#frank x dolores

[jolteonmchale]

Animal Control 1x04 / Community 2x14

[cerealbishh]

if you do not like frank and dolores together, that's fine but please do not body shame

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love, 

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

*

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

*

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

*

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

*

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

*

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

*

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[notakugelblitz]

DELORES PART 1 • Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

something sweet to soothe your anger dearest brellies 🥰 takes place during season 4 episode 1, no warning all safe. enjoy !

Y/N had worked with Five at the Commission. She was with him on the day of JFK's assassination, and when he mentioned the possibility of escaping the company, she thought, why not? The Handler still hadn't given her the promotion she'd been promised 15 years ago, and the health insurance was worthless by then ...

Y/N followed Five through three apocalypses, becoming a teenager again. At least she no longer had the beginnings of arthritis, which she was more grateful for than her colleague. The Hargreeves quickly took Y/N under their wing, appreciating her a lot, especially since she had the gift of shutting Five up.

Y/N and Five became very good friends. Once the umbrella Academy lost their powers in this new timeline, Y/N chose to open a bookstore, while Five became a CIA agent. They met from time to time, enjoying each other's company over a black coffee on a terrace. In six years, nothing ambiguous had happened between them. Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted it to or not—it was a strange feeling. But now, with her new life started, she had time. If Five was interested, he would make a move; if not, so be it. But this was the calm before the storm...

Five entered the secret meeting set in an apartment with a classy, dimly lit atmosphere. The place was spacious, hosting about thirty people. Five smoothed his mustache, grabbed a glass of champagne from the buffet, and scanned the room. Just as he thought he recognized Lila, another young woman caught his attention. She was leaning against the balcony, her face hidden as she stood with her back to him. She had long, straight auburn hair, styled with a yellow beret. She was wearing a white shirt with black polka dots, neatly tucked into her pencil skirt.

Five felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and took a deep breath before joining her. He also leaned on the balcony, just like she did, barely daring to look at her.

"Beautiful night, isn’t it?" Y/N murmured, a simple smile on her lips.

She didn’t meet his gaze either, which slightly irritated Five. He finally turned his head and recognized Y/N.

"What the hell are you doing ..."

The words escaped his mouth when he noticed the name on her nametag : Delores. Five almost choked on his champagne.

"Yeah, the champagne is disgusting, I agree. But the hors d'oeuvres are delicious though. You should try them!" "What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re part of this ridiculous support group ..."

Y/N burst into laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh no, no ... I came with "Nancy" so Diego wouldn’t ask too many questions. But this wig is seriously itching. It's awful." Y/N explained, amused, scratching her scalp.

She then turned her attention to Five and looked at his nametag.

"Jerome? That doesn’t suit you very well. I wonder where you got that name..." "It wasn’t my choice. And where did you get yours?" he retorted, frowning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden cold and somewhat aggressive tone.

"I like that name." Y/N simply said. "And that shirt—do you like it too? It’s hideous." "I found it in a thrift shop—it seemed nice... hey! What’s gotten into you?" Y/N finally exclaimed. "Bullshit." "Five what the hell!"

Y/N seemed sincere. She had no idea what her cover name meant to him. After all these years, he had never told her about Delores. Instead of apologizing, he downed his glass of champagne.

"So, those hors d'oeuvres?" Five asked.

Y/N laughed lightly, understanding it was his awkward way of apologizing. Just as she was about to praise the treats, Jean and Gene appeared, announcing the start of the meeting.

What followed was a very eventful evening. The Umbrella Effect, interacting with Jean and Gene, dining with Lila and Five, Viktor's kidnapping... it felt like the old days! And throughout it all, Five kept giving Y/N odd looks. Why had fate embedded the love of his life so clearly in his friend and colleague? Five didn’t believe in coincidences; he never had.

Y/N had noticed those supposedly discreet glances, which intrigued her a lot. Especially since she could feel her cheeks flush like a 16-year-old girl.

Despite everything, the Hargreeves ended their evening at an Asian restaurant to debrief. Having retrieved the Marigold thanks to Sy, most of them decided not to take it. This surprised Y/N a lot. Powers... that was the dream, wasn’t it?

While Ben was in the bathroom, Y/N leaned toward Five.

"Imagine what you could do for the CIA with your teleportation..." she whispered. "Shut up, Y/N." Five murmured. "No, but seriously! I don’t know what I’d give to be special like you guys were! If it were up to me, I’d drink that jar dry!"

Five chuckled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"If you think this is one of those stupid Marvel movies, think again. Having powers comes with great responsibilities, sure—the responsibility to control them and not cause an apocalypse." "Killjoy..." Y/N sighed. "And for your information..." Five hesitated before continuing in a lower voice, leaning a bit closer to her. "You don’t need that to be... special."

Coming from his mouth, it sounded weird. Reaching her ears, it sounded weird. Y/N sat up straight and silently thanked some higher force when Ben arrived with a tray of eight shots. While everyone found an excuse to leave, Ben convinced them to drink. "For old time's sake," he said.

Everyone gave in, and when Y/N realized she didn’t have a glass, she felt disheartened.

"Can’t I celebrate our reunion?" she asked. "You're not part of the family." Ben snapped. "Wow, Ben, that’s rude!" Luther exclaimed. "Y/N is more family than you ever were." Five groaned, pointing a threatening finger at him. "No, it's fine, let it go, Five." Y/N sighed, though Five’s words had touched her.

She stepped aside, letting them toast. Just as everyone raised their glasses to their lips, Klaus nudged Y/N and handed her his glass.

"OnJanuary 15th, it'll be 3 years that I am sober. Tonight’s not the night I’ll mess that up, and certainly not for old time's sake." Klaus whispered. "I can’t accept that ..." Y/N politely refused. "Oh, come on, down it or I’ll tell everyone you slept with Five at Luther’s wedding."

Y/N gasped, grabbed the glass, drank it down in record time, and handed it back to Klaus. No one seemed to notice the trick, and that was just as well.

Y/N still had that awful taste in her mouth. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk that glass. After all, Klaus was lying. Wasn’t he? It was true she had a total blackout that night, but... her and Five? No... right?

Once outside, everyone said their goodbyes. As Y/N tried to figure out where Klaus had gone so she could question him, a car pulled up next to her. The passenger window rolled down, and she bent down to see the driver. It was Five.

"I’ll give you a ride." "No, it’s okay, I’m not far..." "That wasn’t a question," Five said, leaning over to open the passenger door.

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help smiling. She got in, buckled up, and Five started the car.

"Be honest with me, Y/N." he said seriously, focusing on the road. "Mmh?" "Why Delores? And why that damn polka dot shirt?"

Y/N widened her eyes.

"You're still hung up on that!" she exclaimed. "I’ve changed since then..." "Stop it right now, Y/N. This isn’t funny," he growled. "Look, Five, I don’t understand! You’re completely crazy!" "Why Delores?" "I don’t know, okay?" she yelled back. "I don’t know."

She repeated the sentence silently to herself.

"The name just came to me, and the shirt was the cheapest... I swear, Five, I’ve never been more honest with you..."

Five finally looked at her and realized she was telling the truth. When they arrived at the bookstore, he parked on the side of the road.

"I’m sorry, Y/N... it’s just that... I knew a Delores a long time ago, and... she looked just like you."

Y/N, surprised, met his gaze and tilted her head to the side.

"I never thought the famous Five Hargreeves had a romance," she breathed.

Five nodded , locking eyes with her sparkling ones. He had always loved that color, though he would never admit it. He looked away, eyes fixed on the steering-wheel. Fortunately Y/N didn't know Delores was a mannequin. Five kept silent, thinking about this damn coincidence and its probable meaning.

Y/N didn’t know what to say so she got out of the car, feeling unsettled. As she headed towards the bookstore, she suddenly stopped, turned around, and walked back to the car, leaning against the window on Five’s side.

“Be honest with me, Five.” she said seriously.

Five chuckled softly, amused by this ongoing joke, and nodded, signaling her to continue.

“What happened at Luther’s wedding?” she asked suddenly.

Five frowned. Why was she asking about that now?

“They got married,” he said simply. “Haha, very funny. No, seriously, between us... did something happen?”

Five discreetly swallowed and started the car.

“You should go home, it’s getting late.”

Y/N groaned and walked around the front of the car again so that he couldn't leave, suddenly opening the passenger door and sitting down.

“What are you doing…?” “You agreed to be honest with me. And you’re not. So I won’t move until…” “Fine.” "Oh, that was quick."

Five immediately started driving and continued in silence.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” “No.” “So, is this a kidnapping?” “Call it whatever you want. You learned how to jump out of a moving car at the Commission, so if your ass is still in that seat, it means you don’t really want to leave.”

Point for him. The silence was fine at the beginning, but it grew heavier and heavier minutes after minutes. Y/N was relieved when she recognized the streets as they were arriving at the parking lot of Five's apartment. He turned off the car and slumped further into his seat. Y/N could tell he was hiding something.

“So. Did we sleep together that night?” she asked bluntly.

Five’s eyes widened.

