister's underlings did influence his fairytales. And Gheerart answer was, no. For him, the Perrault of fairytales was NOT the "Perrault of the Court" or the "Perrault of Colbert". Because after Colbert's death in 1683, Perrault was basically disgraced, as he lost his position, lost his protector and got gently but firmly pushed out of the Court and sent away - I'll return to that when I speak of Perrault's life. For Gheeraert - but he repeated this, it is only his own opinion - the Perrault of the fairytales was the bitter, disgraced Perrault who still held a grudge towards the king and the king's current politics.
Indeed, through Perrault fairytales, we see a very heavy criticism of kings and the monarchy. Take Puss in Boots - a miller boy and his cat can easily fool the monarchy into believing he is an actual noble using his good looks and a few well-placed gifts ; the king is shown as an ignorant drunkard who will believe anything ; the already established lord is an ogre... Same thing within Little Thumbling, where titles are shown to be easily bought or given, and Thumbling's time as the messenger of the court allows for a harsh criticism of the habits of the court (such as everybody cheating on everybody's spouse).
Many historians and a few other fairytale analyst had pointed it out before, but Perrault has a very dark and negative representation of kings and kingly powers in his fairytales - from the ambiguous Sleeping Beauty prince with an ogress-mother to the incestuous king of Donkey Skin.
And in general, despite Perrault's fairytales being accused today of being misogynistic, through his stories feminine characters, girls and women are usually truly valorized and positive whereas masculine figures are discredited or vilified. What do you get for men? As I said - the incestuous Donkey Skin king... The Sleeping Beauty prince who abandons his wife to an ogress.. Cinderella's father who lets his daughter be abused... Bluebeard... The Big Bad Wolf... Ogres... Even Little Thumbling, the supposed hero, is still a thief with morally ambiguous behavior...
While on the side of women we have a lot of heroines and positive figures: Donkey-Skin, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and of course the various fairy godmothers. Mind you there's still negative figures (the wicked step-sisters, the bad sister of Diamonds and Toads, the ogress-mother), but in general, the women get a much more positive depiction than men.
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gay-destiel · 2 years
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A Cinderella Story ~ Destiel
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel
For: @whereitallbegannatural​’s 7.5k Follower Celebration, I look forward to see what everyone (specially you, bex) creates!!
Words: 1674
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ONCE UPON A TIME there was a boy named Ashstiel. His real name was Castiel,  but everyone called him Ash because he was always dirty.
You see, his mother had died when he was little, and he hardly remembered her. His father had cared for him until Ashtiel was fourteen, when he had vanished. Then his stepfather and step siblings had made him their servant. So that’s what Ash did for years, until one day, a letter arrived.
‘To the people of this land,
You are all hereby invited to His and Her Majesty, the King and Queen’s, royal ball.
The purpose of this is to find their son an eligible spouse. Therefore, all young men and women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five may present themselves. This will take place in two weeks time, on the night of the eclipse.
Respectfully,
The Royal Palace’
The stepsiblings were thrilled! Everyone had heard of the Crown Prince’s beauty. But for Ashstiel all it meant was more work..
“How long are you going to take?!!” shouted Zachariah, looking admiring at a picture of Prince Dean,
“You call that a dress?” screamed Ruby, her dark hair almost shimmering as she did it up.
“I’m sorry!” said Ashstiel.  “I need to ask Metatron something.“
Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, his stepfather marched into the room.  “Ask me WHAT?”
“Well,” said the boy, “I was thinking I could use one of Father’s old suits? For the ball?”
“You?” Sneered Metatron,. “Who said YOU were going to the ball?”
“Are you joking?!” said Zachariah.
“But you’re such a mess!” Ruby pointed at Ashtiel.  All three of them laughed, going back to doing unimportant things.
Ashtiel quietly muttered, taking a quick peek at the picture of the Prince, “When they look at me, they see a mess.  But I am not that way.  And if I could, I WOULD go to the ball.”
When the time came for the ball, the three of them piled into their carriage. Ashtiel waved as they left, but they ignored him, laughing among themselves.
Longingly, he said to the garden around him,
“I wish I could go to the ball.”
Then- poof! Right in front of him appeared a short man, with a wicked grin, and WINGS!
“You called?” He said, leaning casually on an oak tree.
Ashtiel took a surprised step back, shielding his eyes from the sudden glow of his bright golden wings,
“Who are you?”
“They call me Gabriel. Though, I s’pose the title is ‘Fairy Godmother’. Who are you?”
The feathered man waggled his eyebrows, giving the boy a curious look,
“I- I’m Ashstiel.”
