#bookending their first meeting with their first kiss
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pastafossa · 2 years ago
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Hey pasta, just wanted to double check since you mentioned it in the past: are we able to self print TRT? If so, what chapters would be considered their own books?
I'm absolutely fine with you self-printing for your own shelf! I'd LOVE if I could have copies printed to sell at cost to everyone buuuut since that could get me in trouble with the Mouse, all I can do is give you the green light to do it yourself.
I realize these are a bit uneven BUT if I broke them up:
Chapters 1-43: Book One. This is the most solid, and this was always where I meant to 'end' Book One/TRT's first 'fic' and then begin the next book, but I decided to just keep it all in one fic for ease. After this, things get a little hazy about how I'd break it up, so you're free to choose. But I have them segmented like this: Chapters 44-73: Book Two. Maybe the shortest but I feel like there's a natural rise and fall with arcs to this particular section Chapters 74-105: Book Three. This one feels a bit neater, with a more natural endpoint/resolution than Book 2. Chapters 106-Now: <- we are here in this general area, cause I haven't quite figured out WHERE I want to put the cutoff for Book 4 quite yet.
I hope that helps!
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flowerpotmage · 1 year ago
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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (2)
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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.
Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader
Notes: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, crying, bb got traumaaa! ambiguous relationship. panic attack this chapter, as well as discussions of death/canon typical (offscreen) violence
Word Count: 3,431
Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.
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The slide of your living room balcony door lets you know he's there. You're on your own Earth, in your own apartment. The hour is impossibly late, your night out as the city's Spider having only recently ended. Everything had been going just fine.
Until, of course, it hadn't.
You barely register the sound of your bedroom door creaking open.
If you’d just been a few seconds faster, reacted to your spidey-senses quicker, that woman would still be–
“What happened?” His voice is right next to you.
Just like the first time he’d found you amongst rubble, you curl further in on yourself, your back against your dresser in your upright fetal position. You squeeze into yourself so hard it feels like the first stages of a core-collapse supernova. But the inward pressure doesn't stop the sobs from escaping.
“Hey,” Miguel says in his softest voice. “Hey. Breathe.”
You try, but it comes out in that sort of mutilated-dying-dinosaur stuttering and scraping gasp way that seems to bookend hyperventilation.
“Hey, look at me,” he says again. “I’m gonna—Can I put my hand on your shoulder?”
You shake your head furiously, you know touch will only send you into fight or flight right now.
“Okay, okay,” he reassures. “No touch. Can you look at me?”
A deep shuddering breath, and you look up from where your head had been buried against your knees. Miguel is kneeling in front of you, and when his frame is this close to you it takes up your whole field of vision. He's in his suit, unmasked, the luminescence of the red paneling casting a soft glow reminiscent of a neighboring house fire through cotton curtains.
“Okay, good, good job,” he praises. “Eyes on me. In,” he breathes in, exaggerating the movement of it in his body, moving his hand up to show in.
You follow along, vision blurry and face twisted and wet. You manage to breathe in, though not as smooth as him. You pull the air in, shaky, interrupted by a cracked sob you try to cut off.
“It's okay,” he says at your mid-breath sob, and then; “Now breathe out, like me,” and he blows the air out through his rounded lips.
You follow suit, breathing out shakily, before a short barking laugh escapes at a sudden realization, the self consciousness at a strange discordance with the rest of your emotions.
His brow twitches in confusion, but he continues on.
“I’m not wearing a shirt,” you laugh hysterically, face and stomach scrunching with the abruptness of it.
It's true—you had gotten out of your suit and into pajama bottoms before you had broken down in the midst of getting out a sleep shirt, which you have been pressing against your face and sobbing into and is now probably about 25% saltwater.
“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, glancing away then meeting your eyes again. “Just breathe, we'll worry about your shirt later. Come on,” he begins his outward breath over again, gently moving his hand down through the air as a guide for the pace.
“Your lungs are way too big,” you dissolve into laughter at the length of his breaths, still trying to breathe out through your mouth. You laugh even more when he finishes his outward breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
A few more rounds of breathing in and out (“Come on, stop it,” a chuckling Miguel says at one point, failing not to laugh too, when you burst into hysterical giggles a third time. “Try to focus on breathing.”) and soon you’ve calmed down just enough, your tears still falling though now they're coming slower and gentler.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.
You shake your head a little too fast, and it hurts your dried out skull. “Shirt first.”
He blinks, looking up over your head. “Right.” Then he stands, leaning over you to pull open the drawer above your crouched form with your sleep shirts. When he crouches down again he hands you your biggest, softest shirt. One he knows you like.
Miguel offers an outstretched hand, red palm up. You cling both shirts—salt soaked and otherwise—to your body in one hand out of some combination of comfort and modesty, then you put your other hand in his and let him pull you up. As soon as you're on your feet he gives you a quick look over, before turning his back and moving to the door. You see now that he's holding the stack of clothes you keep for him.
After he’s left the room and you hear the soft click of the bathroom door down the hall you drop the wet shirt on the floor and pull on the new dry one, sliding into your unmade bed and doing your best to straighten out the blankets over your body.
You’re still struggling with the blanket when your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel returning quietly. He’s carrying his folded suit, so when he slips through the door he stops and sets it on your chair with your own suit and jacket. He starts to take a step from the chair towards you, pauses, and then grabs your bloody suit and leaves again. You hear the sound of the kitchen sink, and then he’s back empty handed.
You’re still wrestling with the blanket.
“Dios mio, it’s like you’ve never encountered a goddamn blanket,” he mumbles, taking it from your hands and going to straighten it out.
You look up at him. He pauses.
“What did you do to this thing?” He asks, brow furrowing as he struggles to untangle the blanket. You stifle a laugh, but it builds, eventually bursting out like an overflow of bubblebath over the side of a tub.
Eventually he figures the blanket out, mumbling under his breath as he lays it across you and sliding into the bed.
“Shit, I should have some water,” you mumble and start to get up.
A gentle hand on your upper arm stops you, and Miguel rises from the mattress as the soft press of his hand compels you to lay back down. He leaves, you hear water being poured, and then he’s back.
“I meant to get a cup for you after I changed,” he says quietly, handing it over and standing over you with hands on his hips until you’ve gulped down at least half the cup. Satisfied, he gets back under the blanket with you as you set the water on a bedside table. When you turn around, he has an arm open for you, an invitation you can freely accept or deny. It's not always holding one another and comforting embraces when he visits—sometimes the other persono just needs to be near another living thing.
But you accept, this time. It's your turn to bury your face into his chest for comfort.
“Now do you want to talk about it?” He asks, and despite his hesitant tone, you know he cares enough to listen if you do.
You press your forehead further into his sternum, just below his clavicle.
“A mugging,” you whisper, but you know he can still hear you. “I was seconds too late. Bullet wound. She bled out.”
His arms tighten around you as your body tenses, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.
“I waited too long, I should have–”
“You’re still human,” he interrupts you. “Stop that.”
“Miguel–”
He interrupts you again, saying your name. “No. Don’t do that to yourself.”
You fall quiet, stiff in his arms. He sighs, running a hand up and down your spine.
“The guilt is normal. It’s never easy, not when you feel you could have done something else…” his hand on your back stops for a moment as he trails off, and he sighs yet again, resting his cheek on your head as he holds you. His hand resumes its soothing touches. “But it doesn’t do any good to beat yourself up. We just try to do better next time.”
Your body relaxes, slowly.
“She was so scared,” you whisper. “I couldn’t do anything, and she was so scared.” The tears start to come again. The salt burns your already raw, dry eyes, the hot and thick drops flowing freely as you bury your face in his shirt.
Then Miguel does something he’s never done before, hesitating before taking the leap.
He kisses the top of your head.
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Again, it isn't always crying and comfort. It’s usually business and the busyness of trying to balance your triple-life; work and the few friends you still have along with Spider duties on your own earth, and then helping other Spider-People on other earths capture anomalies and bringing them back to Miguel and Margo to be sent home.
And Miguel isn't the only visitor. Sometimes Gwen crashes at your place when she’s not with Hobie, who’s also visited once or twice with her. Eleven years her senior, it feels more like having a much younger, cooler sister come to visit from out of town so your parents can go on vacation to a swingers cruise. Or something.
“I don’t have a lot of groceries, so first things first: I’m dragging you to the store with me,” you say to Gwen as you step through the portal into your living room, pulling off your mask. She follows through right behind you.
“Fine by me. I’ve been craving those weird cookies from last time. Hobie doesn’t have them in his dimension, and they definitely don’t have them in Nueva York.”
You chuckle, heading toward your room. “We’ll make sure to get some extras for you then. And I’ve got your duffle bag from last time stashed in here. I washed everything, since last time we got kinda crazy with the balcony plants.”
Gwen follows you and leans on the door frame, giving a cursory glance over your room as you crouch to pull out her duffle bag from your closet. When you stand and turn to hand her the strap of the bag, she quickly straightens up and her eyes snap towards you—you know her well enough to recognize the sparkle of curious glee in her eyes, the careful poker-faced smile covering up a grin.
“Thanks!” she says, ignoring your suspicious look, taking the duffle bag and disappearing to change in the bathroom.
You turn and look around your room, searching for what might have prompted that reaction. Your eyes land on Miguel’s sleep-over clothes from that night nearly a week ago when he had found you crying, still hanging loosely over the back of the armchair.
“Jesus,” you mumble, taking them and stuffing them in the dirty laundry hamper, face hot.
An hour or more later, you’ve gone and returned from the grocery store with Gwen. Music plays on your apartment speakers, and golden sunset light streams in through windows and the sliding glass doors of the balcony. You’ve made stir-fry with Gwen, serving it on mismatched thrift store dishes, and now the two of you make your way to the small table on your tiny balcony to eat outside while the music from indoors drifts out to mingle with the ambience of the city.
“Thanks for letting me crash here again,” Gwen says, putting her feet up in the third empty chair.
“Of course,” you smile at her, setting your glass of water on the tiny coffee table.
You both eat for a moment in silence, enjoying the warmth of the slowly fading light and the sounds of the city. Somewhere someone is practicing violin.
“Sooooo,” Gwen rolls her head to look at you. “Who’s the guy?”
You nearly choke on the rice.
“Jesus,” you finally say, washing it down with water and thumping your chest. “What guy?”
“You know,” she says, looking at you sidelong with a raised eyebrow. “The one who left a t-shirt and sweatpants in your room?”
You shake your head, taking in a breath and looking off into the peachy sky. God help me. “There’s no guy, it’s not like that. He just stays here sometimes—”
“Wait, so is it ‘no guy’ or there is but it’s not like…?” she drops her feet off the extra seat and leans towards you, “You said he stays here sometimes, though? So there’s something.”
“Oh my god, Gwen, no,” you can feel your face getting hot. “No, it’s not like that.”
“You said that already,” she kicks her feet back up, grinning. “Do I get to meet him?”
“No. Eat your vegetables,” you roll your eyes and kick the leg of her chair, making her wobble and catch her balance with her spider reflexes.
“Okay, okay! Touchy,” she says, no real venom or irritability in her voice. You both resume eating, small smiles on your faces.
Gwen joins you on patrol that night, helping you stop a convenience store robbery and web up a guy trying to break into his ex-girlfriend's apartment. You’re done and home by one in the morning, and by one-forty-five, she’s asleep on your couch with the soft light and sound of the tv still playing.
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There’s no real reason for Miguel to be here tonight, in this dimension. He knows this, he’s told himself this, and he’s ignored it. It’s just that… he’s having trouble sleeping. Jess, Lyla, and even Peter B. Parker all told him he should sleep more, that he should take care of himself.
There’s other ways he could try to deal with his insomnia, of course. It’s not like there aren’t sleep-aids on Earth-928 (Would those even work the same on me still? he wonders). He tells himself he mostly wants to check in on you after last week. You’ve seemed alright when you’ve passed at Spider Society HQ, when he’s seen you on the security cams laughing with Peter B. Parker and his daughter, May. But if there’s one consistent feature across the multiverse it’s that Spider-People like to hide whatever’s going on under the surface, like house cats and wild animals afraid to show weakness for fear of predators. Better to ask you in private, in person.
Miguel sees the faint glow of your television through the balcony doors of your apartment as he swings closer. You’ve told him once that you try to avoid blue light this late since it affects sleep quality, so the fact that you’re watching tv at this hour reads to him as a sure sign that he’s made the right decision to come check in on you.
Miguel engages the light byte cloth to soften his landing on your balcony, straightening up from a crouch to stand, sliding open the glass doors—
Thwip!
His hand is webbed to the jam.
And that’s definitely not you on your couch, sitting up from under one of your spare blankets, with your pillow on one end.
“...Miguel?”
Shit.
Gwen glances at your bedroom door. “Are you two…?” She trails off into awkward silence.
Miguel doesn’t know what to say, though he suspects he knows what Gwen is asking.
“...No.” He turns his head to look down the darkened hallway of your apartment—now noticing the sound of your shower—then looks back at Gwen, tearing his hand free from her webbing.
Gwen stares at him.
Miguel stares at her. A small seed of unease plants itself in his chest.
“This is weird,” she says.
“You’re not on Earth-138,” he replies.
The sound of your shower stops.
“I uh, I crash here sometimes.”
“I can see that.”
Silence. Gwen glances once between the hallway and Miguel when the sound of the bathroom door clicking open carries down the hall.
Miguel turns his masked head towards your approach, his body still facing Gwen. He’s already looking at your eyes the moment you stop in your tracks, your eyes snapping to where his are underneath his mask.
“Miguel,” you hiss, eyes wide, sweeping your arm out towards the couch. “Gwen’s sleepi–”
He also sees the way your brain seems to freeze when your gaze moves to the couch and sees Gwen is sitting, wide awake, and looking right back at you. He sees some unspoken conversation between the two of you, Gwen’s eyes widening at you as if to say I was so absolutely right about something, yours widening as if to say Whatever you’re thinking is so absolutely incorrect, please believe me.
“Lyla said your watch needs maintenance.”
Both your heads whip to look at him. The seed of unease wobbles.
“Oh,” you say, and Miguel gets the distinct impression that you’re trying not to look at Gwen, trying to play it casual. “So you came to pick it up…?”