“What! Who told you that nonsense?” he exclaimed with an amused tone. “Klaus… he…” “You know Klaus always exaggerates, Y/N…”

Y/N lowered her eyes, embarrassed for having believed it so easily. Five noticed her distress and sighed. He rummaged through an inner pocket of his jacket, hesitating before pulling out a Polaroid photo. He handed it to Y/N nonchalantly. She looked at him, then at the photo, which she took with apprehension. It was taken at Luther’s wedding. Y/N and Five were on stage. A microphone stand separated them, only a few centimeters from each other's face. They looked completely drunk, which explained why they were singing so close and why Y/N had no memory of it.

“Just imagine eyes like moon rise, a voice like music, lips like wine.” Five muttered, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Y/N looked up at him. Those were the lyrics to a love song by Frank Sinatra, yet it sounded oddly different coming from his mouth.

“Please, tell me…” she whispered.

Five sighed, knowing full well he had reached a point of no return.

“We overdid it on the alcohol that night. And with the apocalypse looming... it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally be capable of.”

He paused, but Y/N smiled, encouraging him to continue.

“You seemed different that night. You had no filter. You never had one when it came to annoying me, but for saying nice things, well... and you were really beautiful. And without thinking, I grabbed that mic and sang that stupid Sinatra song. And you looked at me with those eyes. They sparkled like… like the Kugelblitz. Almost more. And you joined me, and we made quite the duo, I must say. I can't fucking remember the name of the song as we were only babbling incomprehensible lyrics.”

Y/N was speechless.

“So…” “No sex. Pure fluff, even though it’s a disgusting word to say.”

Y/N chuckled.

“And you kissed me,” Five finally said, emotionless.

Everything seemed so unreal, yet he looked sincere.

“Why didn’t you tell me for six years?” she asked, shocked. “I… I chickened out. You didn’t remember, so it gave you the chance to start fresh.”

Suddenly, Y/N slapped him across the face, the sound of the slap echoing through Dallas. Five didn't blink, feeling like it was deserved somehow.

“You’re such an idiot.” “I know.”

They remained silent for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. If any member of the Umbrella Academy had the power to read minds, they would’ve run away, given the turmoil that stirred within them.

Y/N thought back to all those moments spent with Five, and of course, they had a different flavor than those shared with an actual colleague. Despite their constant teasing, Five had always been there for Y/N, and vice versa. They understood each other, given their age and experience. Everything suddenly became clear.

And then, in perfect synchronization, they kissed passionately, Y/N placing her hands on Five’s cheeks while he firmly gripped her waist. It was a fiery kiss, making up for all the lost time due to misplaced pride. Out of breath, Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him, a smirk on her lips.

“What? Don’t make me regret what just happened…” Five chuckled. “Firsy things first, secretly keeping a picture of me is weird. Secondly, the song by Sinatra ... It is named Dolores. Just saying…” Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that had fallen over his bright eyes.

"Shut it." he groaned, pecking your lips to make you silent. But then , he approaches his lips to your ear, whispering.

“It seems that no matter the timeline, I’m destined to have a Delores getting in my way.”

Y/N burst out laughing, and Five couldn’t help but smile sincerely. It felt good to come out of his shell, especially for Y/N. Five invited Y/N to spend the night at his place. This sudden happiness seemed surreal, yet it was very real. The idea of a normal life together seemed so pleasant. If only they knew ...

here it is, i really hope you liked it ! sorry if you spotted some mistakes, English isn’t my first language.

would you be interested in a part 2 now that Y/N swallowed up a shot of marigold ? just sayin’ … 😏

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ MASTERLIST

‘All was well. When you next looked up, something had changed. Nothing you could really put your finger on, yet you swore you’d never seen those eerily shaped rock formations before. In your peripherals, they seemed to beckon to you like crooked fingers. All was not well.’ It all begins with the fatal blunder of your supervisor. One signature, and your lab seals its doom: working with Valentine Corporations to procure and monitor ground samples from the Arizona Desert. As the resident odd-job and ill-fated intern, you’re tasked with the crucial task of procuring this dirt. But when you stumble onto the Big, Bad, Devil’s Palm, it proves to be a more terrible error than the deal with Valentine Corporations - you’ve now an odd pocket watch and floating head to deal with, and this definitely isn’t the right century (or aeon, really)… male reader (but it's not a big part of the character); reader is a modern day scientist living in an alternate future where Valentine succeeded with taking the corpse warnings: canon-typical violence, death, blood, alcohol, very slow burn like I'm talking novel-length goddamn various SBR characters x reader can be found on ao3 by the same title

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

KEY INFORMATION ABOUT READER

i. question of time (depeche mode)

ii. the world we knew (frank sinatra)

iii. underground (mareux)

iv. chamber of reflection (mac demarco)

v. blight (zeruel)

vi. group four (massive attack)

vii. dance floor dolor (mareux)

viii. rosemary (deftones)

ix. cherry (chromatics)

x. blank (glare)

xi. shadows (pastel ghost)

xii. VII (twin tribes)

xiii. when the sun hits (slowdive)

xiv. o virtus sapientiae alio modo (hildegaard von bingen)

xv. mercury (glaze)

xvi. shout (tears for fears)

xvii. man next door (massive attack)

xviii. walk away (franz ferdinand)

[lexasxempire]

Neighbor || Frank Castle Fanfic

Plot: Kat gets a new neighbor, Frank, who keeps to himself. Until now

Warnings: grumpy x sunshine, franks a little cocky, franks a little intimidating, frank going by Pete 😪

SFW

No foul language (in this part)

Might be future smut if there are more parts

Kat lived in an apartment building that was rough around the edges. That’s putting it nicely so to speak. Mostly criminals and folks who didn’t have much lived here, although she didn’t mind, the ones she’s met or ran into were always kind to Kat. The woman was always kind back.

Recently the apartment across from her was up for rent when her old neighbor moved out. He was a sweet older man, Kat would spend time with him and Dolores, her other neighbor two doors down. But now his apartment was taken, by who? Kat was still trying to figure that one out. She never saw the man (she assumes), he was quiet but quick so she never caught up to whoever he was. Her guess was that he was late 20’s, slim and stalker-ish from how quiet he was. Dark hair maybe. Though she wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a grey haired heavy guy who’s outgoing. She honestly didn’t know.

At the moment though, he was the least of her worries. The woman had found herself in a bit of a pickle, almost literally. Kat had agreed to a lunch date with the sweet Dolores at the older women’s apartment and had asked Kat if she could make sandwiches for them, which she agreed to of course. But the pickle jar wasn’t opening, nothing worked, not a rag, knife, hitting the seal on the counter, nothing. She was fed up at this point, I mean how strong is a jar of pickles?!

Kat: 0

Jar of pickles: 1

“Forget it, I’ll just take you with me.” She huffs, packing away the rest of the food in the basket. The basket may have been a little overboard but both of the women loved it. “Let’s see how you hold up against elder strength.” Kat nods to herself before finally making her way out of her apartment once she pulled on her shoulder cape that matched her dress. Her and Dolores took their picnic lunches very seriously.

As Kat walked gracefully down the hall, she heard the voice of the older woman but what make her frown was the second voice, a man’s voice, with her.

“Dot found a boyfriend huh?” She muttered to herself in a joking manner. As she came up to Dolores’ door, it was wide open which scared her for a moment but then she heard the woman laugh.

“Miss Lane?” Kat called out, stopping at her door frame as she does. In that moment she then seen Dot come out of her kitchen. “Everything okay? Your door is wide open, I thought something terrible happened.”

The older woman just laughed, waving her in while taking her arm in hers.

“Oh no no I’m perfectly fine dear! I was just having troubles with my sink and Mr. Castiglione offered to take a look for me! He is so nice and very handsome.” Dot sends her a wink as she shimmy’s her shoulders. Kat snorts, nudging her arm as she shakes her head at the woman.

“Dot! He’s right there!” She whisper shouts at her, her hold on the basket tightening when she sees the man’s feet lying on the floor, his body under the sink. “Who is he anyway?” Her voice was a whisper again.

“He said he lived in Kevin’s old apartment, right in front of you missy. Why didn’t you tell me this hunk of man was there all this time?” She pointed her finger at her in a disapproving manner, taking the basket from Kat. “For selfish reasons? I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I’ll have you know, miss Dolores Lane, I did not know he lived there, I actually have never seen him, you got there before I did.” Kat sassed, not really caring if the stranger heard her or not anymore.

Before Dolores could reply with a sassy remark, the man, Pete, cleared his throat, awkwardly waving a wrench around.

“Your sink is gonna need some parts ma’am, I think I can Jerry rig it for now though before I can really fix it.”

Kat was in awe of the pure muscle of this man, his height didn’t help either. His hair was long and shaggy, he had a beard to match too. And his hands, god his hands were massive. Dolores was right, the man was a whole lot of man.

“Oh you don’t have to do that! I can buy the parts for it and my sweet Katty can fix it the rest of the way! You’ve done so much already by just looking at it.” Dot waved her hands, motioning to Kat, why was still silent with a straight back. “She’s very handy with her tools.”

Kat lets out a nervous laugh, giving Pete a small wave. The jar of pickles were still in her hand, the marks on the lip showcasing her struggle with them. She seen the amused look on his face when he seen the jar and her outfit and probably at the fact that she could in fact fix things but she didn’t care. She was a woman of many talents. Opening a jar of pickles is not one of them unfortunately.