“Pffft, no you’re not. You’re Cas.”
“What?! How did you even-”
The Fairy Godmother waves him off,
“Nevermind any of that. I’ve come to grant that little wish of yours.”
Ashtiel looked down, filled with a crushing disappointment, “My wish is impossible…”
The Fairy Godmother looked offended, “Uh, buddy. Did I not just appear out of thin air??”
“Yes?” Ashtiel cautiously answered,
“Then I’m the one who gets to decide if your wish is impossible. Now, you need something better to wear.”
He snapped his fingers, and Ashstiel found himself in a velvet red suit.
“Oh, that looks terrible, kid. What color are your eyes?”
“Blue?”
The man snapped his fingers again, and a blue, cotton suit replaced the red one. “Ah, much better. Let me fix you up a royal ride, and- oh! Before I forget, your wish only lasts till the stroke of midnight on the castle bell.”
“So I must leave by then.”
Confused, the boy opened his mouth to ask why, when the Fairy Godmother gave him a mock salute,
“Bingo!”
And promptly disappeared, leaving Ashstiel standing next to a brightly orange coloured carriage.
At the ball, the Crown Prince Dean was overwhelmed, and somehow sad. His mother was confused,
“You’re surrounded by beautiful maidens and gentlemen, and yet, you seem lonely.”
The Prince shook his head, looking at the hoards of people, and said, “I don’t know, mother. But they all seem… wrong.”
“Come,” said his mother, “Meet Lisa Braeden. Her father owns a wealthy mining company.”
But as Prince Dean made his way towards the woman, he heard a disturbance in the gossiping of the ball.
“Who is he?”
“Oh, his suit is fabulous, who do you think…”
“I wish I could marry him.”
When Prince Dean saw the man, he was blown away. The man was handsome, confident even as nobody recognised him.
He made his way towards the man,
“Hello, may I ask your name?”
The other man looked up, blushing slightly, as the Prince offered him a hand.
“I’m A- Cas. My name is Cas.”
As he said it, Cas felt a rush of exhilaration.
“I’m Dean- though you probably already know that.” Dean grinned, “Would you honor me with a dance?”
One dance stretched into two, which stretched into the rest of the night. All the other young men and women were jealous,
“How rude!”
“Why doesn’t he dance with anyone else?”
And soon, Dean invited Cas to join him in the Palace Gardens, where the jealous glares wouldn’t reach them.
“It’s beautiful.” Said Cas, looking around at the pretty flowers and plants,
“Not as beautiful as you.” Dean brushed Cas’ hand with his own.
Cas watched Dean, “I can’t believe that I’m here. And that I’ve found you.”
Dean laughed, “Neither can I. I thought I’d be forced to marry some wealthy bastard, maybe a prince or princess from one of the closer kingdoms. I could never have dreamt that I’d meet you. I still hardly can.”
Cas blushed, looking down at his feet, then shrugged, “My mother always used to say that good things do happen, Dean.”
Dean turned fully to him, the two of them close enough to breathe in each other’s air. Cas’ breath caught in his throat, as he froze, watching Dean’s breathtaking eyes. Their lips brushed, then the sound of bells burst through the moment. Cas gasped, stepping back. 
“I’m sorry, I went too far, I should’ve-”
Dean looked hurt, but Cas interrupted him, “No, no! I just- I have to go!”
The second stroke of the bell tolled, and he turned tail, weaving through the gardens, with Dean calling desperately after him.
The tolls of the bell were like the ominous approach of a new day, and Cas couldn’t stay here, remembering the warning the Fairy Godmother had given him,
‘Your wish only lasts till the stroke of midnight on the castle bell.’
He ran through the door to the ballroom, dashing through the crowd of people.
Another ring of the bell,
He could hear the prince calling out, pushing through the crowd, but he ran out the door without looking back, running down the steps as the bell struck again.
He tripped, his foot catching on something. His shoe was ripped off, but he couldn’t risk going back. Dean burst through the doors right as he vanished into the city, the bell striking for the final time.
Dean looked about desperately, taking the deep twilight crystal shoe in his hands, quietly vowing,
“I will find you, Cas.”
The next day it was known that the Prince was searching. He had his personal guard going from house to house, missing none out. They demanded to see everyone from the ages of seventeen to twenty-five, letting them try on the slipper Cas had left behind.
After two days, they arrived at Ashtiel’s door, a short, dark haired male and a young ginger accompanied by a small band of soldiers. The sharp contrast between the two at the door was highlighted by his tired scowl and her enthusiastic grin.
Zachariah ran from the window, calling out,
“They’re here!!”