“Figured that would be best. In case something was really wrong, and you tried to use it. And got turned into a shocked up Cronenberg creature.”
“A what?”
“It’s an Earth-616 media reference,” you explain quickly, still looking at Miguel. “Uh, I’ll just grab the watch really quick.”
He inclines his head, and watches you disappear into your room. Would it be weird if he followed you in? There’s no way he’s going to get to talk to you tonight with Gwen here, much less stay over—
“Here it is,” you reemerge, holding the watch. “Uh, how long will it take to…?”
Miguel steps closer, taking the watch from you. “I can do it now, but you’re getting ready for bed so maybe I’ll just bring it back in the mo–”
“I don’t mind,” Gwen says. “If it’s only gonna be a little bit, why bother leaving and then coming back?”
You both look at Gwen, Miguel turning to look at you again while you stare at Gwen. He tries not to shift on his feet while the two of you stare silently at one another.
“Yeah, uh, you can use my desk in here,” you finally turn to face Miguel, nodding your head towards your room. “So Gwen here can go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired–”
“I’m making you catch up on homeschool shit tomorrow, while you’re here,” you raise an eyebrow at her. “I know you’re behind.” Gwen groans. “So get some rest.”
“Alright, alright,” Gwen flops back down on the couch.
Miguel watches this exchange, the tight, pitted feeling in his chest disappearing inside a warm cocoon. You catch his attention again, nodding towards your open bedroom door for him to go in. He goes past you, letting his mask dissolve back into the body of his suit. The bedroom door clicks shut, and he turns to face you, mouth open with a ready apology, only to find you with your head buried in your hands.
“Oh my god,” you say. “Now Gwen thinks we’re fucking.”
Oh.
“I haven’t done laundry, haven’t needed to since you washed my suit for me after… After that woman died,” your voice catches, but you continue on. “So your sleepover clothes were just on the chair, and Gwen saw and assumed I’d been having a guy over, and then you show up at like two in the morning,” you drag your hands down your face, finally meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t realize she stayed here sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, she can’t just move in with Hobie, and HQ is no place for a kid to live full time. It’s too busy.”
He doesn’t disagree. HQ is hardly a home. Maybe that has something to do with–
“The watch maintenance isn’t real though, right?”
“No,” he says, tossing it back to you with a gentle underhand throw. “I just…”
“Yeah,” you catch it effortlessly, nodding. He watches your hands turn it over and fidget with it, watches you checking the screen.
“I wanted to see how you are. After last week.”
Your hands still. He watches you swallow, your shoulders freezing.
Nope, there it is—the pit wasn’t in the warm cocoon, it was just sneaking down into his gut.
“I’m alright, just... Y’know.”
He nods. He knows.
“If you need anything…”
You nod.
“...I should go.”
You nod again, and he feels the knot in his stomach start to grow, before only the size of an olive pit, now swelling to a peach stone.
“Just… With Gwen here,” you say. “I don’t…”
He nods again too. “I know.”
And then he’s opening a portal, filling your room with brilliant orange light, the objects in your room flickering and starting to move. He steps through with a quick glance back at you, and then the portal closes on your apologetic face and he’s alone in the dim light of his lab.
He doesn't sleep very well that night.
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from-memphis-with-love · 9 days ago
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Songbird - Chapter 6 - Nobody's Fool
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Summary: In the aftermath of Elvis' last day in his 1969 Vegas residency, Valerie and Elvis get caught in a compromising position. A decision is made, and a plan is formulated. Late at night, Valerie and Elvis almost cross the point of no return.
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There are moments when one wakes up, and everything seems okay. That blessed space between sleep and memory, before the brain catches up with your body? 
I had about three seconds of that peace before I opened my eyes and saw Elvis' jacket draped over my chair like a question mark.
The gin-stained dress I'd fallen asleep in clung to me like shame. My mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with Dean Martin's martini shaker. And somewhere in the building's guts, that damn dove was cooing its morning commentary.
The Colonel's note lay where I'd dropped it last night: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."
I looked at the clock. 1:07.
"Well, shit."
The phone rang before I could make it to the shower. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. But in Vegas, you learn quick that ignored calls have a way of turning into bigger problems.
"Hello?"
"Val? Thank God." my best friend’s voice carried all the manic energy of a Chicago morning. "I've been trying to reach you for hours! Have you seen the papers?"
I hadn't. Didn't want to.
"Listen, Dee, I can't really talk right now. I have a meeting—"
"About Memphis?"
The question hit like a slap. I sank onto the bed, still wearing last night's mistakes.
"How did you..."
"There's a blind item in the Tribune. 'Which Chicago music teacher has caught the King's eye? Sources say she's trading the Windy City for Graceland...'" Deena paused. "Val? Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."
I practically felt whiplash from how fast the news got out. Through the wall, I could hear the Memphis Mafia stirring - boots on carpet, voices carrying through the International's expensive but thin walls. Red's laugh. Jerry's drawl. The sound of Elvis' world waking up.
"It's exactly what you think it is," I said finally. "And it's going to come out now anyway. His manager’s already planning how to 'handle' it."
The silence on the other end stretched like taffy.
"Holy shit," Deena whispered finally. "Holy actual shit. You and Elvis Presley? All this time? The mystery man you wouldn't tell me about... that was Elvis fucking Presley?"
"Dee—"
"But he's married! To that gorgeous wife who was in all the photos last night, kissing him like—" She stopped. "Oh honey. Those photos. Did you... were you there?"
The memory of that kiss, perfectly timed for the cameras, hit fresh. Elvis's hand on Priscilla's waist. The crowd's approving applause. Ann-Margret's knowing look.
"When I told you to ride that stallion till you break the saddle, I didn't mean steal someone else's horse!" Deena's voice cracked between humor and horror. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Elvis. Actually Elvis."
"I have to go," I said. "Meeting in, like, five minutes. Call me later." I lied. 
"Val, wait—"
I hung up. Stood there for a moment, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Last night's mascara made me look like a raccoon who'd lost a bar fight.
Time to face the music. Or in this case, the Colonel.
*
The Colonel's suite was a shrine to his greatest creation. Elvis stared down at me from every wall - movie posters, concert bills, gold records, photographs spanning from that first Sun Records publicity shot to last night's show. Young Elvis, GI Elvis, Hollywood Elvis, Comeback Elvis, Vegas Elvis. A hundred different versions of the same man, watching our little drama play out beneath their frozen gazes.
The irony wasn't lost on me. We were here to talk about Elvis, but the only Elvis present was made of paper and celluloid.
Red and Sonny flanked the door like bookends. Jerry lounged against a wall between "Love Me Tender" and "Blue Hawaii" posters, trying to look casual and failing. The Colonel himself sat behind a desk (flown in specially) that had probably witnessed a thousand deals, smoking a cigar that put out enough smoke to rival a carnival cotton candy machine.
"Ah, Miss Pedretti." The Colonel's eyes twitched with what might have been amusement. Or annoyance. "Right on time. Coffee?"
"No, thank you." I remained standing, though there was an empty chair positioned precisely in front of his desk - red velvet with gold tassels. The power play was obvious - him elevated, me lower. I wasn't playing. Behind him, a young Elvis smiled down at me. From the very early days. Had there been a girl standing in my spot that day too? Someone else who thought she was different, special?
“Suit yourself." The Colonel gestured at a stack of newspapers spread across his desk, right beneath a photo of Elvis signing his first RCA contract. His mom and dad were in the photo. Her eyes were sad. My eyes were sad looking at her. "I assume you've seen the morning editions?"
I hadn't, but I could see the headlines from where I stood. ELVIS ENDS VEGAS RUN WITH A KISS. KING AND QUEEN OF ROCK REUNITED. And smaller, in the gossip columns: MYSTERY WOMAN IN ELVIS' INNER CIRCLE?
"The paper’s been particularly... creative with their speculation," the Colonel continued. "Something about a Chicago singer-slash-music teacher?"
A distant coo echoed through the ventilation system. Even Tom's dove was eavesdropping.
"Now," the Colonel leaned forward, his head briefly blocking out Army Elvis's crisp salute in the frame behind him, "we need to discuss how we're going to handle your transition to Memphis. I've taken the liberty of arranging—"
"Where’s Elvis?"
The question landed like a grenade in church. Jerry straightened slightly. Red and Sonny suddenly found the ceiling fascinating - specifically, the spot where a massive photograph showed Elvis and the Colonel shaking hands on that first Vegas contract.
"Mr. Presley is... indisposed." The Colonel's voice could have frosted glass. "Mrs. Presley's flight leaves shortly, and certain... appearances must be maintained."
Of course. The real Elvis was playing the devoted husband one last time, seeing Priscilla off. Probably at this very moment they were posing for photographers at the airport, adding one more perfect image to the collection.
I looked at movie star Elvis smoldering down at me from the "Viva Las Vegas" poster. Had Ann-Margret stood in a room like this too? Had the Colonel tried to manage her the same way?
"As I was saying," the Colonel continued, "I've arranged for a house—"
"No."
His eyebrows climbed toward what was left of his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"
"No thank you?"
The silence that followed could have choked a carnival strongman. A hundred Elvises watched the standoff - jumpsuit Elvis, leather Elvis, clean-cut Elvis, rebel Elvis. All of them waiting to see what happened when someone said no to the Colonel.
"Miss Pedretti." He said it like he was explaining physics to a child. "Perhaps you don't understand how things work in Memphis. Mr. Presley's... companions require certain... accommodations."
"I'm not his companion." The words came out harder than I meant them. "I'm not his anything. I'm just going to Memphis."
The Colonel's laugh had all the warmth of a snake's belly. "My dear girl, nobody 'just' goes to Memphis. Not in Elvis' world." He pushed a folder across the desk, right past a framed photo of Elvis handing him a gold watch. "Now, I've had my people draw up some papers. Simple things - non-disclosure agreements, property arrangements, a modest monthly allow—"
"No." I didn't touch the folder. "I don't want your house or your money or your papers."
"Then what exactly do you want?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. What did I want? Elvis, obviously. But which one? I looked around the room at all his faces. Which one was real? The one who sang hymns with me? The one who kissed his wife for the cameras? The one who...
A knock at the door saved me from answering. Joe stuck his head in, looking harried.
"Colonel? Sorry to interrupt, but we got a situation. Seems Dean Martin's passed out in the fountain again, and he's telling everyone who'll listen about Elvis and the towel incident..."
The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "Christ on a cracker. Red, Sonny - go handle that. Jerry, get the car ready. Mrs. Presley can't be late for her flight." He turned back to me. "This conversation isn't over, Miss Pedretti."
"Yes," I said quietly. "It is."
I walked out before he could respond, passing under the watchful eyes of a dozen paper Elvises. Behind me, I heard Jerry whistle low.
"Girl's got stones," he murmured to someone.
"Girl's got a death wish," came the response.
Maybe they were both right. I glanced back one last time as the door closed. The Colonel sat fuming beneath his gallery of conquests - every image a reminder of his control over Elvis's destiny.
But I wasn't going to be just another picture on his wall.
*
I found Elvis in his suite, standing at the window in an emerald green suit that hung perfectly on his tall, lithe frame. He was watching something in the distance - maybe the desert, maybe nothing. The real thing was somehow both more and less than all those images in the Colonel's room.
Our reflections caught in the window glass - him in that perfect suit, me still wearing yesterday's mascara and this morning's doubts. Despite myself, I let my eyes linger on the picture we made together. We looked good, in a way that had nothing to do with staging or the Colonel's careful arrangements. Where Priscilla was all porcelain perfection and carefully coiffed hair, I was warmer, earthier. My olive skin glowed next to Elvis's golden tan. My long dark hair fell in natural waves, untamed by hairspray and hot rollers. Where Priscilla's baby doll lips seemed perpetually pursed in careful consideration, my wider mouth was made for laughter, for singing, for other things I tried not to think about.
Different kinds of beautiful, maybe. But standing there next to Elvis, I couldn't help but notice how well we fit.
The sound of my heels on the carpet made him turn. His eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted glasses. 
"Heard you had a meeting with the Colonel," he said softly.
"Gee. Word travels fast ‘round here."
His laugh was hollow. "Everything travels fast here. Except time." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which..."
"You have to take her to the airport."
"Back to Memphis," he nodded. "At least for now. She'll head back to California soon enough." Something flickered across his face - relief? Regret? "Just needs to..." He trailed off.
"Needs to what?"
"Settle some things. At Graceland." His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the implication. Priscilla would be there, in Memphis, when I arrived. On her turf. Or what used to be her turf.
"The Colonel had some interesting ideas about my living arrangements," I said, watching our reflections shift as Elvis moved closer.
His jaw tightened. "I told him to leave that alone."
"Did you really think he would?"
"No." He stepped behind me, his hands hovering near my shoulders but not quite touching. In the glass, we looked like a photograph waiting to be taken - the kind the Colonel would never allow. "But I hoped. Kind of like I hope you didn’t mean what you said. About finding your own place."
"I did."
"Even though I really want you to stay with me?"
"Even though."
In the window's reflection, I watched him study the contrast of us - his emerald suit against my rumpled red dress, his calculated (and rare) stillness against my untamed energy. When Priscilla stood next to him, they looked like matching dolls in a shop window. But this... we looked the part of the real couple. With real differences.
He nodded slowly. "You know what she said to me last night? After all the cameras were gone?"
I waited, watching his reflection's lips form the words.
"Said I better not turn you into another version of her." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Like I would even want that." His hands finally landed on my shoulders, warm through the thin fabric. "Look at you. Telling the Colonel no. Standing here looking like... like..."
"Like what?"
"Like the answer to my prayers."
I turned to face him then, breaking the spell of our reflection. Without the glass between us, he was more real, more dangerous. His hands slid down my arms, leaving heat in their wake.
"Elvis—"
A knock at the door made us both jump. Jerry's voice carried through: "Boss? Car's ready."
"Be right there." Elvis' hands tightened briefly on my arms before letting go. When he finally faced me, his eyes were tired behind those blue-tinted glasses. Human. "I have to..."
"I know."
He crossed the space between us in one fluid movement, caught my face between his hands. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine. He smelled of mint and promises.
"Wait for me?" he whispered. "I'll be back after..."
"After you play the dutiful husband one last time?"