“We got it from here Mister Castiglione, thank you for helping Dot, it means a lot.” Kat offered her best smile to the slightly intimidating man.

“Pete, names Pete.” He half smiles back, setting one of Kat’s tools down. “And it’s no problem, it’s the least I can do.” He breathes out a chuckle. “If you need anymore help, I’m down the hall, yeah?” He makes his way towards the door, wiping his hands on his jeans before he closes the door behind him on his way out. That’s when Kat had an idea.

“What are you doing?” Dot expresses as she sees the younger woman scram to grab a sandwich out of the basket along with the jar in her hand already and book it to the door. “Kat?”

“I’ll be just a minute Dot!” The woman quickly darts out the door, running to catch up with Pete who was already halfway down the hall. “Mister Pete!”

Frank furrowed his eyebrows at her voice, turning his body halfway to see the woman running towards him. In a different situation, Frank would have been concerned, maybe even scared. This bright, calm, somewhat bubbly girl was running towards him, dark, grumpy, and closed off. It didn’t help that she was wearing pink and him black. Quite literally, the opposites.

“It’s just Pete, ma’am.”

“Well just Pete, I need your help.” She panted out slightly from her running once she stopped, a wide smile on her face.

“And what’s that?”

She wiggles the pickle jar at him.

“If you open this for me, I’ll give you one of my sandwiches in exchange.” She smiled up at him hopefully. Frank was amazed to say the least.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay then.” In a motion, he takes the jar into his large hand, making little to no effort as he starts to twist the lip off. Which comes off the second he twisted. Kat was indeed a little embarrassed. But hey, she got her pickles, a win is a win.

“Thank you, you have no idea how long I spent trying to get the thing open!” Her laugh was very contagious. As she took the jar back, she held out her hand to him with the sandwich in it. “A deals a deal.”

Frank scoffs playfully. She was so…warm. He couldn’t explain it really. So he took the sandwich with a nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He gestured to the sandwich. “You have a good ear ma’am.” He turned to leave again.

“Kat, it’s just Kat.” Her voice sounded behind him, his lips twitching up at her mimic of him.

“Okay, just Kat.” He voiced back without looking at her behind him, carrying on with his day and the tasks on his mind.

Kat let out a giggle, bouncing on her feet some as she makes her way back to Dolores’ apartment.

Pete: 1

Jar of pickles: 0

The end

Part two??? Maybe???

(I don’t feel like editing thisss so I’m not gonnaaaa)

[panfluidme]

RULES FOR REQUESTING (DISNEY)

I'll write smut for any of the ships (as long as everyone's over eighteen)

Go as fluffy or as angsty as you want

I will not write about suicide or eating disorders

I will not write about homophobia/transphobia/racism or anything of the sorts unless if the victim of this hate is later comforted by friends and/or family

Feel free to DM me your request if you don't want me to give you credit

If you want me to write a ship that isn't in my list, lemme know. I will not do any incest ships, so don't even try

No x readers

If you request anything and break one of these rules, I won't be writing your request and will delete your comment or DM

Rules for commenting:

No bullying

No slurs

No hateful speech

No sexual advances

Ships:

Tangled (this includes the show):

Rapunzel x Eugene

Varian x Hugo

Eugene x Lance

Frozen:

Honeymaren x Elsa

Anna x Kristoff

Anna x Hans

Anna x Hans x Kristoff

Hans x Kristoff

Encanto:

Julieta x Agustín

Pepa x Félix

Dolores x Mariano 

Alma x Pedro  

Night at the Museum:

Jedtavius

Larry x Ahk

Teddy x Sac

Descendants:

Jay x Carlos

Mal x Ben

Turning Red:

Mei x Miriam 

Coco:

None

Luca:

Luca x Alberto

Big Hero Six (the movie only):

Honey Lemon x Tadashi

Moana:

None

Milo Murphy's Law:

Zilo (Zack x Milo)

Melissa x Amanda

Dakota x Cavendish 

Martin x Bridgette 

Duck-Tales: 

Goldie x Scrooge

Launchpad x Fenton/Gizmo Duck 

Donald x Daisy

Launchpad x Della

Gravity Falls:

Billdip

Mabcifica

Ford x Fiddleford 

Star vs the Forces of Evil:

Tomco

Star x Janna

Star x Oskar

Angie x Rafael

Moon x River

Amphibia:

Anne x Sasha x Marcy

The Owl House:

Lumity

Hunter x Willow

Hunter x Edric 

Eda x Camila

Phineas and Ferb:

Baljeet x Buford 

Candace x Jeremy 

Linda x Lawrence (the parents)

101 Dalmatian Street:

None

Percy Jackson:

Percy x Leo

Percy x Grover

Frank x Hazel

Jason x Leo

Jason x Piper

Piper x Annabeth

Sally x Paul

Sally x Poseidon

Magnus x Alex 

I own none of the characters (minus a handful of OCs for plot convince) or any of the art used in this book! If you see your art in this book and don't want it in here, lemme know!

[deadolloading]

Solicitudes

Presentación de mi perfil, lo que escribo, reglas.

¡Hola pequeña personita! Me presento, soy deadolloading aún que pueden decirme Joven D, Doll, Dolly o como gustes. Mis pronombres son She/Her/Him, ¡Pero puedes decirme como sea!

Mi blog es totalmente en contenido en español, esto es debido a que no se mucho de inglés y hasta que no lo aprenda en su totalidad, no haré contenido en inglés.

El contenido de mi perfil apunta específicamente a todo lo relacionado con fanfics, pequeños escritos míos, etc. Igualmente los fanfics van del famoso Character x Reader o como el famoso Character x T/N.

Personas de cualquier edad, genero, creencia o nacionalidad ¡Es completamente bienvenido! Ya que mi contenido va para todo público ya que me incomoda escribir cualquier cosa NSFW, por lo que todo mi contenido es SFW, en caso de ser lo contrario se pide que no interactúen con esa publicación.

Requests are open!

Lea esto antes de solicitar cualquier fanfic, headcanon y esas cosas (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

Nota: A veces no puedo publicar mucho debido a lo ocupado que suelo estar.

Soy muy imaginativo con headcanons, escenarios/drabbles y es posible que veas mucho de eso en mi perfil, pero nada de fanfics o one-shots y tendrás que esperar mucho tiempo para que haga uno.

Por favor, no envíe hagas spam de solicitudes porque en esos caso no lo haré.

Si no publico un post muy largo, puede ser porque no tengo mucha imaginación en ese momento, disculpas de antemano.

¡El inglés no es mi primer idioma! Así que lo siento mucho por lo que solo escribiré en español.

Cuando pida algo en mi bandeja, por favor dame detalles de lo que quieres, como una parte específica que desea que agregue, qué personaje, género del lector, etc.

Solo puede escribir de 2 a 3 personajes a la vez.

Quiero que este lugar sea seguro tanto para mí como para los lectores.

Tengo todo el derecho a rechazar una solicitud, especialmente si rompe con las reglas que ya tengo.

Acepto escribir

Relaciones poliamorosas.

Dolor/comodidad.

Pelusa.

Amor, oc x character

No acepto escribir

Incesto

Sexo/NSFW

Violencia

Pedofilia, zoofilia

Relaciones altamente tóxicas

Fandoms y personajes para los que escribo !

Videojuegos

Phantom of the Opera - MazM

Christine Daae Sorelli Dupont Melek Levni Detective Hatim Eric

Genshin Impact

Sucrose Rosaria Beidou Amber Kaeya Diluc Jean Aloy Lisa

Mario Bros

Princess Peach Princess Daisy Rosalina Pauline Mario Luigi

Cuphead

Baroness Von Bon Bon Chef Saltbaker Cala Maria Hilda Berg

Five Night's at Freddy's

Michael Afton William Afton Henry Emily Clara Afton Animatronics

Sims 4

Elvira Lapida

Series/Anime/ARG

The Mandela Catalogo

Cesar Torres Mark Heathcliff Adam Murray Jonah Marshall Arcangel Gabriel Alt!Archangel Gabriel Sarah Heathcliff

Popee the Performer

Papi Poppe Eepop Kedamono

Kimetsu no Yaiba

Tanjiro Kamado Nezuko Kamado Inosuke Hashibira Zenitsu Agatsuma Muzan Kibutsuji Kagaya Ubuyashiki Kyōjurō Rengoku Obanai Iguro Gyomei Himejima Tengen Uzui Shinjuro Rengoku Mitsuri Kanroji Shinobu Kochō

Welcome Home

Wally Darling Julie Joyful Barnaby B. Beagle Frank Frankly Eddie Dear Howdy Pillar Sally Starlet Poppy Partridge

My Hero Academia

Kyoka Jiro Eijiro Kirishima Denki Kaminari Mei Hatsume Mt. Lady Tsuyu Asui Tenya Iida Endeavor Ochako Uraraka Momo Yaoyorozu

Sakura CardCaptor

Tomoyo Daidōji Tōya Kinomoto Yukito Tsukishiro Maki Matsumoto Nadeshiko Kinomoto Syaoran Li Fujitaka Kinomoto Kaho Mizuki Sakura Kinomoto Clow Reed Caras Clow