“Come on, come on!” Ruby stomped down the stairs, and Ashtiel peered out the upstairs window as a knock came at the door. Metatron opened it, an over eager smile on his face,
“Oh, come in! These are my two children.”
The two went inside, leaving the rest of the soldiers to stay watch.
Ashtiel creeped quietly to the top of the stairs, looking down to catch a glimpse of the girl’s red hair as she held out a familiar shoe. He moved down the stairs until he could see them all.
Zachariah pushed Ruby to the side, “Let me try.”
He grabbed the shoe, trying to drag it on, but his foot was too big. Ruby snatched it off him, “My turn!”
But it was too wide, wobbling as she put it on.
The scowling man took the shoe back, “And what about the other boy? Or was he just a strangely realistic cutout?”
Metatron spluttered, “What? I assure you, there’s no one else in the house!!”
The ginger looked up the stairs, making eye contact with Ashtiel,
“Hey! You can come down now.”
Ashstiel’s eyes widened, but he made his way down, trying not to look at his step-family as he went. The woman grabbed the shoe off the man, holding it out, “Here, try it on.”
Ashtiel took it cautiously as Ruby said, “This is a waste of time. He’s obviously not going to-”
He slipped on the shoe, a perfect fit, and brought out the other one from his pocket. When the clock had struck, everything the Fairy Godmother had given him had vanished, except for the shoe, he didn’t know why.
The man smirked at Ruby, looking extremely smug for someone Ashstiel had never met before, “You were saying?”
Once Metarton and his children calmed down a bit, the two- Crowley and Charlie- had taken Ashtiel to the palace, where, waiting on the steps was Prince Dean. He stood up as the carriage approached, and ran up as Cas got out. He looked at him as if he couldn’t see the ragged clothes and the smudges of dirt on him,
“I thought we wouldn’t find you!”
Cas looked down, “I thought you wouldn’t look…”
Dean shook his head, “Never.” Tilting Cas’ head up, he kissed him AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.
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lonli-lokli · 5 months
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Ultimate Ongoing Rofan Favorites in No Particular Order
((ongoing as in unfinished. some of these are on hiatus etc))
These are titles I've enjoyed from start to finish with no inhibitions and the ones I without fail always find myself looking forward to. People who are into rofan manhwa probably already know all of these, but I still wanted to put them in one place (:
1. A Stepmother's Märchen
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What is there even to say anymore. Absolutely incredible story that does so much justice to all its themes and characters and that is drawn PHENOMENALLY. If you somehow still haven't read it PLEASE do. You won't regret it. Personally I think it doesn't get better than Stepmother's Märchen in this genre.
2. I Stan the Prince
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This story brings me the most joy. I would say out of all of these I Stan the Prince has the best romance, i.e. dynamic between the two leads. I can't get enough of them and watching their relationship grow so tenderly is wonderful. Catch me giggling and kicking my feet alongside Angela, the protagonist, who by the way is incredibly lovable, it's impossible not to be fond of her. The art is another thing entirely - it's so obvious how loved this story is by how alive and full of endearing little details every single panel is. It just makes me feel warm inside.
3. A Wicked Tale of Cinderella's Stepmom
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Best mom award goes to Mildred, my favorite rofan protagonist. She's in her forties, she's a dignified and wise noble lady, she was fully and seriously prepared to kill a man for hurting one of her daughters. I like the male lead but I'm also bitterly jealous of him because that should've been me. This is a story about women being awesome, and not in a superficial way!
4. Catherine’s Key to a Happy Life
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I can't fully articulate why, but this series makes me think about Howl's Moving Castle. None of the characters are particularly similar, but something about the atmosphere makes me enchanted in the same way. I think Catherine could be a Ghibli protagonist.
Mysterious and lovely with an intriguing storyline. Chezare is one of the most charming male leads I've seen.
5. I Raised My Fiancé with Money
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This one is new, but I can already tell it's most likely going to continue being very good. I don't have too much to say. The art is lovely and so is the very endearing male lead whose journey of overcoming his insecurity and low self-esteem is the center of the story right now. This manhwa's fashion game is on another level - Ilya never fails to look immaculate, and her throwing her seemingly neverending money around never gets old.
6. The Perks of Being an S-Class Heroine
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Rofan with action! It can be silly and funny at one moment and thrilling at the other. The next season is looking to be amazing, taking everything that the series' been building up and realising it, and the story is already very fun and engaging. The "tower-regressor-S-class hunter" genre of manhwa has been little by little meshing with rofan lately and I think this is the peak of how well that can be done.