His hands tightened slightly. "That ain’t fair."
"None of this is fair." 
I could be detached. I could deal with the casual dalliances and the pills, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But Priscilla’s presence somehow still made my stomach queasy. I think it was the title. Wife had a certain ring to it. A certain authority, an outward declaration. I wanted that role. 
"No." He pulled back, slipped his glasses into place. Just like that, he was Elvis Presley again. "But it's what we've got."
The door opened and Red stuck his head in. "Boss? Mrs. Presley's ready."
Elvis straightened his jacket, checked his reflection one last time. Perfect again. Camera-ready. But just before he turned away, I caught him looking at our reflection once more - that impossible, imperfect picture of what could be.
"See you when I get back?" he asked.
I thought about all those images in the Colonel's room. All those different versions of Elvis, frozen in time. Which one would come back to me?
"Yeah," I said. "I'll be here."
He paused at the door, looking back. For a second, I could see him wanting to say something more. Then Jerry appeared with a reminder about airport traffic, and the moment was gone.
I watched from the window as they loaded into the waiting cars - Elvis in the lead car with Priscilla, the Memphis Mafia spread through the others like an honor guard. Even from so many floors up, I could see the photographers waiting. One last photo op of the perfect couple before reality set in.
*
I stayed at the window long after the cars disappeared, watching Vegas shimmer in the morning heat. Behind me, Elvis's suite felt different without him in it - bigger, emptier, more obviously a stage set than a home. His books were still scattered around, they hadn’t been packed up yet. A half-empty glass of water sat on the bedside table, aspirin dissolving forgotten at the bottom.
The phone rang, making me jump. Probably the Colonel, ready for round two.
But it was Lamar's voice that came through the line. "Valerie? You might want to come down to the lobby."
"Why?"
"Press got wind of something. They're asking about a Chicago music teacher."
My stomach dropped. "How many?"
"Enough." He paused. "Bring sunglasses. And maybe a scarf."
The lobby had transformed into a circus since I'd passed through it earlier. Photographers clustered around the entrance like hungry wolves, their cameras ready. Someone had leaked something. It didn't matter now.
What mattered was protecting Elvis.
I thought about Ann-Margret, about how she'd lost him partly because she'd talked to the press. About how fiercely he guarded his private world, even while living in the spotlight. About how trust, once broken, never quite mended the same way.
The Colonel stood near the reception desk, watching me with calculating eyes. For once, we wanted the same thing - to control this story. Just for very different reasons.
"Miss Pedretti." His voice carried across the lobby. "A word?"
Every head turned. I felt the cameras swivel, seeking their new target. Someone whispered "That's her." Another voice: "The teacher." A third: “I heard she’s a bar singer.”
I touched the scarf at my throat - one of Elvis's, smelling faintly of his cologne. Beneath it, my pulse hammered against my neck.
I had two choices: run back to the elevator, or face this head-on. But there was really only one choice. Because whatever happened next, I wouldn't be the one to betray Elvis's trust.
I dropped the scarf and sunglasses in my purse - hiding would only make it worse - and walked through the lobby like I had every right to be there. Like I was exactly what I'd tell them I was: a music teacher and a studio session musician (okay, so I stretched the truth a little) who'd found herself in an extraordinary situation, nothing more.
The cameras went crazy, questions flying like bullets: "Miss Pedretti, what's your relationship with Elvis?" 
"Are you moving to Memphis?" 
"What about Mrs. Presley?"
I stopped, turned, met their hungry gazes with a calm I didn't feel. When I spoke, my voice was steady.
"Mr. Presley has been very kind to a fellow musician. We share an interest in rhythm and blues. And gospel." A truth, if not the whole truth. "Beyond that, I don't discuss my friendships. If you have questions about Mr. Presley, I suggest you speak to his management."
The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly - surprise? approval? - as I walked past him toward the exit. The cameras kept firing, but I didn't stop again.
I'd protected what mattered. Everything else was just noise.
*
A short while later, the Colonel caught up with me at the elevator on my walk back from lunch. "Interesting performance this afternoon."
"Not a performance."
"No?" His mustache twitched. "Could've fooled me. Very neat, very clean. 'Fellow musician.' 'Gospel music.' Almost like you'd rehearsed it."
The elevator doors opened. I stepped in, but he caught the door before it could close.
"Maybe," he said slowly, "we got off on the wrong foot this morning."
"Maybe."
"A girl who knows how to handle the press... that's valuable." He studied me with new interest. "Very valuable. Perhaps we could discuss those arrangements again—"
"No." But I softened it with a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Parker."
The doors started to close. This time he let them.
Back in my room, the phone was ringing again. Deena, probably, having had time to stew on it all. But when I picked up, it was Jerry.
"Boss wanted you to know he saw what you did down there earlier. Says to tell you..." 
Word traveled fast in this crew. I filed that bit of information away for later use. 
He paused, and could hear him smiling somehow. He was choosing his words carefully, aware of who might be listening. "Says you did good."
My throat tightened. "He's still at the airport?"
"On his way back, I think. Photographers were everywhere, of course." Jerry's voice dropped lower. "Listen, about Memphis..." I heard other voices behind him. “Listen, I’ll call you back.”
*
Lamar materialized at my door. "Boss is here. Wants you to meet him out back. Service entrance. Less cameras."
Less cameras, but not no cameras. There were always cameras now.
I found Elvis leaning against his Cadillac in the service alley, still in that perfect green suit but somehow looking more rumpled. His glasses were off, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The pills had worn off again. I made a mental note to watch his use a little more carefully. Just in case.
"Hey," he said softly.
"How was the airport?"
"Like a damn circus." He rubbed his face. "We played it perfect, of course. Always do. All smiles and waves, right up until she got on that plane." He paused. "Heard you had your own circus down here."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"Yeah." Something flickered in his expression. "Jerry told me what you said. About the gospel music."
"It's true, isn't it? We do share an interest."
"That all we share?"
The question hung between us like smoke. I thought about all those photographers, hungry for any hint of scandal. About the Colonel's calculating eyes. About Priscilla, perfect to the last moment.
"That's all they need to know," I said finally.
He studied me for a long moment, then pushed off from the car. In two strides he was there, his hands framing my face like he had in the suite. But this time he didn't stop.
The kiss was different than any we'd shared before - desperate, almost angry. Like he was trying to prove something. To me, to himself, to the whole damn world. His hands slid into my hair, messing it up.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Inside," he muttered. "Now."
But before we could move, a flash went off at the end of the alley.
"Shit." Elvis turned, putting himself between me and the photographer. "Red! Sonny!"
The Memphis Mafia materialized from nowhere, intercepting the photographer who was already running. But we all knew it was too late.
Elvis's hands were shaking worse now. "Val, I—"
"Don't." I straightened my hair, tried to calm my racing heart. "We knew this would happen eventually."
"The Colonel's gonna—"
"Let me handle the Colonel."
He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Handle the Colonel? Baby, nobody handles the Colonel."
"I dunno.” I giggled like I knew something Elvis didn’t. “I kinda think he’s starting to like me.”
Another flash, this one from a different angle. Elvis swore under his breath.
"Get inside," he said. "I'll deal with this."
"Elvis—"
"Please." His voice cracked slightly. "Just... let me fix this. I can fix this."
But as I watched him stride toward the gathering photographers, all controlled power and perfect posture again, I wondered which version of "fixed" we were about to get.
*
Back in the hotel, everything moved fast. The Memphis Mafia scattered like pool balls after a break, each man with his own mission. Jerry was on the phone with newspapers, his voice smooth as silk: "No comment at this time." Red had the photographer's camera - though we all knew there had to be more photos out there. Lamar was coordinating with hotel security to lock down the service entrances. Sonny and Marty were watching the elevators on our floor.
And somewhere, the Colonel was planning.
I made it to the elevator before he found me.
"Inside." He didn't wait for my response, just steered me into the car with surprising strength for a man his age. The doors closed on us, and he hit the button for his floor.
"Mr. Parker—"
"Not one word." His voice was deadly quiet. "Not until we're in my office." So much for him starting to like me. 
The elevator seemed to crawl. Somewhere above us, that damn dove cooed - even it knew we were in trouble.
His office felt different now. All those Elvis images on the walls weren't just pictures anymore - they were warnings. See what I built? See what I can destroy?
"Sit."
This time, I sat.
"Now then." He lit a cigar with deliberate calm. "Let's discuss what happens next."
"Nothing happens next. It was just a kiss."
His laugh could have stripped paint. "Just a kiss? With a married man? In broad daylight? After you so carefully told those reporters you were 'just friends'?" He blew a perfect smoke ring. "No, my dear. This is what happens next: You're going to take a generous settlement and disappear. Back to Chicago, preferably. We'll spin it as a brief friendship, nothing more. Elvis was being kind to a fellow musician, just like you said. End of story."
"No." 
"No?" His eyebrows climbed. "Perhaps you didn't understand. This isn't a negotiation."
"You're right." I met his gaze. "It's not. Because there's nothing to negotiate. I’m not disappearing unless—"
"Then let me be clearer." He leaned forward. "Elvis Presley is more than a man. He's an industry. An empire. And that empire is built on certain... understandings. With his public. With his wife."
"His wife who lives in California?"
His mustache twitched. "A temporary arrangement."
"Like I'm supposed to be? Another 'temporary arrangement'?"
"Now you're beginning to understand."
“I’ll only go away if Elvis wants me to. I’d like to hear it from him, please.”
As if on cue, the phone on his desk rang. He answered it, listened, then held it out to me.
"For you. It's Elvis." His smile hadn't wavered. "He's going to tell you he's fixed everything. That there's a plan. A story we're going to tell." He paused. "The question is: are you going to play along?"
I took the phone, my hand steady despite everything.
"Elvis?"
"Baby, listen..." His voice was tight. "I know what to do. But you're not going to like it."
Behind his desk, the Colonel watched me like a snake watching a mouse. Some choices, I was learning, weren't really choices at all. But how you played them - that was everything.
"The story's simple," Elvis said, his voice tight with something between exhaustion and resignation. "You're my new backup singer. Been rehearsing in secret. That's why you're coming to Memphis. Professional opportunity, nothing more."
​​I watched the Colonel's satisfied smile grow behind his cigar smoke. Of course this was his idea - neat, clean, controllable. A story that would explain everything while revealing nothing.
"The kiss..." Elvis continued.
"Was gratitude," I finished, seeing the shape of it. "Excitement over the opportunity. A momentary celebration caught at an unfortunate angle."
"Yeah." He sounded tired. So tired. "Colonel's already got the contracts drawn up. Real ones, not just for show. You'll actually have to..."
"Sing backup?" I almost laughed. "Elvis, I've been singing my whole life."
"Yeah, but this is different. This is..."
"Playing a part?"
The silence on the line spoke volumes.
"It's a good solution," the Colonel cut in, clearly having heard every word on his extension. "Clean. Professional. Gives you a legitimate reason to be in Memphis, access to Graceland for rehearsals, everything you want. Just with... proper boundaries."
Proper boundaries. Right. Like the ones he'd established for all those other girls, the ones whose pictures didn't make it onto his wall of fame.
"There's one condition," Elvis said suddenly. "My condition, not the Colonel's."
I waited.
"You keep your own place. Like you wanted. No arrangements, no settlements. You do this as a professional, not as..."
Not as what? His mistress? His kept woman? Another Ann-Margret who got too close to the sun?
"Okay," I said.
The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd expected more fight, more negotiation. But he didn't understand - I wasn't negotiating. I was playing chess.
"Just like that?" Elvis sounded surprised too.
"Just like that." I kept my voice level, professional. "When do we start rehearsals?"
What followed was a blur of activity. Contracts appeared as if by magic - the Colonel had probably had them ready since that first elevator ride. Throughout it all, I signed where I was told, smiled when expected, played the part of the grateful unknown singer getting her big break. 
Statements were prepared for the press. A schedule materialized for rehearsals, appearances, recordings. Something flickered in the old man’s eyes - recognition, maybe. Of what, I wasn't sure yet. 
It was late afternoon by the time everything was "handled." The photos from the alley had mysteriously vanished, though we all knew copies existed somewhere. The press had their official story. Even that damn dove seemed to have finally found somewhere else to roost.
"Perhaps," the Colonel said softly, "I underestimated you."
I smiled and headed back to my room.
*
Packing shouldn't have been hard. I hadn't brought much to Vegas in the first place. But somehow my belongings had multiplied, scattered across the suite like evidence of a life I hadn't planned on living.
"You'll want to pack light," Jerry said from the doorway. He'd appeared with coffee and what he called "Memphis wisdom," though I suspected he just didn't want me to be alone after the alley incident. "Graceland's got its own weather system. Nothing you bring is gonna make sense there anyway."
"Helpful, Jer. Real helpful." I held up two dresses - one Elvis had sent up last week, one I'd brought from Chicago. The difference in quality was almost embarrassing.
"Take both," he advised. "You'll need the fancy one for show, the real one to feel like yourself." He paused. "That's the trick, you know. For when everything else gets crazy."
I folded both dresses carefully, thinking about Elvis's books scattered across my bed, their margins filled with his handwritten notes. Questions, observations, searches for meaning in scientific formulas and ancient wisdom. I'd been packing them when Jerry arrived.
"Speaking of crazy," Red's voice came from the hall, "wait'll you meet the Memphis ladies." He joined Jerry in the doorway, looking oddly formal. "Got a whole briefing prepared for you about that."
"A briefing?"
"Those women are sharks in southern belle clothing," he said seriously. "Especially the ones who've had their eye on Elvis since high school. They're gonna hate you on principle."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Red."
"Just trying to prepare you." But his eyes were kind. "Though something tells me you can handle them just fine."
I picked up Elvis's jacket from the chair - the one I'd been wearing this morning when everything changed. His cologne still clung to it faintly, mixing with the gin stains from last night's party. Had that really been less than 24 hours ago?
"Leave the jacket," Jerry said quietly. "Trust me on that one."
Before I could respond, Lamar appeared behind Red and Jerry, making the doorway look like a Memphis Mafia convention.
"Y'all telling stories about Memphis?" He squeezed past them into the room. "Let me tell you about Elvis's first day at Graceland. There he is, king of the world, right? And he can't figure out how to work the dang intercom system. Kept accidentally broadcasting everything to the whole house. And I mean everything." He winked. "Including some very private conversations with very private guests, if you know what I mean."