Sailor Moon

Usagi Tsukino Rei Hino Makoto Kino Ami Mizuno Minako Aino Haruka Teno Michiru Kaio Setsuna Meio Nephrite Mamoru Chiba/Tuxedo Mask Kou Seiya Kou Yaten Kou Taiki

Dragon Ball

Gohan Veggetta Piccolo Trunks Broly Androide 18 Androide 17 Whis Krilin

Scooby-Doo

Vilma Dinkley Daphne Blake Shaggy Rogers Fred Jones

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Montgomery Montgomery Violet Baudelaire Klaus Baudelaire Georgina Orwell Justice Strauss Fernald Fiona Kit Snicket Lemony Snicket  Gustav Sebald

Marvel/DC Comics

Solo agregare unos personajes

Doctor Octopus - Spiderman Miguel O'Hara - Spiderman Ghost Spider - Spiderman Spider-Man Noir - Spiderman Doctor Stranger - Marvel Peggy Carter - Marvel Raven - DC Comics Starfire - DC Comics Beast Boy - DC Comics Green Arrow - DC Comics

Moral Orel

Bloberta Puppington Clay Puppington Rod Putty Stephanie Putty Nurse Bendy

The Amazing Digital Circus

Ragatha x Reader Pomni x Reader Caine x Moon Caine x Reader Jax x Reader Gingle x Reader

Otros personajes (serie o película)

Miss Peregrine - Miss Peregrine y el hogar para chicos peculiares Carrie - Carrie 1976 Michael Myers - Halloween Jason Voorhees - Viernes 13 Thomas Hewitt - Masacre en Texas 2006 Ghostface - Danny Johnson Phantom of the Opera - Movie 2004 Blue Diamont - Steven Universe Yellow Diamond - Steven Universe Personajes de Disney - Solo si lo conozco

⠀⠀ ⠀ Reglas ⛧ ?!

ㅤㅤ⛧ Especificar por favor lo que quieren, no soy adivina. Si quieren cierta situación especifica, ese tipo de cosas ya saben.

ㅤㅤ⛧ Al momento de escribir para lectores, lo diré de una vez, no se mucho de pronombres. Por lo que si quieres de un personaje no binario o algo así, por favor dime como es su uso de pronombres para escribirlo y te sientas cómodo.

ㅤㅤ⛧ Esto totalmente abierta a la idea de escribir OC x Character, para eso pido que en privado me den algo de información de su oc. Alguna ficha, descripción de personalidad y física, ese tipo de cosas.

ㅤㅤ⛧ Pido que me tengan paciencia, suele escribir de forma muy tardada debido a mi gran bloqueo de escritor. Ténganme paciencia, soy nuevo en esto :').

ㅤㅤ⛧ ¡Pueden pedirme cualquier cosa! Romance, platónico, relación padre/madre e hijx, de hermandad, etc.

ㅤㅤ⛧ Por favor, pido respeto ya que esto es como un tipo de pasatiempo para mi. No vengo a molestar a nadie y tampoco vengo a que me molesten. Si no les gusta mi perfil o tienes problemas conmigo, te pido amablemente que dejes mi perfil y con gusto puedes bloquearme.

Eso sería todo por mi parte, bienvenidos a mi perfil y espero que les guste mi contenido.

¡Nos vemos!

[umbraetmortis-rpg]

Las "X" y las "¿?" son para que el usuario determine la edad y la fecha de su personaje.

Edad personajes Canon en enero de 1978:

Sirius Black: 18 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 3 de noviembre de 1959)

Lily Evans: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 30 de enero de 1960)

James Potter: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 27 de marzo de 1960)

Remus Lupin: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 10 de marzo de 1960)

Marlene Mckinnon: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes: (Posterior a enero) de 1960)

Andromeda Black: 24 años (Día ¿? Mes: (Posterior a enero) de 1953)

Mary Macdonald: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes: (Posterior a enero) de 1960)

Minerva Mcgonagall: 43 años (4 de octubre de 1935)

Petter Pettegrew: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? (mes entre enero y agosto) de 1960)

Severus Snape: 17 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 9 de enero de 1960)

Narcisa Malfoy: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? 1950)

Lucius Malfoy: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? 1951)

Rodolphus Lestrange: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? 1957)

Regulus Black: 16 años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes (Posterior a enero) ¿? 1961)

Amycus Carrow: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? 1951)

Alecto Carrow: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Bellatrix Lestrange: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? 1951)

Personajes Secundarios:

Arthur Weasley: 27 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 6 de febrero de 1950)

Molly Weasley: 29 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 30 de octubre de 1949)

Davey Gudgeon X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1960)

Evan Rosier: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1960)

Bertha Jorkins: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año (Entre 1953-1958))

Dolores Jane Umbridge: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: 26 de agosto,  Año (antes de 1965))

Alastor Moody: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Bartemius Crouch Jr: 15 años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1962)

Alice Longbottom: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Frank Longbottom: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año (Década de los 50))

Rabastan Lestrange: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Benjy Fenwick: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Walburga Black: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1925)

Orión Black: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1929)

Xenophilius Lovegood: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Pandora Lovegood: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Travers: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Sybill Trelawney: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: 9 de Marzo, antes de 1963)

Aberforth Dumbledore: X años (Fecha de nacimiento:  entre el 1 de septiembre de 1883 y 31 de agosto de 1884)

Caradoc Dearborn: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Dedalus Diggle: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Edgar Bones: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Elphias Doge: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1881)

Emmeline Vance: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Gideon Prewett: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Rubeus Hagrid: 48 años (Fecha de nacimiento: 6 de diciembre de 1928)

Mulciber: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Finales de la década de 1950 o principios de la década de 1960)

Walden Macnair: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Antonin Dolohov: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Fenrir Greyback: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1945)

Augustus Rookwood: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año ¿?)

Igor Karkarov: X años (Fecha de nacimiento: Día ¿? Mes ¿? Año 1950)

[wahwealth]

🚀The Phantom Planet (1961) Science Fiction Film | Full Movie English

Dean Fredericks, Coleen Gray, Anthony Dexter, and Francis X. Bushman star in this full-length science fiction film.  The movie is in black and white and was released in 1961.  The time is 1980, and the Air Force's Space Exploration Wing already has built bases on the Moon.  They are on the eve of a mission to Mars, when one of its spacecraft mysteriously disappears, and this begins fears of space monsters and phantom planets.   Captain Frank Chapman and his navigator Lt. Ray Makonnen are ordered to investigate. Cast Dean Fredericks as Capt. Frank Chapman Coleen Gray as Liara Anthony Dexter as Herron Francis X. Bushman as Sessom Jimmy Weldon as Lt. Webb Dolores Faith as Zetha Richard Weber as Lt. Ray Makonnen Al Jarvis as Judge Eden Dick Haynes as Col. Lansfield Earl McDaniels as Capt. Leonard Mike Marshall as Lt. White Richard Kiel as The Solarite Merissa Mathes as Juror Never miss a video. Join the channel so that Mr. P can notify you when new videos are uploaded: https://www.youtube.com/@nrpsmovieclassics

[jolteonmchale]

Animal Control 1x03 / 1x04 - Frank and Dolores

[cerealbishh]

so... if they really are going with the franklores ship as canon then, gays, summersands might have a chance to sail!

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Ch. 8 💔🥂💔

Ah, my darlin’s, I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this one! We pick up about a week after Lori’s vulnerable middle of the night meltdown and the intimacy beginning to build between her and Elvis. (Catch up here: Broken Glass Masterlist )

Back in Elvis’ perspective, we jump through a couple of key things this man was up to in March 1960—he was a busy, busy man! The recording session and the Sinatra Special rehearsals make an interesting backdrop to the confusion and tumultuousness going on in his head and body in this chapter.

I highly recommend listening to It Feels So Right and Fame and Fortune (links here) as you read those parts to really get a feel for those moments and how the lyrics mirror Elvis’ feelings. 🎶 Also, most of the pics in the collage are from the days I'm referencing in this chapter, just in case you need, ahem, visual stimulation. 😏

Anyway, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter—things are starting to get JUICY! 😘

xoxoxo, Madi 💗

TW: ANGST, UST, references to sexual situations, masturbation, references to Lori’s previous abuse, Elvis’ rage issues, Frank-fucking-Sinatra…

Read HERE on Patreon 🎉 Read HERE on AO3 📖 Read HERE on Wattpad ✍🏼

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @ohjustpeachy1 @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[notakugelblitz]

DELORES PART 2 • FIVE HARGREEVES X FEM!READER

sorry it took me so long to write it I don’t know why I was completely stuck. i’m not particularly satisfied with this part 2, but it’s okay. maybe it’s because I wrote in third person, i prefer using “you” usually. i hope you’ll like it ! thanks for your kind comments on the first part btw 🫶 english is still not my first language, so I hope there aren’t too many mistakes. takes place during season 4 episode 2 and 6 so be careful about the spoilers ! enjoy !

5539 words

part 1 if you missed it 👇

It wasn’t one of those mornings where the main character wakes up to sunlight gently caressing her face. A headache jolted Y/N awake, as if someone had stabbed a knife into her skull. A violent wave of nausea hit her as she struggled to sit up. It took her a while to recognize Five's room. He was still asleep, but a grimace twisted his lips. He didn’t seem to be feeling very well either.