7. Loveless Heroine
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Thai manga!!! Now THIS is what I call a historical romance. Loveless Heroine interacts with its setting constantly and is very thoughtful about the way it represents the time period it's set in. There are also some queer themes which I absolutely love! This story feels mature and grounded, and I can't get enough of it.
8. Surviving as a Maid
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This series has such a soft, melancholic feeling to it. At times it's empty, a little sordid, but it's also full of beautiful moments that you remember for a long time after reading. There's a lot of longing for many different things and I would say quite a bit of grief. Ash is a very unique and relatable protagonist with her own fears, flaws and dreams, and I like how both big and small her life is. Surviving as a Maid also feels very grounded, but in a different way from Loveless Heroine.
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chikoyama · 5 months
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20. Violence
& me giving you a [blanket] and asking "tell me about your day?"
(whether you admit/share violent deads to me is up to you >.<)
Bonus points if you include any of the following ;P
☆ Flip flops
☆ A pencil
☆ A convenience store
#OpalGangnamStyle #GoodLuck #Feelfreetogetmeback
They were young and bold. Two broke students trying to make it through each day, one stride at a time. In this economy it was rough, and with its inflated prices, Chiyori and Opal had little choice but to live the lives of cheapskates. So, it would only seem natural for the two friends to go check out the discount section in the local convenience store to save some coins.
As they casually dabbled along the aisles, Chiyori's attention piqued as she came to a halt in front of a container. It had a yellow sign above written with the words: ‘Prices heavily reduced’. Thinking there might be a steal to find, Chiyori decided to sort through the pile to see if there was anything of interest.
As she searched through the items and pulled out a single blue flip flop — yes, a single flip flop, not a pair — amber eyes couldn’t help but stare at it with the wicked curiosity of a child. Turning the flip-flop this and that way, she examined the material, plush digits pressing into soft, bendable plastic.
After a moment, however, Chiyori surrendered a sigh. She concluded to not make it a purchase — the consumption of plastic products simply wouldn’t do their planet or environment any better. Besides, what would she need a single random flip flop for?
Though, regardless of the decision, Chiyori still felt the impulse to share this peculiar discovery with her friend, and so she did by calling out: “Loooook, Opal-chan! A flip flop!” With a smile, she held it in the air for the other to see before playfully tossing it in the direction of Opal-chan.
As it hit Opal-chan lightly on the arm, the pinkette laughed back. “Hey!” She returned before picking up the flip flop to claim her revenge. However, as Opal pulled back her arm and launched it forward, the flip flop, once she let go of it, slipped out of her grasp in a wrong angle, thus, causing it to fly towards some shelves instead.
As the flip flop smacked into a top shelf, the shelf — too loosely nailed to the wall for some reason — crashed down immediately, and just like pins in a game of bowling, it knocked down the shelves underneath it in its fall.
It was violent — loud crashes and banging noises vibrated through the entire shop as shelves and products slammed to the floor, breaking and spilling, and causing other customers around them to stop up to witness the spectacle.
As a whole disaster unfolded before the two, Chiyori’s eyes widened and she flinched. While everything seemed to happen within the span of only a few seconds in the eyes of onlookers, everything to her seemed to play out in a perfect slow motion to her.
During the lingering after-effects of the incident, Chiyori blinked in disbelief, form frozen into paralysation. Only when she seemed to have partially regained herself from her initial state of shock, did she — sheepish as she was — turn to look at Opal-chan. However, that’s when Chiyori detected stomping behind them, and she was instead prompted to rotate entirely on her heel.
Met with the angry glare of someone whose hands were firmly planted on their hips, Chiyori could only assume it was the shop manager — the title on the keycard around their neck confirmed that too. Bracing herself for what was about to come, Chiyori shrank back.
With heavy disapproval, the shop manager shook their head at the two. “This is considered property damage!” They informed sternly as they pointed toward the toppled shelves with the products strewn across the previously spotless floor.
As the two women took their berating with shame and humiliation, both had their heads bowed down. Then, with a scornful grunt, the manager promptly handed them a pen and piece of paper, demanding that they immediately sign their consent to replace the damages they’d caused.
Of course, being the cowards law-abiding citizens that they were, Chiyori and Opal hastily scribbled their names onto the formulas as none of them were particularly keen on discovering what kinds of punishments they could potentially be facing if they didn’t. Once they exited the store — still embarrassed and deeply humbled by the accident — the friends agreed on splitting the bill for the replacements evenly.
Following this experience, it probably would be safe to assume that none of the two friends ever dared to show their faces in that particular convenience store again. They’d lost more money than they’d saved.
@opalchoi
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