"Lamar," Jerry warned.
"What? She should know what she's getting into! Place is like a funhouse sometimes. Secret passages, hidden doors, two-way windows - Elvis had them put in during renovations. Says it's for security, but really he just likes playing hide and seek."
I tried to picture it - Elvis Presley, the king of rock and roll, playing hide and seek in his mansion. What would he need a two-way window for? Yet, somehow it wasn't hard to imagine at all.
The phone rang, making us all jump. The Memphis Mafia exchanged glances.
"That'll be your pal again," Jerry said. "She's called four times."
I stared at the phone. "How do you know?"
"We know everything, honey." Red smiled. "Part of the job."
I picked up the receiver. Sure enough: "Val? Finally! I've been trying to call you back all day!"
The Memphis Mafia made themselves scarce, but not before Jerry mouthed "be careful" and tapped his ear - reminding me that in Vegas, walls had ears and phones had extensions.
"Dee." I cut her off, gentle but firm. "I need you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?"
A pause. Then, quieter: "Yeah."
"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But I need you to trust me when I say that what's in those papers... it's not the whole story. And I need you to not tell anyone anything beyond what's already out there. Can you do that for me?"
The silence stretched so long I thought we'd been disconnected. Finally: "This is really serious, isn't it?"
"Yeah." I twisted the phone cord around my finger. "It really is."
"But you're okay? You're being careful?"
I thought about the Colonel's offer, about Elvis's message through Jerry, about all the delicate threads I was trying to navigate.
"I'm trying to be."
"Val, a backup singer? Really? That's the story they're going with?"
I started folding a sweater, phone cradled against my shoulder. "That's the truth they're going with."
She caught the emphasis. "Oh. Oh." A pause. "So we're not talking about the real truth yet?"
"Not yet."
Another pause. Then: "Okay. But Valerie?"
"Yeah?"
"When you can tell me... when it's safe... you'll tell me everything?"
"Everything I can," I promised. "Just... not yet."
After I hung up, I found Elvis's books again. Opening one at random, I found a passage underlined: "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." In the margin, his handwriting asked: "But what if you're living multiple truths?"
*
A knock at the door made me look up. Elvis stood there, looking somehow both perfect and wrecked. His hair was immaculate but his eyes were tired behind his glasses.
"Hey," he said softly. He took in the scene - the half-packed suitcases, the scattered books, his jacket still draped over the chair.
"Need help packing?"
"I’m almost done. Just trying to figure out what belongs in Memphis and what should stay in Vegas."
He understood the real question. Moving into the room, he picked up one of his books. "Take ‘em all," he said. "We can read them together at Graceland. When things are... quiet."
"Does it get quiet there?"
"Sometimes. Late at night, or early morning. When everyone else is asleep." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my packing. "It's different than here. Better in some ways, harder in others."
"Because of Priscilla?"
"Because of everything." He rubbed his face. "You know she redecorated the whole place when we got married? Made it exactly what she thought it should be."
"Nothing wrong with that, Elvis. That’s what women do." I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah but now it's like living in a museum sometimes. Even the air feels..." He trailed off.
"Curated?"
"Yeah." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "That's what I love about you, you know? You always find the right words."
"That why you kissed me? In the alley?"
His hands tightened on the book he was holding. "I kissed you because I couldn't not kiss you anymore."
The air between us felt electric, dangerous.
"Baby—"
"I know." He stood up abruptly. "I know we can't. Not now. Not with everything..." He gestured vaguely. "But in Memphis. When things settle… God, Valley Cat, I can’t wait to…”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever he might have said next. Joe stuck his head in.
"Boss? Car's ready whenever you are. And the Colonel wants—"
"Tell the Colonel I'll be there when I'm there." For once, Elvis's voice held an edge of real authority. I liked it.
Joe disappeared. Elvis turned back to me.
"I have to go. More appearances, more pictures, more..." He shrugged. "You know."
"I know."
He moved to the door, then stopped. "The backup singer story... I'm sorry about that. I know it's not what you wanted."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not. But it's what we've got." He smiled slightly. "For now."
After he left, I continued packing. The books went in first - all of them, even the ones I hadn't read yet. Then the dresses, both fancy and plain. But the jacket... Jerry was right. The jacket stayed behind.
The sun was setting over Vegas, painting the desert in shades of pink and gold. From my window, I could see photographers still lingering near the hotel entrance. Four weeks ago, I'd stood at this same window, watching Elvis's world from the outside. Now I was part of it, for better or worse.
A familiar coo made me look up. That damn dove was perched on my windowsill, looking remarkably pleased with itself.
"You're not coming to Memphis," I told it firmly.
It just cooed again, like it knew something I didn't.
Maybe it did.
*
I was deep in dreamless sleep when the knock came. So faint I almost missed it. For a moment I thought it was part of the dream, until it came again. Soft, uncertain, not like Elvis's usual confident rap.
When I opened the door, he was leaning against the frame, pajama shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. His hair, usually perfect, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly young.
"Hey songbird," he slurred slightly. "Can I... can I come in?"
I hesitated. I'd never seen him this far gone before.
He swayed a little, caught himself. "Please?" His voice cracked on the word. "Just need... need somewhere quiet. Need you."
Something in my chest twisted at the naked vulnerability in his voice. I stepped aside to let him in. He made it three steps before stumbling. I caught him, guided him to the nearest chair.
"Everything's spinning," he mumbled, letting his head fall back. "Doctor Nick gave me something new. Said it would help with the... with the..." He gestured vaguely at his head. "But it's not... I can't..."
"Shh," I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "It's okay."
"No." He caught my hand, pressed it to his cheek. "Not okay."
He pulled me down onto his lap, hands clumsy but insistent as they found the zipper of my nightgown. "Need you," he mumbled against my neck. "Been needing you so long..."
For a moment, I let myself feel it - the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, everything I'd been dreaming about since that first elevator ride. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't manage the zipper. His words slurred together as he tried to kiss me and missed.
"Not like this," I said softly, catching his hands. "Not when you're not yourself."
"But I am myself," he insisted, eyes struggling to focus. "Love you. I love you."
My heart stopped. "Elvis, you're not—"
"No." He pressed his forehead to mine, suddenly intense. "This is right. I love you. Been trying not to but I do."
His voice broke on the last word and suddenly he was crying - silent tears sliding down his perfect face. Without thinking, I gathered him to me, cradling his head against my chest. He curled into me like a child, all that powerful frame somehow becoming small and lost.
"It's okay," I whispered, rocking him slowly. "I've got you."
I held him like that for what felt like hours, studying his face in the dim light. The thick fan of his lashes wet with tears. The vulnerable curve of his mouth. The slight tremor in his jaw that betrayed how hard he was fighting for control.
Something shifted in my chest - a fierce protectiveness mixing with a love so deep it almost scared me. I wanted to be needed by him. Wanted to be the one who could hold him like this, who could see him at his most vulnerable and love him more for it, not less.
"M'sorry," he mumbled eventually. "Didn't mean to... to fall apart like that."
"Don't be sorry." I wiped his cheeks gently. "Ever."
He caught my hand, pressed a clumsy kiss to my palm. "Still coming to Memphis? Even after seeing me like this?"
"Especially after seeing you like this."
We made our slow way to his suite, him leaning heavily on my shoulder. The halls were empty - the Memphis Mafia mysteriously absent. Maybe they knew to give him this privacy. This moment of absolute vulnerability.
At his door, he turned to me. For a second, his eyes cleared.
"Meant it," he said softly. "About loving you."
"I know." I touched his cheek. "But tell me again tomorrow when you're you."
"Promise you'll still be here tomorrow?"
"Promise."
I waited until his door closed before letting out the breath I'd been holding. The empty hallway suddenly felt very long, very quiet. We'd have to talk about the pills eventually. About limits and boundaries and all the things that could go wrong. But not tonight.
Tonight, I just wanted to remember the weight of him in my arms. The trust it took for him to let me see him like this. The way my heart had cracked and mended and grown when he'd said he loved me, even through the chemical haze.
Because somewhere between that first elevator ride and this moment, between Vegas glamour and raw need, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him. Not Elvis Presley the star, but this complicated, brilliant, troubled man who read numerology and cried in my arms and trusted me to get him home safe.
I wasn't going anywhere.
*
Morning came too soon. The hotel staff who'd barely noticed me four weeks ago now watched my every move, their eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The maids whispered in corners. The bellhops suddenly knew my name. Even the woman who'd cleaned my room every day, Marie, looked at me differently as she helped pack my final items.
"You take care," she said softly, folding my last dress. "It's not like Vegas there."
The front desk clerk who'd checked me in that first day - Brenda, still blizzard-cold - handed me my final bill with a knowing smile. "So. Backup singer?"
I just smiled, remembering how she'd dismissed me a month ago. How I'd been nobody then - just another hopeful in a city full of them. Now I was somebody. Or at least, I was somebody's somebody.
Elvis had left earlier, his departure orchestrated by the Colonel down to the last detail. Priscilla was already in Memphis, preparing Graceland. I would fly commercial, arrive hours after them. Keep up appearances. Play the part.
I wasn't to go near Graceland, not yet. Not while Priscilla was there. The Colonel had made that crystal clear - I was to find an apartment far away from Graceland until... until what? Until Priscilla left? Until some arbitrary waiting period passed? Until the scandal died down? I felt caught in limbo, neither here nor there.
My stomach churned with guilt as I thought about her. How must she feel, knowing her husband's... what was I exactly? Mistress seemed too tawdry, girlfriend too simple for whatever this complex thing between Elvis and me was becoming. But whatever I was, I was coming to her town, into her world. Sure, Elvis swore their marriage was over, that she had her own life in California now. But she was still his wife. Still the woman whose home I was effectively invading, even if I wouldn't be living under her roof.
My cheeks burned with shame. Part of me wanted to do right by her - maybe even eventually talk to her, explain... what? That I loved her husband? That I couldn't help myself? That I believed him when he said they were done?
But another part of me bristled at feeling guilty at all. If they really were separated, if she really was building a new life in California, why shouldn't I be with Elvis? Why shouldn't I take this chance with him?
I made a mental note to find out the truth about their marriage - not from Elvis, whose view was complicated by pills and promises, but from someone who would know. Maybe Jerry. Maybe Red. Someone who could tell me if divorce was really on the horizon or if I was just another chapter in Elvis' story of extramarital adventures.
The press lingered outside despite the early hour, their cameras ready. I spotted the one who'd caught us in the alley - he had the decency to look slightly ashamed when our eyes met.
Red appeared at my elbow as I headed for the cab. "Ready?"
"No."
He laughed. "Nobody ever is."
Looking up at the International's gleaming façade, I remembered that first day. How overwhelming it had all seemed. How impossible. I'd been so naive then, thinking talent and determination were enough. Now I knew better. Now I knew about pills and promises, about public faces and private truths, about loving someone so completely that even their broken pieces felt precious.
A familiar coo made me look up one last time. That damn dove sat on the hotel awning, watching my departure like it had watched everything else.
"Still here?" I called up to it.
Red followed my gaze. "Tom's trying to catch it, you know. Says it's his responsibility."
"Tell him to let it be." I smiled. "Some things aren't meant to be caught."
The cab pulled up. Red loaded my bags while I took one last look at the Strip, already shimmering in the heat. Somewhere up there was the elevator where it all began. The suite where Elvis had cried in my arms last night. The lobby where I'd first heard him laugh.
"Miss?" The driver was waiting.
I slid into the back seat, letting Vegas fall away behind me. In a few hours, I'd be in Memphis. In Graceland. In Elvis's world for real.
The morning sun caught my reflection in the cab window. I looked different somehow. Older, maybe. Or just... more. More aware. More certain. More myself.
"Airport," I told the driver. Then, softer, more to myself than anyone: "Time to see what Memphis has in store."
As we pulled away, I could have sworn I heard one last coo from above. A goodbye, maybe. Or a warning.
Either way, there was no turning back now.
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mathlann · 9 months ago
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Requisite Disclaimer: I don't see the point in keeping this OC specific but, my game isn't your game etc. etc. I'm coming from a Sub! Marazhai perspective for context but just my interpretation.
So I've been rotating that Act 5 Kiss in my head for too long but I think I've pinned down what makes the Act 5 Kiss work, for me at least. Because inasmuch as the "Marazhai hates kissing" thing is fun, I don't think the actual Act of kissing (with or without teeth) is really what he's objecting to that first time. It's that the Rogue Trader is messing up the Game (ie, the terms of their fling/him teaching them how to be more Drukhari). And I think the Act 5 Kiss, or rather how you get it, is a fun bookend on ending the Game/re-balancing the dynamic?
Long-ass ramble under the cut
So, like I was saying above, the RT and Marazhai's relationship is pretty explicitly a Game that he's playing out of boredom. The Rogue Trader receives "[an education on] the true Aeldari soul" he receives "a fleeting titillation" until it's time for him to become Archon/become a Merc/join the clown show, whatever. He initiates the proposition, and he's the one setting the terms through the whole thing. It's up to the Rogue Trader to stay in their role and meet his standards, or they give up, or he gets bored and leaves. And a major part of his romance is that he's very action over words in regards to what he wants and how he feels.
As far as the first two kisses go, it's not the act itself it's the context imo. The first (bitey) kiss, he initiates, and it's during the lust/murder-high part of the Feast, which is what he invited the Rogue Trader to do. The Kiss Attempt™ by the Rogue Trader is the next morning after all that's worn off. And, granted the scene itself is pretty cozy, considering (he's literally leaning over the RT and telling them not to keep him waiting ie, next hookup) so it makes sense why the Rogue Trader might decide a goodbye kiss is appropriate. But it's a misstep I think because it's too intimate, bordering on sentimental, which is very much not the Drukhari way of doing things (it shows weakness). You aren't lovers in that way, the Rogue Trader is a toy/a pet, fun time is over and he's headed out. To try to pretend more than that is past the Game and an expression of weakness that needs to be put in its place as a "mon-keigh absurdity" as he'd say.