At that moment, she could have been happy about the night spent with Five. After years of working for the Commission, bickering and flirting, it was a fitting conclusion. But Y/N felt so unwell that she struggled to take it all in.

She shook Five’s arm, trying to wake him up. He groaned as he was slowly woken from sleep, groggily opening his eyes and looking up at Y/N with slight annoyance.

“Stop it …”

Fuck, just let me sleep you moron. Y/N heard Five’s voice in her mind.

“That’s not really nice” she let out.

Five’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened. He jolted up, sitting against the headrest of the bed and looking at Y/N.

“Did you just … hear what I was thinking ?”

“Don’t be ridiculous I …”

If you hear me that confirms pretty much of it. He hadn’t even move his lips and it resonated in her mind. She put her hands on both sides of her head and closed her eyes.

“What the fuck is happening, Five…” she whined.

That confirmed it. Y/N had abilities. Five tried his best to remain calm, gently resting his hands on hers and giving them a squeeze to help her ground herself.

“Y/N … Y/N, you need to try and focus. Just listen to me, okay ?”

“I keep hearing your thoughts …” she whined more.

Five gently pulled Y/N into his arms as he felt how scared she was, holding the back of her head. He began softly rubbing her back in gentle, slow circles, trying his best to soothe her.

“I know this is probably overwhelming right now, but I need you to try and focus. Listen to my voice. Try and block everything else out. Start with just my voice, okay ?”

Y/N nodded weakly, grabbing the back of his shirt tightly.

“Good … you’re doing good … just keep focusing on me, okay ? Just focus on how I’m rubbing your back … focus on my hand on the back of your head, running through your hair … keep your eyes closed … take a deep breath in and let it out … breathe with me … focus on how my chest rises and falls when I breathe, and follow it … take a deep breath in … hold it … and let it out nice and slow…”

“Why … why is this happening to me …?” she huffed, doing as he said.

Five continued to rub her back and run his fingers through her hair, trying his best to keep his voice calm, soft, and steady.

“I don’t know … I know that this probably scares the hell out of you, but you’re doing good. Just keep following my voice …”

He gently pulled her head under his chin so she could hear his heartbeat, hopefully finding some comfort in the rhythmic pace.

Y/N breathed in and out, calming the beating of her heart. She could hear his thoughts still, but not as loud as earlier. He was hoping she’d be okay and cursing whatever caused this.

“I wonder … have you tried … to blink ?” she asked softly. “You seem as unwell as me …”

Five gently nodded, continuing to try to soothe her. As soon as she mentioned the possibility that he has regained his power, he let out a slight sigh.

“I don’t know …”

“Try it. I can feel that something’s different within me, and certainly within you.”

Five looked at her a bit puzzled. He struggled a bit before getting up. Suddenly a purple light blinded Y/N and he disappeared right before her eyes.

“Oh my …”

She didn’t have the time to finish her sentence that he reappeared, falling back on the bed.

“We should call the others …” he huffed, eyes widened.

Speechless, Y/N stared at Five for a while, a million thoughts running through her head. She shook her head and stood up, trying to find her phone, but she felt a sudden headache and some stomach pain. She could hear in her mind that Five was suffering just as much as she was.

Y/N finally managed to grab her phone on the bedside table. She typed a message to the group, telling them to meet at the academy as soon as possible. Everyone answered pretty quickly, saying that they all felt the same.

Five let out a deep sigh as he watched her write the message and looked at her with a concerned and worried expression.

“Alright … once we all get here, we’ll try and figure this out … but in the meantime … I think we may just have to ride this out … you look like a corpse …”

“So do you,” she tried to tease him, but she retched a bit.

Five chuckled, but it was interrupted by a retch of his own. His smirk faded, and he groaned slightly as he lay back down on the bed, putting a pillow over his face.

“I just hope we’ll get over it soon.“

He moved the pillow from his face just enough so that he was able to look at her, giving her a small, shaky smile.

“Mmh … hopefully the others aren’t suffering too badly and may at least have an idea of what the hell is happening …”

“Don’t you think it was a bit weird when Ben proposed shooters to us?” Y/N asked, grimacing a bit.

Five’s face scrunched up as the nausea hit him. He groaned again, gently grabbing her hand before replying, his voice a little shaky since he was forcing himself to stay calm.

“Yeah … that was a little weird … but knowing Ben, it seemed normal enough …”

“Are you sure about that ?”

“Well it’s true that he has been quite insistent about getting our powers back but … oh no.”

“Five … is the marigold still here?” Y/N asked, a horrified look on her face as she pointed at the box Sy gave them.

Five’s eyes widened as the realization hit both of them, and he looked toward the box sitting on the dresser. He gently let go of Y/N’s hand and grabbed the jar that was in the box and get it out. Half of the Marigold was missing.

“Fuck.” Five swore.

“I don’t know if I should be happy or not to have some powers now …” she whispered, her gaze lost in the void.

Hearing Y/N whisper in disbelief, Five gently put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently as he held back another retch. He couldn’t help but feel a mixture of emotions when it seemed like she was about to freak out just like he was.

“As long as they don’t make you suffer … it could be quite the drill to read people’s minds.” Five tried to reassure her.

She nodded firmly, looking right into his green eyes. He’s been the best thing she has ever encountered, and it was a blessing that he was here right now. If he weren’t, she would have just panicked hard.

“You’re right. Now you can’t hide anything from me …” she teased softly.

A small, weak laugh left his lips as a smile appeared on his face.

“I guess that’s one good thing,” he replied, trying to sound positive about the whole situation. “But believe me, you’re really not going to like a lot of my thoughts … most of them are pretty damn snarky …”

“But you are always snarky.” she let out, rolling her eyes.

Y/N let her hands go through his hair, caressing it gently, hoping it’d soothe him a bit. eyes softened as he felt the nausea starting to subside. He closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling her hands running through his hair. He leaned into her touch, a slight purr escaping his chest in response.

“ … and I’ll have to be careful when I’m thinking perverted things now … can’t have you listening to that every five seconds …”

“Too late.” she chuckled.

Of course he heard that silly little thought that ran through his mind. Five’s eyes widened as his face went red, a mixture of embarrassment and slight annoyance from how quickly she heard his thought. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gave her an unamused expression.

“We’ll have to set up some rules.”

“You’re not funny … ” she sighed but still smirking.

But he was right, that wasn’t fair and polite. So she managed to stop the reading. Five groaned and laid his head back on the pillow, putting his arm over his face, hiding it a bit since it was still red with embarrassment.

“I hate you so much right now … you know that, right?”

She got on top of him and leaned down to his face, laughing a bit.

“Oh yes, of course you hate me …” she teased him.

Five’s eyes widened with slight surprise, not expecting Y/N to dominate him like that. He tried to keep his grumpy expression, but failed as a chuckle escaped his lips. He was about to say something snarky when Y/N’s ringtone caused him to pause.

“Maybe we should go …” he sighed.

Y/N groaned, cursing his siblings to be that impatient. It was Diego who was calling but she hung up quickly. She kissed Five briefly on the nose and gathered her clothes that were laying on the floor.

“I’m not finished with you, Five Hargreeves,” she said, putting on her pants.

He couldn’t help but chuckle again from her comment, rolling his eyes.

“Looking forward to it …”

•••

And so she was right. Ben did gave them their power back by pouring some Marigold in the shooters last night. But what they didn’t look forward was the bunch of adventures that came up to try to stop another apocalypse.

Five explained to Y/N how he ended up into a subway every time he teleported, she even went with him while they were in New Grumpson. That place was pretty weird actually, but nothing was as much surprising as a talking cube or time travel after-all. So Y/N didn’t worry about that, neither when Five disappeared with Lila a few hours. Oh … little she knew …

For Christmas, the whole family was staying at Diego’s, with Lila’s family and their children. And now that they were all reunited, she finally started worrying. But the stress suddenly faded away when she heard Five’s voice in her mind. *We’re back …*

The two of them came in with dark faces, Lila kissing her children like it has been an eternity. As strange as it may seem Five looked a little bit older. But Y/N swept this observation away. She promised Five that she wouldn’t read his mind if he didn’t allow it, so she didn’t, but she walked towards him with a worried face.

“Are you alright …?” she asked quietly.

He tried to put on a smile, though it was obviously fake. The past seven years on the road with Lila had taken a toll on him, and he looked exhausted.

Five gently caressed her cheek with a trembling hand as if he was scared to break it.

“You look radiant as always, doll…”

She frowned her eyebrows. He never used to call her that. She looked at Diego kissing Lila, her looking distant.

“May I talk to you ? Alone ?” Y/N asked him, pretty much concerned.

Five couldn’t help but inwardly sigh, realizing that she was catching on and suspecting something was off. He nodded, grabbing her by the arm lightly and leading her away from everyone else and into the kitchen.

Y/N looked at him for a little while, leaning back on the counter. She had her arms crossed on her chest, nervously biting her nail. She was waiting for him to say anything.

Five looked at Y/N for a moment before looking away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black suit. His stomach was doing flips, knowing that it was going to be almost impossible to avoid telling her the truth.