Compare that to the Branding, which is much more his style. It is, for all intents and purposes, a commitment scene, but he doesn't actually say "I want this," he's decided that the Rogue Trader has earned it from him. He talks around, but doesn't even explicitly say, he wants the RT to brand him either, (if asked, best he gives is "well....I mean after I've been so ~submissive~ you would let me just walk around without???? 👀"). And he threatens to walk out if the Rogue Trader keeps asking too many questions because again, he's the lead here and to say so would be to play his hand, which is a major no. If he grabs the RT like he's going to brand them....and it just so happens they have a mighty easy time grabbing that knife from him....well, there's the answer, no words needed. And if the Rogue Trader doesn't grab the knife, well, there's his answer. Y'all don't need to see each other anymore.
Which also makes the final Feast/Big confession hit the way it does because it is the first and only time he's being very direct in how he feels and what he wants, ie. they're equals and he wants the to keep up *all of this* for as long as they've got. And...that's a slip up irt his control of the situation/the Game that the Rogue Trader can exploit. To see:
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And for extra juice, the actual threaten to break up line after this is "I am not interested. I think I have played enough with you" which is a nice reversal ie. "testing the limits of who is running the Game." Because if Marazhai's confession is a test, accepting fails it, they were too sentimental. Except he's not actually testing them and he gets genuinely upset and scared at the idea that the Rogue Trader would just leave him like that. Also, (at time of writing iirc), you can't get The Kiss™ if you didn't attempt it earlier at the first Feast. I think it's interesting if, perhaps, that bit of sentimentality made him assume the Rogue Trader was the one who was down bad/being sappy this whole time. Which was fun to play around with before, but now he's caught feelings and the Rogue Trader potentially out-manipulating him on that front only to "abandon" him now is a major blow to his, being, frankly.
And if the Rogue Trader pushes further with the "I do not hear enough pleading in your voice" line, the narration notes he's stuck between "despair and pride" while still refusing to say more because it's not in him to say what he wants with that kind of honesty. And again, like, he's Drukhari so you're never going to get an "I love you" out of him, and he wouldn't accept that from the Rogue Trader in turn, but he doesn't know how to otherwise show that because Drukhari aren't big on straightforward lovey dovey kiss stuff even when they actually feel it. So the Kiss™, a real (romantic) one is an olive branch in the "you don't have to say it but I'll believe you're being honest if you do this" sense but also the Rogue Trader winning irt "the Game is over, show me we're equals, I met you on your level (see: his bullshit), meet me on mine (mon-keigh absurdities)."
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ineffableigh · 11 months ago
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Further Parallels between Elspeth/Crowley and Morag/Aziraphale (respectively)
Alright fellow brainrot sufferers. I want to talk more about music today. And this one's a doozy - though I'm SURE it's been talked about already. Probably. But here we go anyway!
I started trying to listen for recurring musical themes, leitmotifs, that kind of thing, and noticed TWO recurring themes from The Resurrectionists episode that return at the end of episode 6, bookending the Final Fifteen.
A lullaby theme: We first hear it when Crowley and Aziraphale meet Wee Morag, very subtly in the background. I want to focus on the scene we next hear it - Wee Morag's death. I'll get to why afterward.
This theme returns at the end of S02 E06 when Crowley is tidying up the bookshop during The Chinwag. It's not exactly the same, but you can really hear it calling back to the above theme. I feel it's very deliberately drawing a parallel between Aziraphale/Morag and Crowley/Elspeth.
I wasn't sold on this connection until I noticed the cello is the leading voice in both cases - the cello seems to consistently be Crowley's instrument, when he's being emotionally vulnerable/honest. You get the electric guitar in scenes of bluster/passion/anger, yes, but when his guard is down, you have cello at the forefront. Conversely, Aziraphale's is the violin (see themes immediately after The Kiss, which I'll get to in another post).
In Morag's death scene, this theme transitions into a cycling melody of strings playing climbing triplets, and I knew I'd heard it somewhere before... it plays at the end of the credits for episode 6.
However, where Morag's death theme remains morose, final, and resolves immediately, with a brief callback to their lullaby theme in Elspeth's cello, the version in the credits of episode 6 have a notably greater tempo, continue to climb, and most importantly DON'T resolve at the end. The melody DOES NOT sound like it's ended. It's not over yet.
I think we're supposed to draw these parallels, to hear Aziraphale leaving for Heaven being equated with Morag's death. Morag just wanted to help Elspeth, and paid the ultimate price due to Heaven's unfairness, much like Aziraphale is likely paying a high price to keep Crowley safe.
TLDR: David Arnold is a master composer and also a monster (affectionate), there is SO MUCH HERE to analyse.
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thezeninclan · 2 years ago
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there were many things about gojo satoru that were absolutely, unbearably, almost unearthly pretty. from the fringes of his snow pale hair, to his pelagic eyes, all the way down to his long, svelte frame. there was just something near insufferable about his beauty. 
but he was never prettier than when he was curled up in your arms and whimpering. 
it’s not like satoru could help it, not when it had already been nearly an hour of stop, start, stop, start, stop, start. even the strongest sorcerer in the human race wasn’t enough to stand against it. could you really blame him? 
it had started somewhat normal, as unassuming and easy as all of your other interactions. you had sat beside him at that week’s meeting, bookended by kento and kiyotaka, who were both looking away from you. everyone had been so busy with their own problems, their own minds, that no one had taken any notice of your antics, and it didn’t both you.    
to anyone else it had probably seemed like just a kind touch, maybe a soft graze, after all, that’s the kind of person you were, they all knew that— but of course, gojo had known better. from the very first moment you had laid your hand gently upon his shoulder for a fraction of a second too long he had sobered up to the game. 
gojo had frowned at you, eyes narrowing at the way you pointedly ignored him, refusing to look him in the eye, he wasn’t being particularly bratty today, really he wasn’t. sure he had been bugging nanami, but that was his favourite pastime, and well, maybe when he had talked back to yaga, and then teased utahime, and...and maybe shoko, but it wasn’t anything bad. gojo had just been being...well, gojo. 
but then you had put your hand on his shoulder and silenced him with a single look, and he had known that he was in trouble. for the duration of your journey back to the manse you and ijichi talked animatedly about this and that, something gojo could barely follow, already beginning to feel his stomach go taut with nervousness. he didn’t know what to expect when you got back home.    
satoru had removed his clothes while you were in the shower, undressing carefully and setting his clothes on the chair in the closet. he could hear the metallic groan of pipes as you turned off the shower, and he swallowed hard. 
he was already hard, just at the idea of your touch. his cock bulging beneath the silk sheets of his bed, his hips already twitching upward, despite the fact that you hadn’t even come into the room yet. he weighed his options. he could still hear the shower running, could still hear the soft hum of your music, could still smell the soft eucalyptus and mint of your shampoo. he could get himself off, right here, right now. just to...just to take the edge off.
but he would know, and you would know. and you would know that he knows that you know. and his punishment would only worsen. so here he sat, still and silent, itching for you, aching for you. so desperate for your touch that his skin almost felt like it was tingling.
he wasn’t sure how long had passed before you appeared in the doorway before him, arms crossed over your chest, all bare skin and long legs. water rolled down your bare skin like diamond beads, and gojo swallowed hard, suddenly parched, suddenly aching to lick the water from your skin. the sweet torment had already begun. 
he was hard from the very first touch of your skin to his. it was almost unconscious, like a switch that had been flipped inside of him, like an addiction he could not come close to resisting- not that he tried very much to resist. by the time you leaned over him, flipping him flat on his back and pinning him to the bed, he was already so hard that his cock was practically aching. it only worsened when you began to kiss him, your lips coming down on his too soft for what he had expected. he was supposed to be being punished, wasn’t he? 
“were you waiting for me?” you asked, looking down at him. he was ready just the way you liked him, naked and sore, raw, aching for you. 
“yes.” he answered without hesitation. 
he leaned into your touch, feeling your palm stroking against the back of his neck and down his back. it was so tender, so soft, that he couldn’t help but succumb to you at once. with you, in your arms, beneath your touch, beneath your lips, he was no longer the world’s best sorcerer, the strongest, was no longer carrying the weight of the world. instead, he was just...just yours. and that was the way he liked it, the way he loved it, the way he wanted it.  
your hands wound to his front, caressing over his belly, his breast, your fingertips gently caressing over his nipples. he shivered, feeling the way one of your hands slipped down to his thigh, squeezing just ever so slightly. 
“you s-smell so...it’s nice.” he said. 
“mmmm.” you uttered against his skin, kissing his neck, his cheeks, his jaw. he could feel your breasts against his back, so soft and round, and he practically salivated at the thought of them between his lips. “you bought it for me.”
“I’ll...I’ll get another one.” his voice was broken, breathy. it made you feel warm in the depths of your stomach. “if…whatever you want.” 
“what I want-” you began, hand slipping beneath the sheets. your skin was still warm from the hot water of the shower, feeling like fire incarnate against his sensitive skin. he moaned pathetically, trying in vain to keep his hips still. “is for you to tell me what you want. what you feel, right now.”
“good.” he said, quick as a shot. “so good. it’s...you’re so good.” 
“aren’t you being sweet?” you asked, tipping his head back so he would meet your eyes. there was nothing you loved better than seeing those big beautiful six eyes wet with tears. “now.” you continued, before he could answer. your hand squeezed at the head of his cock, making him jump. “I couldn’t say that earlier, could I?” 
gojo felt like crying. he had known this was coming, but it still hurt just the same. he just wanted to come, that was all he wanted. “neither could masamichi, or kento, and definitely not poor kiyotaka. he was at his wits end with you, wasn’t he?” 
gojo nodded pathetically. whatever would make you keep fucking him, whatever would make him come. you kissed him again and he melted against your lips, even when your hand slipped down to the base of his cock and squeezed, staving off his orgasm. he whined like a puppy, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, as his thighs shook, tows curled so tight they blanched white.
“please-“ he begged, the picture of perfect sweetness, fresh and pink as a baby fawn. he trembled as he pressed flat to the mattress, bringing his knees up to try to get a bit more friction, a bit more relief. if you’d just- “just a little, j-just the tip-“ he begged, and you cocked your head, pursing your lips.
“now, now satoru.” you said. he rested his chin in your offered hand, looking almost puppy like in his innocence, like he might as well be wagging his tail. “don’t interrupt. I wasn’t finished. do you need your ring to-“
“no!” he half shouted, nearly making you jump. he sounded so broken, so precious. “sorry.” he turned his head to kiss your palm, watching as you adjusted yourself to lay beside him, propped up on your elbow at his side so you loomed over him. he nuzzled his head against your breast, nosing at your nipple like a kitten. “I don’t need it, I’ll…I don’t need it.”
“don’t just tell me what I want to hear, satoru.” you said, and he cried harder. it was like your innate technique was reading his mind— you had always been able to see right through him, no matter what he was doing. 
“I-I’m sorry.” he whined. 
“don’t tell me, baby.” you said, fingers twirling across the head of his cock. it was so smooth, soft, that you couldn’t help but slide your fingers across it. your breath was so hot against his neck that he couldn’t control the shiver that wracked through him, especially as his lips ghosted across his skin when you spoke. “you know what you have to do.” 
he nearly snatched his phone from where it sat on the nightstand, dialing blindly, going for whatever number was most recently called. god it felt good, so fucking good, the way one of your hands had worked its way down to his balls, pressing and pulling and massaging them just the way you knew he liked. your index finger moved along the soft seam of his skin and he thought he might crack right then and there. he jumped at the cold splash of lube coming down across his skin, practically expecting steam to rise as it came in contact with his warm skin.
the relief he felt when yaga’s answering machine message filled the air was almost as good as coming. almost. of course that old man still used an answering machine, gojo could almost roll his eyes at the idea. but at least that meant he didn’t have to talk to him.
he almost screamed when you pinched his nipple, holding his cock in your other hand. it felt so good, watching him crumble beneath you, his cheeks pink and splotchy, his swollen lips parted in a face so bereft, so utterly erotic— that you almost wanted to stop and snap a picture of it.
“do you think you’re finished?” you asked and he shook his head, feeling you nose at his abused chest, your tongue hot as it laved over his sore nipple. he could feel your cock against his leg as you leaned over him, unable to resist bucking up against it, but before he could even get a bit of relief, a bit of pleasure, your big hands had pinned him down by the hips.
satoru’s hands trembled as he dialed again, reaching a very irritated sounding nanami, who answered on the second ring. “what is it now?” kento asked, sounding worn. you could almost imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.
“s-sorry.” gojo said. “f-for-“
“pardon?” asked nanami, as though unsure of what he was hearing. “did you say-“
“I’m sorry, for, for being so…rude, during the meeting.” you increased the pressure on his cock, touching your thumb to your index finger and squeezing, as your other hand soothed gently across the alabaster skin of his trembling thighs.
his pale skin was flushed such a pretty shade of pink, all the way down from his cheeks to the white hairs at the middle of his chest. he was just so cute, you couldn’t resist laying a kiss right there on his warm skin. “yes, well, that’s…thank you.” said nanami, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“n-no problem.” satoru returned, hanging up the phone quickly. “please…” he moaned to you. his big blue eyes were full of tears, clear and sparkling like crystal. “It feels so good. I- I wanna come…”
“do you think you deserve that?” you asked, stroking his belly. you wanted to see it bulge so badly.  
he nodded fervently. “yes. yes.” he said. “yes, I deserve it.” 
“are you sure?” 
“please, yes. please, please.” he begged. “I did everything, I…I did it all.” you tapped the head of his cock, making him jump, a dot of pre-cum rolling down your thumb. he was so pretty like this, all pink and bright and glistening. god, you loved him so much. 
“I suppose that’s true. you have been a very good boy, haven’t you?” he nodded desperately at your words, trying his hardest to rut up into your palm and nearly breaking down into sobs as he saw you draw yourself up on your knees. you pulled him down by the hips and spread his legs, the tears in his eyes shining like diamonds. “do you want-“
“yes!” satoru shouted, before you could even finish. you chuckled, slicking up your fingers and working at the rim of his ass. he moaned, utterly debauched and utterly without shame. you kissed him, unable to hold yourself back any longer. 
“I was going to ask if you wanted me to wait and ease you into it but-“ you teased. you loved this game, he loved this game, and it was almost at its end. 
“I don’t care.” he cried, fat, cartoon tears rolling down his pink cheeks. “I need you. need you now.”
you smile softly, taking the fast of his cheek between your thumb and forefinger and pinching. “satoru…” you whisper. you kiss his sweaty brow, watching the way his cum soaked cock twitched at the touch. you arched your hips, pressing into his cute little ass slowly, slow enough to make him shake and beg. “you beg so pretty. how can I resist?”
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sevensoulmates · 7 months ago
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A bit bummed buddie is going canon on such a short season but the writers are doing an awesome job (and you guys have waited long enough I just got here lol) so I’m stoked!!! There’s some much potential for fun storylines here I’m so excited!! What are some storylines you’d like to see once they are together? Could be comical or more series
Well, I mean I guess it depends on what your definition of "canon" is. To me, based on the last episode alone, they're already canon (meaning it's basically irrefutable to me that they're going to eventually be in a relationship or be endgame). If by canon you mean "starting a relationship" I actually don't think that's going to happen this season. I think it'll be next season at the earliest. I do have faith that now that the writers/creators are getting a bit more freedom, they're first going to put Buck and Eddie through the personal arcs they need to go through first. For Buck, realizing he's bi and feeling more secure in who he is as a person. For Eddie, realizing he's lived with comphet his entire life and finally accepting who he is and finally living his life in a way that will actually make him happy.
Once they've done that then they'll be able to get them together.
Some things I'd like to see:
-(This might be unpopular but) I want the sperm donor stuff/ Connor/Kameron to come back up. I want Buck to reckon with that choice he made, and truly recognize that he's been a father figure to Chris this whole time. I don't need the baby to be in his life, but just a reference or even a run-in with Connor/Kameron. Something to put a bookend on that storyline now that Buck is settled with Eddie/Chris.
-Chris wants to learn to drive/get a license, and Eddie + Buck have to navigate that worry together
-My heart's biggest desire is for them to just work side by side like normal but just have more small moments that very obviously are indicators that they're together (something along the lines of the scene where Eddie suddenly knew a bunch of fun facts about Goat Yoga, or the scene where they're just chatting while they patched up the dude who broke his leg in the fire at dispatch). Scenes where they work in sync together, but maybe before something dangerous, they share looks or have a private code that means be safe.
-in the same vein MY KINGDOM for Buck and Eddie to have a scene like Bathena had in 2x01 where they meet up between the firetrucks and one of them pushes the other up against the side of the truck and kisses him. My entire life would be made.
-I would like a storyline where Buck gets to meet Eddie's family from Texas a little better. I don't believe that there wouldn't be conflict with them (maybe not straight-up homophobic but I just can't imagine Helena accepting it all so easily. I just know she'd be a queen of microaggressions). I DESPERATELY need Eddie to stand up for himself to his mom in particular.
-(this would be very far in the future) but I want Buck to eventually go out for fire captain. I think he would be a great fit and I think it'd be very interesting for them to have to adjust to such a big change in their work dynamic after X amount of years.
-a motherfucking WEDDING. And I don't want it to be a small thing like a backyard wedding, or a courtroom wedding, or an elopement in the hospital or something. It doesn't necessarily need to be HUGE but I would like a semi-traditional wedding. Idk why but I have a MIGHTY NEED to hear Buck and Eddie's personalized vows to each other and I NEED to see them have their first dance. Honestly, I take back the traditional wedding thing. As long as I get to hear every word of their vows and see them slow dance, they could do it at the firehouse or a dumpster for all I care.
-I'd be interested if Shannon's relatives show up and want to be a part of Christopher's life or something. Or even like, just want to visit him but Eddie's unsure because it brings up bad memories and stuff. I'd be interested to see Shannon's relative's reaction to Eddie with a man.
-OOHOOHOOH EDDIE CHILDHOOD SCENES a la Buck Begins. I want to see what he was like when he was younger to see how much of him has changed since he had Chris, since he went to the military, etc. Dear God I want an Eddie Begins Again.
That's all for now! I gotta make my drive home!
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clawbehavior · 6 months ago
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hi there you! hope you're doing well over there. i'm finally here with my Qs from writer's ask for you and curious about your answers for 4, 14, 17, 19, 21, 27, 30
hi friend, thank you for these thoughtful questions. i had an amazing time answering them! writer's ask games
4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?
panting.
it's so visual and versatile! are they panting because they're livid and ranting? horny and breathless with desire? terrified and breathing in quick bursts? running, tired, sweaty, etc. gaon's always panting in my stories but for various reasons.
14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?
i do not! save for one friend and it's because i love them very much. they ofc returned it in pristine condition. funnily enough, i still have the childhood novel they lent me years ago, so i should ask them these questions. we laugh about it being on my bookshelf every few months. 
17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.
the final chapter of 'even gods can't change the past' is 80 per cent complete. it just needs to be rewritten. 
in terms of lore, the story is based on my fascination with the idea of gahan meeting when their lives are seemingly full and stable, only to recognize that they were missing each other, and it could only be each other. adding in a kid fic and trauma was a delicious way to enact that scenario. it's a niche idea that doesn't reflect canon, so i feel thrilled whenever people tell me they like it.
in terms of history, i know how gahan meet.
it goes like this: gaon returns to the ministry after being off-site. he's hungry so he checks out the food cart outside and buys a package of their v delicious cookies that are fan favorites. it's balmy, so he goes to sit on a bench to eat his cookies. there's another man there and at first they sit in collegial silence but then the man starts eating gaon's cookies, like reaching into the bag gaon placed on the bench between them and taking a cookie out for every cookie gaon takes out. gaon's like ??? and in the ensuing conversation he learns the following: his companion is intellectually sharp, aggravating, but also intriguing. they argue about the function of the justice system in maintaining law, order, and societal morals. it's an exciting conversation. gaon hasn't felt this intellectually stimulated in a while, hasn't met someone who challenged and could keep up with him. he's so fascinated that when they reach the bottom of the bag and the stranger snaps the final cookie in half and offers half to gaon, gaon smiles and takes it without remarking on it. 
they have meetings to get to so they go inside. while he's rummaging through his bag for his access card, gaon finds....his bag of cookies. unopened. ergo, gaon had been stealing from the stranger's cookies placed between them while the man had said nothing. he's mortified but there's no time to react because gaon's boss finds them outside the elevators and reveals yohan as their newest colleague. a smiling yohan then properly introduces himself.
this scene happens before jishin is born. it's bookended by a scene long after jishin's death when gahan is together for real. gaon wakes up alone, does his morning routine, and goes to sit outside on the porch where he's soon descended upon by yohan and their youngest daughter after the two return from a sunrise romp through the ravine that yohan's backyard opens into. she runs to gaon for a hug and he cuddles her. yohan kisses him good morning then takes up the other end of the love seat, pulling gaon's legs into his lap and stroking gaon's foot. by and by you learn all these details: they have three daughters now adopted through Switzerland and raised in Korea. being a father to jishin taught gaon how to love his other children, and he can see it in how his five year old (modelled after jian in a 'shop for killers') soaks up affection after so many years of neglect. so it's about how loved/in love/loving gaon feels, cuddling his child and playing with her under yohan's tender gaze. 
i don't expect to write these scenes so it's so rewarding to get to share them on Tumblr🥰
19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?
i wrote ff in middle school when i had more time and lots of creativity. i stopped abruptly and picked it up decades later last year after a harrowing experience led me to want to have a creative, safe, and generative experience. i didn't expect to write more than that story ('lonely for no one') but the TDJ fandom is so engaging and personalized because we're smaller that i kept writing a year later. in the future, i will finish eeaao and work on 'my heart is going back to you'. i also reaaaaaally want to write a political intrigue gahan au, where gaon is more cynical and therefore more dangerous and on yohan's level. idk if that's the idol au idea i had or a new fic where gaon is introduced to yohan at internal meetings where the live court idea is first brought up and gaon is a contender because of his popularity with the public and sharp political acuity. he would be older and instantly wary of yohan but also compelled by him.
21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?
i don't have any plans to! i love ff writing and the people it connects me to. 
27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?
the reporter in eeaao. she probes gaon for information under the guise of professional interest, unknowingly revealing info that has gaon clue into yohan's real motivations. the problem was that i couldn't figure out how to turn this critical plot point into dialogue. what does she say that makes gaon cautious but not wary so that he keeps talking and they both get information out of the exchange without the reporter recognizing that's what's happening? lol this small significant detailed has bothered me since August 2023 but we've cleared that hurdle now. 
30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?
i wish i could say that i dream routinely but i do not. 
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leonawriter · 5 days ago
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When I think of all the different detco pairings, I usually think of the main ones, and so I'm all "yeah I ship all canon plus a few non-canon (AKA queer) on the side!" and actually I just... when I think about it?
It's funny, but there are a few side pairings that I'm not a big fan of. Some not as bad as others, sure, but still.
(under a cut for criticism and salt)
Shiratori, for instance, has changed a lot ever since he was introduced. Not talking about M3, more his initial plot line where he's basically only there to act as a roadblock to Takagi and Sato getting together. He wasn't especially likeable, mostly throwing his weight around as a "marriage candidate" and stalking anything potentially like a date.
I have to wonder if Gosho's views on his earlier characterisation of certain characters and plots has changed, since then. I was already in the fandom when the Sato/Takagi kiss happened, which would mean the other officers couldn't keep pursuing Sato in the same way and Gosho would have to figure out what to do with the ones he'd previously only used for that purpose.
But then we have things like the bookend gags in Bride of Halloween only a few years ago where there are fake "wedding" and "funeral" events that are gatecrashed by Sato's... "admirers," and I wonder how much has actually changed.
Shiratori himself has Kobayashi, the kids' schoolteacher, but... the fact that he'd only met her for a short time as a kid to the point that he thought someone who turned out to be a murderer was her just because they did the same sort of paper craft with their cup holders was a little... frustrating.
Every time I've gone through that I've been "that could have been her. That literally could have been her. She could have changed, and her life experiences could have shaped her and made her a different person, and you would have to live with that." It'd be such a great story to tell, that sometimes that just happens. And he could meet Kobayashi and get to know her as an adult, as a new person, with no assumptions and no sense of her being a replacement goldfish for someone who was a replacement goldfish for.... her.
Overall I don't have anything with regards to those two that makes me actively dislike them, it's just... "man, that could have been SO much better written."
The other one I'd say I have salt over - and for similar reasons, too! - would be Chiba and Naeko. Because again, they met as small tiny children, and never forgot each other, and grew up, and... haven't changed one bit.
Honestly, just... he could at least spice that up by making it so that one of them had attempted to date other people, and it didn't work out because they're hung up on a memory. But that just makes me think of them finally finding each other, and they're so caught up with how they remember the other being, that they don't even recognise each other at first! That? That'd be fun.
The thing I really dislike about Chiba/Naeko is that she tries to effectively control him for her own purposes; she pushes him (anonymously, which is even creepier!) to lose weight (which because we're in comic book time happens really quickly, which is concerning) and then when other women start finding her guy attractive, she encourages him (effectively) to put that weight back on and be unattractive to others again. Never mind whether or not he's healthier or happier either way, oh no! It's all about her feelings, insecurities, and not wanting competition.
It's like - the pairings are so very hit and miss. He'll either write something so good, or he'll write something and you wonder if he's ever been able to experience the world outside of his art studio in order to have friendships with women, or learn about modern issues and so on.
...I also dislike Kyougoku's misogyny toward Sonoko, which is a much bigger issue, what with him policing the way she dresses and being way too controlling of who she hangs out with, projecting his insecurity that she even might date other men onto her, no matter what she'd say about it, no matter if it's her idol-crush on Kaitou Kid (which is different from romantic love), or just... hanging out with friends who aren't girls.
Dude needs to lay off, seriously.
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pastafossa · 10 months ago
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Hey Pasta! Hope you're doing well throughout all of the stuff the world throws at you!! I was wondering if you were ok with people printing out TRT and binding it for their own personal library? Also was wondering if you knew how you would separate the chapters to make separate books?
Thank you so much anon! I'm slowly getting there, although I would very much appreciate it if the world chilled for a bit so I could have a breather for a few months, that'd be awesome. 😅
And I am SO DOWN WITH THAT! You are absolutely free to print and bind TRT for your own personal use! I totally know the feeling of wanting to be able to keep fics on your shelf, so I'm delighted any time someone wants to with TRT. <3
Ok so
My rough breakdown originally, based on the arcs and the points in them I planned to 'shift' to a new 'book', would look something like this. I did wind up editing the beginnings and endings of some of these so they fit more into a regular flow, but they still tend to have a feeling of something 'ending' and then beginning in the next: -Book 1: Chapters 1-43 (<- this one specifically bookends their meeting with their first kiss and official 'we are together now whatever may come') -Book 2: Chapters 44-73 -Book 3: Chapters 74-105 -Book 4: Chapters 106-I haven't quite decided yet The problem with this, according to the few other folks who've tried to bookbind TRT, is that even if you go by these numbers, book one is really fucking long - I think 330k words or so. It can be done technically (a lot of the GoT books are about this length) but it's still a struggle, so you may have to cut them into, like, a Part One and Part Two for each book - I'm honestly not sure. I have full intentions of eventually trying to break TRT down into the offical 'Here Is A Bookbinding 'Book' Breakdown' that splits them into more maneageable sizes, but for now, that's what I've got!
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thegeminisage · 2 months ago
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star trek update time i am sooo behind. thursday we did voy's "drone" and ds9's "take me out to the holosuite," friday we did voy's "extreme risk" and ds9's "chrysalis," saturday we did voy's "in the flesh" and ds9's "treachery, faith, and the great river," last night we did voy's "once upon a time" and ds9's "once more unto the breach," and tonight we did ds9's "the siege of ar-588"
drone (voy):
this is kinda like the episode of tng with data's daughter but (sorry) better. you've got the robotic, inhuman character more or less having an awkward, adult-like offspring who they come to love very dearly in a short amount of time being taken from them tragically. which i did call, by the way
i did think the little guy was gonna wind up betraying them due to like the temptation of the borg or whatever so it was really satisfying when he fucked them up instead
also, borg SPHERE? where did they assimilate that from? the death star, ONCE?