“Just…don’t freak out, okay ?”

“It’s too late for that. Look at you. How could I not freak out?” she lets out.

Five winced slightly from her words, his shoulders tensing a bit. He let out a shaky sigh, still avoiding eye contact as he leaned against the wall of the kitchen, his gaze on the ground.

“It’s …”

He trailed off, his jaw clenching a bit. He still didn’t want to speak the words. He didn’t want to say them, as though speaking them would solidify the truth of what happened during those seven years.

“Would it be easier if I read your mind ?” Y/N asked, her heart beating fast.

She knew that something was wrong, and it was killing her. Five’s whole body tensed up even more as she made the suggestion, his eyes widening. The thought of her getting stuck in his mind and seeing the events of the past seven years frightened him even more than speaking about it.

“Please no …”

He said a bit too quickly, finally looking into her eyes. He could feel the guilt forming in the pit of his stomach more and more as he saw how worried she looked.

Y/N bit her lip and hesitated before walking towards him and carefully holding his hand, rubbing her thumb on it.

“You know … we worked for the commission together and fought a few apocalypses so … you can tell me anything. I’d understand …” she tried to reassure him even though she wasn’t really calm.

Five winced a bit as she walked over to hold his hand, his heart aching. He gripped her hand a bit tighter, knowing that the words were about to come out no matter what at this point. He took a shaky deep breath before looking into her eyes again, his expression nervous and guilty.*

“I…”

His voice broke a bit as his gaze dropped from her eyes and down to the ground.

“I messed up.”

Y/N hurried close to him, cupping his face as she tried to meet his eyes.

“Hey hey … I’m sure it is not a big deal …” Y/N said softly, her heart still pounding hard in her chest.

He flinched slightly. She deserved to hear the truth … no matter how much it hurt. Five closed his eyes with a shaky sigh, his shoulders tensing once more.

“I travelled through different timelines with Lila … for seven years.”

Y/N frowned her eyebrows.

“Seven years ? How … it’d only been a few hours …” she let out, puzzled.

“A few hours for you … but seven years for me.“

Y/N tilted her head as she processed the information.

“It has something to do with the subway you get in when you teleport ?” she asked bluntly.

Five nodded slowly, hating how quick she was to figure it out, but a small part of him was impressed, knowing that she was always smart and could figure out the bigger picture. But it still didn’t ease his guilt. He could still feel the pit in his stomach and the tightening in his chest. Yet he squeezed her hand a bit more, as though silently asking her to hear him out before she said anything else.

“We were alone … and I was weak, emotionally weak and so damn tired. And she … she just …”

His voice shook, his grip on her hand unconsciously getting a bit tighter. Five didn’t really have to say anything more. Y/N let go of his hand and walked back, leaning against the counter again, eyes lost in the void.

“Something happened between you and *her*…” she articulated.

Five hated the way her face dropped when she spoke, the slight tremble in her voice. He took a small step forward, as though wanting to close some of the distance she had just created by walking back. But her words made his stomach drop, realizing too late that his silence had confirmed everything for her.

Five opened his mouth to speak again, his voice weak and shaky.

“Y/N I …”

“Why did you come back then ?” she asked with a somber tone, cutting him off.

His eyes widened a bit in surprise as she spoke so bluntly, no anger in her voice, only shock. He hated how emotionless she was, wishing that she would get angry or sad … anything was better than this.

Five reached out to grab her hand again, only hoping that it’d cause a reaction other than her being completely closed off now.

“Because I couldn’t stay away from you, you know I can’t.”

“That didn’t stop you from doing whatever you did with L- … *her*.”

Y/N couldn’t say her name : it made her nauseous instantly. Five squeezed his eyes shut, her words bringing about the reality of the situation. He gripped her hand tightly, as if trying to stop her from pulling away from him again. A wave of shame washed over him, his heart aching in his chest.

“I … was an emotional mess back then, I wasn’t thinking straight …”

“That’s what they always say …”

“But you know that I’m not lying, Y/N.”

She looked right at him, her eyes finally full of tears but still they didn’t run down her cheeks. Somehow, even though she was hurt, Y/N couldn’t help but thinking what she could have done if she got stuck 7 years with another man, with a friend. And there was so many possibilities, and so much desperation.

Five saw the tears in her eyes, and his stomach dropped even more. He hated being the reason for those tears … he’d always sworn that he’d never, ever hurt her like that, and here he was, having hurt her in the worst way possible.

In instinct, he stepped closer to her and lightly cupped her face, his thumb gently rubbing against her cheek as he gently spoke, his voice shaking.

“Y/N please … say something … anything …”

“I … I don’t know …” she let out.

Y/N didn’t look in his eyes : she couldn’t. She wasn’t looking at anything, actually. He continued rubbing her cheek with his thumb. It hurt to see her like this, so distant and emotional.

“Come on. You can yell at me, cry, get angry … just say something please.”

His voice was trembling, trying to hold back the tears that were building in his eyes in

response to her closed-off expression. Y/N looks up at him, her heart broken for a bit.

“What happened exactly with her … like … do you really love her ?” she asked a bit desperately.

His hand froze against her cheek, her question catching him off guard. Five quickly shook his head, his expression becoming panicked.

“No, of course not … God, I don’t love her … I don’t love her at all !”

“Then why…?” she asked with a broken voice.

Y/N finally looked up at him, fighting the urge to just read his mind. Five gently slid his hand down from her cheek, letting it fall to his side. He looked into her eyes, guilt still swirling in his own green ones.

“It’s just … I thought I got stuck again you know ? But this time I wasn’t alone so I’ve been holding on to it. I thought I went crazy. For 6 years we searched for a way back I swear and … I got tired. I gave up, I did, and I’m sorry. Not a day has past without me thinking of you. But in the end it just hurt me so badly. I lost you. And I thought *she* had the ability of healing that but I was so damn wrong.”

She looked at him silently and brushed her tears away.

“I believe you Five. But I need facts, I need to know what really happened because you’re not fucking precise at all and … I know you don’t want me to read your mind if you don’t allow it and that’s fair, that’s a promise I made. But I don’t care about Lila.” she articulated with a somber tone.

Y/N then pushes him and bursts into the living room where everyone was. Five tried to catch her but it was too late. She walked toward Lila and, without warning, slapped her. And this mere contact allowed her to see what she needed to see.

Y/N saw them, being desperate to come home. She felt their sadness, their mess, how Lila was down because her marriage was shit, and how she missed her children. She saw how Five was powerless. They then searched for years and years, and after six they kissed as if it could heal their pain. And Five seemed bad, really bad, Y/N could see that he was not feeling the same as Lila did. They ended up living in a house, away from everything, thinking there was no way back. But then Five found one, and he didn’t even hesitate.

Y/N lost her balance, having seen too many memories at once, her power allowing it but taking too much energy from her to do this.

Five was caught off guard by Y/N’s reaction but when he saw the look on her face, he realized that she must have done more than just a slap on her … she’d read her mind. He immediately rushed forward to catch her as she started to fall.

“Y/N ! Y/N, are you alright ?”

She was feeling dizzy as she could hear all of the Hargreeves exclaiming some things, surprised by her act. Diego was mad, but Luther was holding him back from jumping on her.

“Five …” she let out, feeling weak.

“I got you…”

He held her up as best he could, gently rubbing her back as he spoke, trying to keep her grounded against the dizziness. He ignored the shocked looks from his siblings, focusing completely on Y/N and making sure she was okay.

“I know you didn’t mean it …” Y/N huffed.

Everyone heard and got silent, not understanding why she just said that.

“What the fuck is she saying?” Diego asked angrily.

“It’s fine, love,” Lila said, scared that he’d discover the truth.

Five could hear everyone else’s confused reactions as Y/N spoke, but he tried to ignore it, knowing that they probably wouldn’t understand without context. He gripped her tightly, speaking in a low voice so the others couldn’t hear.*l

“How much did you see..?”

“Pretty much…” she lets out, regaining her strength a bit.

She straightened a bit and looked at Lila.

“At least you took care of him,” Y/N said, her voice a bit off.

Five stayed close to her, ready in case she wobbled again. He turned to look at Lila when, his eyes a bit wide and surprised at the almost backhanded compliment she gave her. Y/N then looked at Diego, and back at her.

“I know the last few years have been shit for you … but you have everything, Lila. Everything everyone here has ever wished for. Look at us. Luther, Allison, Klaus and Viktor lost their other half. Ben is a fucking mess. And we went through puberty a second time and that’s shit. And above all that ? Diego is doing his fucking best. Five, he …” she looked at Five. “He’s not the solution you’re seeking.”

Five’s heart broke a bit at her words, seeing the way she tried to give Lila some actual advice while still being heartbroken by what she’d seen. He hated seeing her like this, knowing that she was suffering and in pain. He hated that he was the cause of her pain. He reached out to hold her hand, gently stroking his thumb along it, his eyes pleading silently for her to look at him. But she kept addressing Lila instead, making his heart ache even more.

Y/N kept silent, waiting for Lila to open her mouth and say anything.

“What the heck is going on,” Diego groaned toward Lila.

Everyone else was waiting for Lila to say something, still confused about what was happening. Especially with Diego demanding an answer. Lila remained quiet for another moment, trying to think of what to say before eventually speaking, her voice wavering slightly.

“It’s not what you think …” she said, her eyes going back and forth from everyone’s confused expression.

“Oh, it better not be.” Diego scolded.

Lila looked into Diego’s eyes for a few moments, seeing how hurt he was. It broke her heart to see him like this … but she didn’t know what to say to him without the truth coming out …

“Darling, I promise you … it’s not what you think …”

She took a small step toward him, silently begging him to believe her with her pleading expression. As she could feel that Diego was about to say something, Y/N stood up, leaning on Five.

“I need some air.”

Five immediately held her a bit tighter so she had support.

“Yeah … yeah, of course …”

He helped her toward the front door, shooting a glare at the other siblings when they looked as though they wanted to interfere with them leaving. He quickly led her outside, closing the door behind them.

“Lila will find a way to get out of it,” Y/N said.

She breathed in and out, closing her eyes. Five nodded and released a deep breath, knowing fully well that Lila would find some way to talk her way out of what just happened. It wouldn’t be easy for her, but if there was anyone who would manage to make Diego drop the subject, it was Lila.

He kept his hands on Y/N, gently rubbing her sides in a comforting manner as she closed her eyes.

“You okay..?”

“I… I don’t know if I could ever forgive you but…”

She looked down as his heart dropped, but he understood somehow. He kept rubbing her sides, gently coaxing her to look at him instead of the ground. Y/N finally met his gaze and sighed out.

“… but I get it. I mean … yeah. Loneliness and desperation are quite tricky …”

“You don’t have to try to make me feel like I wasn’t at fault to feel better. I know what I did was wrong … I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should’ve been stronger and said no …”

“Five, listen …” she cut him off, putting her hand on his lips.

They felt warm against her fingers, but she let them slide onto his cheek.

“I’ve met enough apocalypses and weird things to know that I should enjoy every single moment. And fuck it. I love you, okay? So damn much. Of course, it hurt. But damn … seven years … and you got stuck 40 years in an apocalypse I can’t even imagine how you felt thinking that there was probably no way back again …”

He closed his eyes, his heart aching from the memories. Five leaned into her palm, desperate for a bit of her warmth and comfort. His eyes opened again and he placed his hand on top of hers, keeping her palm against his cheek as he spoke.

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve your love. Not after this …”

“Maybe not. But I don’t fucking care.” she said, finding his gaze.

Even though she didn’t read his mind, she could feel how sorry he felt, how truly hurt he was. He held her gaze, a mixture of guilt, hurt, and love swirling in his blue eyes. Five gently gripped her hand, his heart fluttering slightly at her response.

“You’re an idiot …” he murmured quietly, his grip on her hand tightening.

She leant her forehead against his, a tear falling down her cheek as she let out all of her stress.

“And you’re a fucking moron …” Y/N said back, smiling slightly.

Five chuckled softly, bringing his free hand up to gently wipe the tear from her cheek. He kept their foreheads pressed together, feeling the warm and familiar feeling of having her so close and so near to him again. He gently tilted his head sideways, his nose brushing against hers.

“Yeah, well … takes one to know one.”

“You owe me, Five Hargreeves,” she chuckled.

Five nodded in response, her breath hitting his face in a way that he’d missed immensely these past seven years. He knew fully well that there was no argument to that statement.

“I do … I owe you so much …” he said quietly, slowly bringing his thumb up to brush against her bottom lip, resisting the strong urge to kiss her.

“Don’t ever forget it then.” Y/N threatened him gently.

God, it felt good to be able to hear her gentle teasing again. His thumb stayed against her lip, slowly tracing along the edge of it, unable to pull his gaze away from it. Yet he managed to force out a quiet chuckle.

“I think you’ll have plenty of opportunities to remind me …”

“A kiss would be a good start, dont you think ?” she suggested with a smirk.

Y/N looked right into his eyes. They were full of hurt and love at the same time. His thoughts were so powerful that she could hear some of them … and they were only apologetic ones, full of love.

He smirked, letting out another soft chuckle in response to her suggestion. It was a familiar smirk that he hadn’t seen on her face in so long … he was still her Five, and she was still his Y/N, his Delores, even after seven years and everything that he’d endured over that time.

Five kept his thumb against her lip as he spoke, knowing that she could hear his thoughts clearly. Even though he knew he didn’t fully deserve to have this again, he found that he was getting impatient, desperate to kiss her again.

“Is that so ?”

“Unless you forgot how to do it for seven years … oh no right, you trained on your brother’s wife.” she teased him in a quiet voice.

Y/N knew that it was a barb she hurled at him, but he deserved it a bit. But she craved for a kiss, as if she had waited for it for seven years too. He chuckled softly at her teasing, knowing that he deserved this. He deserved so much more than that, to be quite honest. But the thought of not being able to kiss her again was something that made him sick the last seven years ….

He leaned forward, his lips a mere inch away from hers, a smirk still on his face as he spoke.

“Why don’t you see for yourself ?”

Time froze as his lips pressed against hers again, feeling as though he’d finally come home after being stranded in some unknown desert for so long. Five knew he didn’t deserve this affection, he knew he shouldn’t be allowed to love Y/N so fiercely anymore … but he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her slowly and gently, being so overwhelmed by wanting her that he couldn’t stop himself. He brought his other hand up to cup her chin, holding her face in his hands as he continued to kiss her, afraid of letting her go again.

Out of breath, Y/N broke the kiss and backed away a little bit, their noses still touching.

“How I love the kisses of Delores …” she hummed quietly.

Five laughed, a frank laugh. He felt truly good for the first time in seven years. This song, he kept singing it in his mind when he was stuck, remembering the night they sang it at Luther’s wedding, or when they kissed in that car on their way back from the restaurant.

“I would die to be with my Y/N.” he hummed back, replacing Delores by her name on purpose.

Y/N smiled and buried her nose in his neck, holding him tight. They could die tomorrow, and the thought of living every future single moment without him was nonsense. He was back and that was a gift. God only knows what she could have done if she had been stuck seven years with another person just like him. She could have done nothing and at the same time she could have done much worse …

As Bryant H.McGill said, there is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love. And this man, whoever he was, was so damn right.

taglist (thanks for your support <3)

@armyswag93 @boogiemansbitch @mylatest-hyperfixation @fanficwriter5

[kosmos2999]

Kosmos2999's 3rd Anniversary Special Presentation:

The Phantom Planet (1961 film)

Theatrical release poster

In the future, mankind had taken the first steps conquest of the space frontier. They already established a base on the Moon and planet Mars is next on their reach.

In the year 1980, the United States Air Force Space Exploration Wing has to deal with the vanishing of two spaceships in less than a month.

Captain Frank Chapman has been assigned to investigate those mysterious disappearances. As his ship, the Pegasus, passed thru a meteor shower, Chapman becomes the sole survivor of the ship's crew.

The Pegasus is attracted to an planet-sized asteroid and Chapman had an encounter with a group six-inch tall humanoids. The people of planet Rheton.

A highly developed race, capable of turning the giant asteroid into a world ship. Chapman has the chance to know about their civilization and helping them to fight their enemies, a tall alien race known as the Solarites.

The Phantom Planet is an independently made American science fiction movie from 1961. It is presented on its original black-and-white format.

Main cast: Dean Fredericks as Captain Frank Chapman Coleen Gray as Liara Anthony Dexter as Herron Francis X. Bushman as Sessom Dolores Faith as Zetha Richard Webber as Lieutenant Ray Makonnen Richard Kiel as The Captured Solarite

Production staff: Directed by: William Marshall Screenplay by: Fred Gebhardt, William Telaak and Fred De Gorter Story by: Fred Gebhardt Produced by: Fred Gebhardt Cinematography by: Elwood J. Nicholson Edited by: Hugo Grimaldi Music by: Leith Stevens Production company: Four Crown Productions, Inc. Distributed by: American International Pictures Original release date: December 13, 1961

Fascinating facts:

This film was released in the United States by American International Pictures as a double feature with Assignment Outer Space (aka Space-Men).

Director William Marshall had previously made two films with Errol Flynn: Hello God and Adventures of Captain Fabian.

This was actor Richard Kiel's first credited film role.

The film's interior spaceship sets, spacesuit helmets, oxygen backpacks and special effects were used before in the sci-fi television series Men into Space from Ziv Company. It was broadcast in 1959 on CBS TV.

This film was featured in episode two of the ninth season of the Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Personal note:

This is the way to begin the celebration of the third anniversary of this blog. And it is also a humble way to say thanks to everyone of you for your likes, your sharing and your following.

Kosmos2999 is a non-commercial blog in Tumblr, where I share my love for vintage sci-fi. It serves me to take my "baby steps" in writing, graphic design and digital painting.

It is dedicated to the loving memory of a late friend of mine, Donna Marie Van Buren (1965-2013) on her birthday (April the 1st).

YouTube channel: Cult Cinema Classics

[cyarskj1899]

These quotes need to be studied in schools someday

X

TVLine

YEAR IN REVIEW

2022 in Review: Quotes of the Year!