"abort that thang" jokes plentiful in this episode's first half. thank you star trek
janeway meeting him was very sweet. i liked that she treated him really niceys it was so much nicer than picard being a little bitch to data about his daughter
when seven said voyager was her collective 😭
the standout part of this episode to me was the bookend of "you are hurting me," delivered in different ways and meant in different ways. i forget that jeri ryan can like. act. but she can and she hurt my feeeelings
take me out to the holosuite (ds9):
FINALLY the sports movie episode we had been waiting for............
ten out of fucking ten no question. every word of this episode contained ten more words. fucking fantastic
the arc with sisko getting to into it bc of past drama and not letting rom play because he sucked. everyone agreeing to quit on rom's behalf. REPEAT: KIRA NERYS WAS GOING TO QUIT JESUS'S BASEBALL TEAM IN PROTEST. sisko being like kassidy do NOT tell them about my wretched past and the slam cut to her immediately narcing on him. odo's umpire motions <3
actually, odo's everything. he got so fucking into being ump because he cares about rules and fairness to a degree that is truly autistic. which makes it the PERFECT setup for him booting sisko out for touching the ref and THEN ALSO BOOTING THE VULCAN OUT. like every scene continues to get funnier and funnier
i kept thinking they would cheat. but celebrating being a bunch of losers who only got a point because rom accidentally bunted a shot is even better. no, you can't win a baseball game against vulcans, but there are other ways to win against them. at the end, when they were all shit talking him, i FELT leonard mccoy in that room. he was called back from the great beyond to embody the spirit of bullying punk ass vulcans. and honestly? after all those years of playing hard mode (needling spock) a guy like this is kind of easy pickings. child's play to laugh that little bitch out of the room. chefs kiss
extreme risk (voy):
TIME TO EAT MY WORDS. i was recently making fun of trek's history re: mental health bc of ezri in ds9 🙄 but every so often voyager will get plucky and show ds9 up when ds9 is having an off day. (and see, this never happened with tng!) this was one of those times.
like, sure, yeah, the language was a little dumbed down to make sure it was understood by people who have never had a word of conversation about mental health in their entire lives, and it could have been paced a little better, and holodeck safeties are always maddeningly illogical, but the acting was great, the concern was great, the explanation of numbness rather than sadness because there just isn't anymore sad left in her was fantastic
like when b'elanna was like yeah i don't care and janeway says okay now i know there's something wrong. AAAUGHGHGHG
and she gets to save the day in the end! i also found this a little unrealistic, but you only have 45 minutes to work with, you know? more realistic was like, her little jab at chakotay again about threatening to break his neck that you could still was a little half-hearted
also, like, whatever they had going on in that holodeck...chakotay and b'elanna coulda been in. i obviously prefer jc and i don't mind her with tom as much as i used to but wow they had some serious chemistry happening there.
oh oh and before i forget...neelix being really nice to her because he also just had his own mental health crisis :( <3 that episode did so much for him. wah.
LAST THING. i almost forgot this too. it was really funyn that tom paris tried to put spoilers on the new shuttle and tuvok logicked them away. i'll think about it every time i see the shuttle from now on. but also, kind of badass that trapped out there they can just design and build a brand new kind of shuttle ON THEIR OWN without any help. you kind of forget they're all geniuses because they are so god damn stupid
chrysalis (ds9):
I CANNOT BELIEVE THE AUTISM GANG IS BACK IN TOWN
what a great treat...i was initially so wary of them and wound up loving them so much by the end BECAUSE of how offputting they are so seeing them again was amazing
i loved this arc, too, even though i think it could have never worked between them cuz HE IS HER DOCTOR but like. even this would have been better than julian and ezri
i was sooo worried this would be a flowers for algernon sitch and they faked me out like two times but no thank god her quality of life just gets to stay improved
the singing section went on for a little too long but it's just the right kind of like. slightly cringe but also wholesome kind of vibes these guys bring to the table
idk it's just so sweet. they were so happy to see her after she got the ability to talk like you can tell they genuinely love her so much. it really sucks that they aren't allowed to like, go out and live on their own, but their characters are treated with so much compassion i enjoyed every second of them being onscreen <3
in the flesh (voy):
EVIL BOOTHBY EVIL BOOTHBY like why is that so fucking funny
i don't like tng cameos. but it's funny that this alien was using friendly old boothby language to talk about like world domination or what the fuck ever. it's so wildly stupid
loved chakotay kissing the alien also. he really did wince and only then decide once it was inevitable to put his back into it, so to speak. captain kirk moment for sure
also funny how the rest of the cast was like. ha ha chakotay why don't you kiss and tell. and janeway like ha ha how was your date. like this was all totally normal
and lest we forget: VULCAN NIGHTCLUB PON FARR NIGHT. i really thought this was a fandom joke. i had no idea voyager did it first. sent me into absolute fucking hysterics i can't believe they WENT and we didn't get to see it. i refuse to believe that this is not a thing that happens on the real earth, also
loved seven getting all twitchy around those aliens since they always scared the shit out of the borg <3 and then when she was like wow janeway you really impressed me! gay.
treachery, faith, and the great river (ds9):
I LOOOVED THIS ONE WOW
first of all we have to say it nog is so fucking good. what a long way he's come, you know? like you know the whole time he's gonna come thru for obrien but it just gets funnier and funnier the deeper obrien gets into it. rom makes a bad ferengi but nog would have made a GREAT ferengi except he literally chose to do starfleet. king
weyoun six my beloved............like, at first i was devastated weyoun five was out because i loved that little freak but 1. extremely funny that damar killed him 2. FUNNIER STILL that damar killed him and he shows up to work the next day but he's weyoun six 3. and weyoun six is the saddest wettest cat who ever lived. like that's WORSE somehow and all damar can do is be alcoholic about it. he's like connor from detroit become human. you kill him and a more horrible version breaks into your house the next day. sorry for bringing up detroit become human
anyway, weyoun six was great. i love that he was like odo i just wanna stare at you for 14 hours without stopping. odo i think you're fascinating. odo you have to live. so true. me too. i was so sad he died and didn't get taken back to ds9
love also when he was like hey odod do you want the ENTIRE GAMMA QUADRANT because it's about to be yours and odo is like having an entire existential crisis firmly going no i do Not want that are you out of your mind what the fuck is wrong with you
all in all 10/10 episodes it;s about time we had some good IC odo content
once upon a time (voy):
THIS WAS SO SWEET.............idk ever since neelix became an atheist i've liked him so much more. and touching on his dead family, an early episode which also drew me to him initially before all the kes stuff ruined it, was a great touch. the version of neelix that lives in my head is a really amazing character
i love 90s trek kids. they are without fail fucking adorable every time. look at her little overalls. her horrifically ugly little doll. her tiny horns. aww.
this was also one of the more charming holodeck scenarios we've gotten because it's extremely silly in a charming way rather than in a way that makes me want to commit homicide. ironically, it's voyager, not ds9, that has made me warm up to the holodeck a couple of times...love and light, most of the ds9 holodeck stuff sucks. but this and then like the jane eyre one and the da vinci one were all very tolerable (at least until the da vinci ep, but you know). i still wouldn't let my kid in one, but whatever
the little girl like asking about neelix's sisters. AUGH. neelix talking to her photo. AUGHGHG.
idk it was sweet that he tried to protect her and that when he got upset about it janeway like took him aside and talked to him instead of just misunderstanding and yelling and being aggressive. one thing i like about trek, and i feel like i see it most often on voyager, but ds9 does it too, is that when somebody snaps and starts biting heads off like that the people they snap at, instead of getting hurt, usually realize there's a bigger problem and then drop whatever the conversation is to stop and address that instead. i just feel like you don't see this as a norm in most long-running series. like can you imagine this happening on m*rvel or supernatural lol
anyway, i'm very glad they did not have the budget for a giant beetle.
once more unto the breach (ds9):
man this episode was such a bummer. i'm not saying it was good but jesus christ kids can you lighten up a little
on the kor/martok spat, i'm 100% siding with martok, though after kor had his dementia moment and the others started mocking him i definitely felt bad for him
and what was so nice was that martok also felt bad! he got absolutely no satisfaction from his revenge! i don't know if that's right morally because kor did do him really dirty but like...as an emotional beat it worked SO well
i think also it was Such a choice not to even have a pov of the flaming ship or whatever as he went down - no last act of heroism - we had to watch it from the outside pov just like everyone else
and what a good way to address the complicated emotions. we're klingons. we'll drink to their courage if they win and drink to their courage if they lose. you know? he literally expressed himself.
ezri and quark's moment in this episode was soooo good. i love it when they let quark have a soul. it took them so long to get there but here we are and i'm here for it wait hold on let me do this in the next one
the siege of ar-588 (ds9):
EZRI E QUARK. can i just say it? she's mostly fine when she's not trying to do therapy or talk to julian or worf. which means that her best scenes are with sisko, which has a very platonic element except for how they fucked twins together once, or QUARK, where the dynamic is both extremely natural and unique - he doesn't treat her like jadzia 2.0, but he is also still in love with what makes her Dax(tm)
i think it's fun also that the more three-dimensional version of quark cares about people, which is really all i ever wanted him to do. i'm kind of afraid to rewatch season 3 because i literally wanted him dead but i wonder if i'd feel different about those episodes now...idk, there's something so layered about the way he took ezri aside to warn her about trying to get with worf (even though she wasn't) and brought nog food even when nog'd rather he didn't
even though his reasons for being there this episode were so so so SO flimsy he did such a great job...i kept wondering why he wasn't in the final fight, if he was like objecting on principle, but when he pulled that phaser on a dime to protect his nephew...jesus. then you know.
ALSO, SPEAKING OF. wow i knew for a long time nog lost his leg but to see it happen!!! like he's so fucking brave and tries so hard and AUUGHGGH you know? like sisko came in to tell him he was proud of him bc rom wasn't there and quark wasn't gonna do it and this is the boy he used to forbid jake from hanging out with!!! just incredible character development, jesus christ
final note: i really hate this semi-permanent holodeck hangout area. it feels like it exists even when the holodeck is turned off which is beside the point. if it had been a real venue on the promenade i'd like it MUCH better. also, vic has grown on me, but it's silly to have him be a hologram. ironically, i think a guy with this kind of attitude would have made for a much better ship's counselor - he gives out advice all the time anyway. having him AND ezri do it is overkill!!!
OKAY. WOW. I MADE IT. NEXT TIME!!!! we do voy's "timeless" and "infinite regress."
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iwillrememberyoumarathon · 1 year ago
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Bangel fans, we want to hear from you! During the run-up to the IWRY Fic Marathon in November, we’ll be getting to know each other through our Meet the Fandom series. Answer the questions here to join in.
What is your name?
Kareema
Where do you hang out?
Instagram, Tumblr, AO3
Funniest Bangel/Buffyverse moment?
Any time Angel gets petty, I find it hilarious.
What Buffyverse opinion would have you chased through the village with pitchforks?
Most of the 7th season of Buffy is Spike-centric and disinterests me. I'm uncomfortable but happier with season 6. Uncomfortable because of the Spuffy content, but happier because the story telling was clear: to show self hate, deep depression and the dark place Buffy was in. Season 7, however, glorifies him as a character and romanticizes the "relationship".
Share a headcanon you have about Bangel or the Buffyverse?
Pre end of shows: I'd argue not head canon, more textual: Angel's Darla and despair arc in S2 of Angel ends neatly (if you follow episode chronology as timelines) with him comforting Buffy in Forever beside her mother's grave. Eventually kissing her and realising how little has changed between them in terms of passion and love, despite their individual journeys. I love that the trauma he lives through is resolved and then bookended with a scene shared with the only person who he has ever felt at peace with.
Post end of shows: Buffy's finale perfectly sets up her headspace to be ready for a future with Angel. Angel's character's point is to SEEK redemption, not to have it, so I am almost at peace with understanding why we never get to see him be happy with her on-screen as a story ending. However from HER pov, who more deserves that penultimate happy ending with the only soul who truly supported her and understood her mission and her pain? My headcanon is that she gets this happy ending with him.
How would you have given Buffy and Angel their Happily Ever After?
First a reunion while Angel is still a vampire for the sake of bloodplay and the fantasy of vampire stamina matched by slayer stamina. This would necessitate the curse being addressed; I personally think Buffy would still be that one thing to cause him to achieve true happiness, despite everything he's been through since it first happened.
Then a shanshu plotline while they are romantically a part of each other's lives in an already-established, albeit limited, relationship. I love the idea of the transition being something Buffy would be witness to, as opposed to a common trope in fics where he comes back to her, already human. Then domestic bliss in obscene amounts of sunlight.
Last fic you read?
I am currently reading Days of Future Past by a2zmom which is being released on a chapter a week basis. Last complete one was Reprieve by Scribes1015
Slay, Lay, Obey - Buffy, Doyle, Willow?
Slay: Willow
Lay: Doyle
Obey: Buffy
Fill in the quiz so the fandom can meet you!
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wicked-jade · 2 years ago
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@allvalley100 For the Bookends prompt. Returning to my Shootfighter crossover universe this week! Dutch/Johnny/Ruben, three parts, all exactly 100 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Helluva way for Dutch to finally come out of the closet, huh?” Tommy mused, draining his first beer.
Bobby glanced around the bar and hummed in agreement. This wasn’t quite what he’d expected when Dutch said he was seeing someone new and wanted to introduce them to his friends.
But it wasn’t unexpected, either. They’d all seen the way Dutch looked at Johnny. The surprising part was that he’d given up and settled for someone else.
Bobby was still lost in thought when a sharp elbow dug into his ribs.
“Bobby, look!” Jimmy hissed.
Bobby turned, and his jaw dropped.
 ~~~~~~~~~~
“Holy fucking shit!” Tommy cried, his face lighting up.
Dutch stood just inside the doorway, a besotted grin on his face, one arm wrapped around a very familiar blond. Before Bobby’s brain could reboot, Jimmy and Tommy were scrambling over him to go congratulate the happy couple.
“Oh my god!” Jimmy laughed.
“It’s about damn time!” Tommy crowed, tackling them both in a hug.
“Umm, guys?” Dutch stammered as they were ushered into the booth, where Bobby still sat, frozen in shock. “There’s something I need to…”
Before he could finish, the door swung open, and another blond strode in.
 ~~~~~~~~~~
Dutch waved at the new arrival. As he weaved through the crowded bar, Bobby’s eyes ping-ponged between him and Johnny.
Or was it Johnny?
“What the fuck?” Jimmy breathed in his ear.
The Johnny look-alike gave Dutch a quick kiss before sliding in on his other side. “Sorry, couldn’t find a parking space.”
Dutch sat there bookended by blonds, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Guys, I’d like you to meet Ruben Patterson,” he grinned.
“Our boyfriend,” Johnny clarified, trying not to laugh in their stunned faces.
Bobby swiped Jimmy’s beer and downed it in one, long gulp.
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chaos-monkeyy · 1 year ago
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I did actually finish Double Trouble recently-ish too! With a bonus third chapter quick on the heels of the second one 😏
Lokius² smut: Double Trouble (on AO3)
That's the Loki/Mobius/Mobius fic inspired by this unrelated gif, where I was like "ok a) hot and b) what if Loki with younger *cough* totally not Owen Wilson in Zoolander *cough* variant!Mobius on his lap and our!Mobius walks in on them and then they all bang"
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CW for recreational drug use, selfcest, and some almost-somnophilia
Chapter teasers under the cut!
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Chapter 1 start:
Mobius walked into his living room and pulled up short at the sight of Loki and… Mobius’s own variant. The one they’d brought in earlier that day. 
It wasn’t the fact that the two were there that made him stop dead in his tracks, it was… what they were doing. Really, he should have expected it— kinda had been, after the looks the two had been giving each other back on that beach— but somehow actually seeing it was still a little… brain-melting. 
Loki was sitting on the couch and Mobius’s younger variant was on his lap, rumpled shirt more than half-unbuttoned to display an extensive— and… intriguingly unfamiliar— tattoo; his messy golden-blonde hair obscuring his face. What little of it wasn’t buried in the curve of Loki’s neck, that was. 
-
Chapter 2 start:
By the time they got him through the apartment and into his bedroom, Mobius couldn’t quite remember what any of his original objections had been. 
He didn’t manage to undress any further than removing his already-undone shirt and shoes before he was pulled into bed in a tangle of twining limbs and heat, Loki more or less in the middle with Mobius and his variant pressed up against him on each side like a pair of half-naked bookends. Mobius lost himself to sensation, to Loki’s wet tongue meeting his and licking at his flushed skin; to Loki’s familiar form moving and shifting under his palm… and the too-many hands skimming over him in turn. 
Every time his own variant touched him, fingers trailing over his bare skin and somehow completely, immediately distinguishable from Loki’s touch despite the fact that Mobius had his eyes closed, he got an exhilarating jolt of mingled shock and arousal— the dizzying lurch of -wrong wrong wrong- combined with -more more more-… And then Loki’s mouth left his and familiar-unfamiliar lips brushed over Mobius’s instead. 
-
Chapter 3 start:
Mobius woke up groggily the next morning with a minor headache, sore legs, and… 
And a hot, wet mouth meandering over his skin while something hot and hard rubbed lazily against his ass. 
It was far from the first time he’d woken up to that. To Loki, in one of those near-insatiable moods, wrapped around him from behind and sucking a trail of kisses over his neck and shoulder until Mobius gathered enough of his wits together to get his brains soundly fucked right back out again. 
But this morning… This morning, something felt different. 
Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Mobius shifted and started to mumble a question, breath catching as that stiff heat thrust a tiny bit harder against him and it sank in that he could feel two separate mouths on him. 
“Mmf…?” was about all that came out as Loki came into focus. 
In front of him. 
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Loki purred, a devious grin spreading over his face. “We thought you would never wake up.” 
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Loki Episode 6 Incoherent Thoughts
Wow, I can't believe the season is over. Spoilers, obviously. Lots of caps lock.
Did I say my stomach hurt last week? I didn't know what that meant. I just got out of a meeting, and my stomach has been hurting for the last hour and a half.
Marvel look at me. If anyone dies I'll kill you. The bar is so fucking low, this is the only thing I'm demanding.
Hey, you know what will be fun? And by fun I mean hopefully poor planning on my part when this doesn't happen? Let's use this note to keep a running tally of how many times I cry in this episode: ||||||| [That's 7.]
AAAAAAAHHHHHHH I haven't even clicked on anything and the Disney+ banner for the show just says "He's good" which could be taken multiple ways and all of them are HURTING ME ALREADY
ARE YOU KIDDING ME MARVEL??!! BOOKENDING THIS SHOW WITH FIRST AND (I'M ASSUMING) LAST EPISODES TITLED THE SAME THING??? There's the first tears holy fuck not fair [This is when I first realized we probably were not getting surprised with a third season, but I didn't want to jinx it.]
I'm not ready for this I'm not ready for this
Oh my god no theme just logo mother fuck oh no wait REVERSE THEME???
Loki but it happens instantaneously
Ohh okay.
Loki bud you gotta go further
WHY DID HE LOOK AT MOBIUS WHEN HE SAID THAT WHY DID HE LOOK AT MOBIUS I'M A FOOL
OH MY GOD WE'RE DOING THIS REALLY FAST OH MY GOD ARE WE GONNA HAVE TIME FOR ALL THE SHIT I SAID WE WEREN'T GONNA HAVE TIME FOR OH NO THERE'S SHIT I DIDN'T WANT TO HAPPEN THAT I THOUGHT WE WOULDN'T HAVE TIME FOR
"Mobius, you're in luck. It looks like Mobius but it's actually Victor Timely." LOKI!!! Speeding up the argument. Hey, is now a good time to bring up the fact that I've had this headcanon that Loki has an eidetic memory, but I've had this headcanon for so long I forgot it was a headcanon, but when he quoted Mobius's words about the jetski back to him last episode, it turned out I was right? He literally just fast forwarded through the argument because HE REMEMBERS IT. (Yes I know I'm stalling I'm sorry I don't want this series to end and also I'm scared)
"Wizard!" Lol
Does he understand ANYTHING that he just said? OR did he just remember THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION WORD FOR FUCKING WORD??? Eidetic memory. I'm pissed I didn't realize this wasn't canon before because now saying I was right means jack shit and I'm stalling again.
FUCKING FUCK CENTURIES??!! Well NOW he gets it (I bet the memory helped though, and the fact that his friends' lives depend on it.)
LOKI PLEASE TELL THEM WHAT'S GOING ON AND WHY YOU HAD TO DO THIS AS SOON AS YOU FUCKING CAN
WAIT
HE'S DONE THIS ENTIRE THING BEFORE
HOW MANY TIMES DOES MOBIUS GRAB HIS JACKET
Wait he's gonna grab him because it's the only way to get him to stop for a second
LOKI PLEASE TELL THEM WHAT'S GOING ON SOON OB LOOKS SCARED
I'm stalling again, I know
I am also scared
Damn that was a very sexy jacket grab but he's weirded out so no kiss grr
LOKI LET HIM GRAB YOU IT'S CUTE
I think even if he succeeds Timely's gonna die
THAT WAS TOO FAST
YEP
GODDAMMIT NO DON'T I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS
I DON'T WANT TO WATCH THIS SHIT AGAIN
DON'T GIVE ME THIS SYLKI BULLSHIT AGAIN
DON'T DO IT
ALSO DON'T KILL HER PLEASE
IS THE ONLY WAY TO STOP HER TO KILL HER DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE MARVEL I WILL END YOU
Oh my god that's why he cries in the trailer
He kills her and goes back to the beginning to stop her before so he doesn't have to kill her
No no no please Apollo get your fucking dodgeball away from me [I maaay have let my accuracy with last episode go to my head a bit...]
Oh. Oh shit
EEW DON'T CALL HIM THAT ABOUT THIS GROSS
FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT
OH SHIT LOKI CLEVER BOI
EEW FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING HIGH SCHOOL BULLY LOOKING FUCK
Loki wait why are you alone. You told Sylvie you didn't want to be alone anymore. I thought you'd figured out you can't do this by yourself.
SEND HER BACK
KICK HER THROUGH A TIME DOOR
COME ON LOKI THINK YOU WANTED TIME TO THINK AND YOU GOT IT SO USE IT
GOD I DON'T WANT TO UNDO EVERYTHING
OH MY GOD NO WAIT THIS IS THAT PART IN GROUNDHOG DAY WHERE HE TELLS THE LOVE!!! INTEREST!!! THAT HE'S IN A TIME LOOP
Fucking hell I hate it here I hate time loops I hate repetition
OH MY GOD YOU WENT BACK TO THIS MOMENT TO GET ADVICE??!! LOKI OH MY GOD
LOKI YOU GOT THERE FASTER THAN I DID
OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO BE WRITING ABOUT THIS HEARTBREAKING MOMENT IN MOBIUS'S PAST FOREVER
WHY THE FUCK DID THEY GIVE US THE MOST GUT-WRENCHING CHARACTER BEAT ABOUT MOBIUS IN THE LAST FUCKING EPISODE EXCUSE ME
RAVONNA KILLED AN EIGHT YEAR OLD AND THEY PROMOTED HER
WAIT A FUCKING SECOND WAS THE EIGHT YEAR OLD KID LOKI
WAIT A FUCKING SECOND DID MOBIUS STEP IN TO SAVE ANOTHER LOKI FROM BEING PRUNED
No she's NOT, MOBIUS, YOU'RE THE REASON
GODDAMN THEY'RE BOTH CRYING I KNOW WE SAW THIS IN THE TRAILER BUT OUCH
NO NO NO STOP NO STOP
IF HE DOESN'T FUCKING COME BACK BEFORE THE END I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA DO
AND I MEAN MO NOT DON
How many tallies does this scene get because I paused it and I'm sobbing
Like I had to do this in the season one finale, too, but that was because I was angry crying. I've been fucking gut-punched. BY A CLIP THAT WAS IN THE TRAILER TOO I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M SO FUCKING UPSET
Okay. Let's keep going.
JESUS CHRIST WE'RE ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH?! HOW MUCH MORE PAIN CAN I TAKE?!
OKAY the transition from Mobius disappearing and heartbroken Loki to Mobius disappearing and heartbroken Loki IF THEY DON'T MAKE THIS CANON THEY'RE THE FOOLS [I'm so fucking tired of this time loop I seem to be in. Give me some mainstream canon gays in 2023 for the love of god (of stories).]
FUCKING HELL IF YOU KISS HER I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF
NO DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE
DON'T
DON'T
FUCKING HELL DON'T
IF YOU KILL HIM MARVEL I SWEAR YOU'LL REGRET IT I FUCKING SWEAR
NO NO NO
DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE
LOKI DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE
LOKI IF YOU DESTIEL ME I'LL PUNCH A HOLE IN MY TV
IF YOU SYLKI ME AGAIN I'LL PUNCH A HOLE IN MY TV
IF YOU DIE I'LL LOSE MY ENTIRE MIND
FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU AND THE FACT THAT I'M ABOUT TO BE WRITING ABOUT THIS SCENE FOR A WEEK
SYLVIE DON'T MAKE THIS SYLKI DON'T
OH MY GOD THE COSTUME CHANGE IT'S NOT THE COAT BUT GUESS WHO SCREAMED
THE HORNS ARE A LITTLE HALLOWEEN COSTUME BUT I'LL TAKE THEM
IF YOU COME BACK FROM THIS AND SYLVIE KISSES YOU I'LL KICK BOTH OF YOUR ASSES THOUGH. I HAD FINALLY STOPPED BEING NERVOUS ABOUT THAT EVERY TIME YOU INTERACTED [I'm aware this fact is not apparent based on all of these posts.]
I refuse to believe the god of stories gets written out of the story that's unacceptable
Set them back into motion and then COME BACK
YGGDRASIL FUCKING HELL YEAH
OH MY GOD HE BECAME THE FUCKING TREE AGAIN
After. Fucking fuck you
THE TREE
VERITY
IF NO ONE CALLS HER VERITY I'M GONNA CUT SOMEONE
BUT I WANTED LOKI TO CALL HER THAT
OB THAT'S NOT HELPFUL
MOBIUS
ANTMAN REFERENCE FUCK YEAH
OH MY GOD HE'S SO SAD FUCK THIS I CAN'T HANDLE THIS I HATE SAD MOBIUS
WHAT FILE
HIS FILE OH MY GOD
PLEASE BE ANYTHING BUT DON I'LL SHRIEK
OH MY GOD HE IS BROKEN THIS IS DESTROYING ME
HE'S ALSO LEAVING I KNOW IT
YEP
MOBIUS
NO IF VERITY CRIES I'M GONNA CRY AGAIN [Oh shit. I have now cried 8 times actually (if we count post-episode tears). I may be too attached to Verity.]
ALIOTH GET HER!!! GET THE BITCH
NO HE IS CRYING IN THIS SCENE NO NO NO
SYLVIE OH MY GOD
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monomatica · 9 months ago
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Review : Waiting for the Flood by Alexis Hall
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⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 5 Stars
Spires has always been my absolute favorite of Alexis Hall’s books since I first read the series 3 years ago. The atmosphere, romance and heart in the writing is something special. To now get a new companion story with Chasing the Light (bound inside WFTF) is such a treat and is the perfect bookend to Waiting For the Flood. If you liked Glitterland, the first in the series, you will absolutely love this one.
Water plays a role in meeting someone new in both of these stories and becomes a metaphor for where the MC is in their lives. In Waiting, it’s a flood in Oxford where Edwin meets engineer Adam who gives him wellies and sandbags to save his home–the home he used to share with his ex Marius. In Chasing, it’s the frozen Thames river where Marius sprains his ankle and meets Leo who lives on a narrowboat. Leo comes to his aid, feeds him, kisses him, listens to his sarcastic quips and grabs ice from the towpath to help with the swelling. Marius stays on the boat while he heals and feelings happen. Both Edwin and Marius are stuck in different ways and, after a 10 year relationship and weird breakup, the resolution between them is so beautiful it made me tear up. 🥺
This story is a delight. It’s funny, snarky, touching, sexy, brooding and just wonderful. I can’t recommend it enough.
Spires cameos & mentions: Coal (For Real), Ash, Max (Glitterland), Lionel Dance of Jarndyce & Dance (Pansies)
🥰😭🥰😭🥰😭
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