By Team TVLine / December 18 2022, 9:00 AM PST

Best TV Quotes 2022

Courtesy of Prime Video; HBO; HBO Max; Netflix; Peacock

7

Anthony Bridgerton confessed his true feelings for Kate Sharma. This Is Us‘ Rebecca Pearson got well-deserved kudos. Viktor Hargreeves introduced himself to his Umbrella Academy siblings. And The White Lotus‘ Tanya McQuoid realized something very important… just a little too late.

All year long, we’ve been collecting TV’s best sound bites in our Quotes of the Week compilations, which honor the dialogue that made us laugh and cry — sometimes simultaneously. But as 2022 draws to a close, we’re now looking back at the Quotes of the Year, highlighting 60 of the funniest, most poignant or most wonderfully meta moments from the past 12 months.

Best TV Shows of 2022 | Stranger Things, The Boys, Andor, More

0 seconds of 3 minutes, 52 seconds

In the list below, you’ll find Robin Scherbatsky sharing her romantic past with How I Met Your Father‘s Sophie, Ellen DeGeneres reflecting on how much has changed since her talk show began, Westworld‘s Dolores-Hale uttering a powerful one-word command, and Andor‘s precious droid B2EMO lamenting a major loss.

Of course, some shows — like ABC’s Abbott Elementary and Netflix’s Stranger Things — were just too quotable this year to select only one line, so they’re among the series making multiple appearances on our list. And it’s not just the scripted fare that made our cut: Unscripted programs like American Idol, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Big Brother are in the mix, as well.

As with all of our year-end lists, we should issue a quick spoiler alert for several of this year’s plot twists, romantic confessions and heartbreaking sendoffs. But if you’re ready to dive in, peruse the list below, then drop a comment with the lines that would make your cut for Quotes of the Year.

HARRY POTTER 20TH ANNIVERSARY: RETURN TO HOGWARTS

Photo : HBO Max screenshot

“I killed you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Had to be done.”

Helena Bonham Carter apologizes to Gary Oldman for what Bellatrix Lestrange did to Sirius Black in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

WOMEN OF THE MOVEMENT

Photo : ABC screenshot

“I want them to see what was taken from me.”

Mamie Till (Adrienne Warren), before the doors are opened for the public viewing of her son Emmett Till’s body

STATION ELEVEN

Photo : HBO Max screenshot

“You walked her home.”

Kirsten (Mackenzie Davis) assures Jeevan that his 20-year-old goal was met

OZARK

Photo : Netflix screenshot

“I shot your d—k off. For that, I apologize. I went to the drug store to look for a card. No such card exists.”

Darlene (Lisa Emery) takes the first step at burying the hatchet with Frank Jr.

GHOSTS

Photo : CBS screenshot

“I cannot believe Elias is back. Till death do us part — it’s right in the vows.”

Hetty (Rebecca Wisocky) laments the return of her dead husband

GHOSTS (Bonus Quote!)

Photo : CBS screenshot

“A travel agent booking other people’s holidays while going nowhere himself.”

“Hey, we went to Epcot, buddy! That’s the whole world all at once!”

Pete (Richie Moriarty) defends himself when the actor (Mathew Baynton) portraying him in a “Dumb Deaths” recreation says Pete was pathetic

THE GILDED AGE

Photo : HBO screenshot

“I may be a bastard, Mr. Thorburn, but you are a fool. And of the two, I think I know which I prefer.”

The women of The Gilded Age may be experts at throwing shade, but they’ve got nothing on literal robber baron George Russell (Morgan Spector)

THE RESIDENT

Photo : Fox screenshot

“Hi, Mommy.”

Gigi (Remington Blaire Evans), upon hearing her late mom Nic’s donated heart beating in another patient

9-1-1: LONE STAR

Photo : Courtesy of Fox

“I always imagine the world of politics to be really smart people walking briskly down corridors, talking real fast and all sort of sounding alike.”

In other words, Owen (Rob Lowe) learned everything he knows about the political world from watching himself on The West Wing

THE RIGHTEOUS GEMSTONES

Photo : HBO screenshot

“Look, I know you may be a backwoods simpleton, who scrubs her dresses on tree bark and stinks up the entire house with roadkill stew, but Godd—n if I wouldn’t miss the pitter-patter of your filthy-ass bare feet, or the way you chew shrimp tails with the ice like an animal — you’re family. And the thought of you running away on this bus right now is making my gooch pucker.”

Judy (Edi Patterson) pours her heart out to her aunt Tiffany to deter her from leaving town

ARTHUR

Photo : PBS screenshot (2)

“Hey, this shows you how to draw an aardvark! I never knew their noses were so long. Weird!”

It took 25 seasons, but Buster (voiced by Daniel Brochu) finally addressed the fact that Arthur looks nothing like an actual aardvark

GREY'S ANATOMY

Photo : ABC screenshot

“… and your plan was to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because if I say goodbye to you, Grey, I might not actually leave.”

Meredith (Ellen Pompeo) and Cormac (Richard Flood), giving us a taste of what might have been

GREY'S ANATOMY (Bonus Quote!)

Photo : ABC screenshot

“When Leo said that he was an owl, did you feel the need to call him silly and correct him?”

“No.”

“No. You just loved him. You just let him explore. Let’s just love Leo, Teddy. Let’s listen when he tells us who he is.”

Regardless of Leo’s gender identity, Owen (Kevin McKidd) refuses to let himself and Teddy (Kim Raver) become the child’s bully

SNOWFALL

Photo : FX screenshot

“Little late for this, but I’m sorry for shooting you and all. I’m glad you… didn’t not make it.”

Stripper-turned-hitwoman Black Diamond (Christine Horn) awkwardly apologizes to Louie for trying to kill her last season

THE GOOD DOCTOR

Photo : ABC screenshot

“Let’s run her bandit ass out of town.”

Dr. Audrey Lim (Christina Chang) vows to take Salen Morrison down, once and for all

HOW I MET YOUR FATHER

Photo : Hulu screenshot (2)

“I once had a guy who said, ‘I love you’ on our first date.”

“Wow, you win! Dude sounds like a real piece of work.”

“You have no idea. But a good piece of work.”

Robin (Cobie Smulders) recalls her very first date with Ted

BRIDGERTON

Photo : Netflix screenshot

“You are the bane of my existence… and the object of all my desires.”

Anthony (Jonathan Bailey) breathlessly tells Kate how he truly feels for her, despite being engaged to her sister Edwina

THE 94TH ACADEMY AWARDS

Photo : ABC screenshot

“I’ve been getting out of that Spider-Man costume. Did I miss anything? There’s, like, a different vibe in here.”

Co-host Amy Schumer masterfully eases the tension after Will Smith’s now-infamous slap of Chris Rock

THE WALKING DEAD

Photo : AMC screenshot (2)

“[Hershel] doesn’t exactly trust me, you know.”

“But I’m starting to.”

Negan (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) and Maggie (Lauren Cohan) reach a turning point as she asks her husband’s killer to babysit their son

THE WONDER YEARS

Photo : ABC screenshot

“Gwendolyn, but he called her Winnie.”

Bruce (Spence Moore II) reveals the reimagining’s unexpected connection to the OG series — that his friend Brian, who died in the Vietnam War, is also Winnie Cooper’s brother — and breaks our hearts in the process

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY

Photo : ABC screenshot

“Let me see these permission slips to the zoo, and they better be real, ’cause I can tell if you faked a Herbie Hancock.”

“Oh, it’s John Hancock.”

“Girl, I know. I just say whatever I want.”

Ava (Janelle James) doesn’t play by the rules

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY (Bonus Quote!)

Photo : ABC screenshot

“We’ve watched Nightmare Before Christmas but only the Christmas parts, Practical Magic without the witchcraft and Hocus Pocus without Sarah Jessica Parker.”

Barbara (Sheryl Lee Ralph) describes her church’s Halloween movie screening tradition

KILLING EVE

Photo : BBC America screenshot

“I did it, Eve.”

“Don’t you mean ‘we did it’?”

“Yeah. But mostly me.”

Villanelle (Jodie Comer) lets Eve (Sandra Oh) know she’s taking the credit for taking down The Twelve

AMERICAN IDOL

Photo : ABC screenshot

“Noah, I feel like maybe you should Wikipedia me.”

Katy Perry, famously an ex-girlfriend of John Mayer’s, balks at Noah Thompson’s suggestion that Perry picked a Mayer song for him to sing

GIRLS5EVA

Photo : Peacock screenshot

“#AlbumMode is a state of mind that started when our deal was announced and ends when I’m at the Met Gala in a catheter because my dress is too complicated.”

Wickie (Renée Elise Goldsberry) has a very clear vision of how the girls’ new album release will play out

STATION 19

Photo : ABC screenshot

“My name is Matt, Mom. This is me. I’m sad for you. I’m sad that you don’t want to get to know me or the man that I’ll become. I’m sad that you’re going to miss out on loving me when I feel the most me.”

“But honey, I love you… I’m trying to save you. Honey, you’re a child. You don’t know what’s good for you.”

“I know that when you call me Mary, it makes me want to die. Do you think me wanting to die is good for me, Mom?”

Whether his mom (Romy Rosemont) wants to hear it or not, transgender youth Matt (Hollidae Livingston) speaks his truth

YOUNG SHELDON

Photo : CBS screenshot

“Wow. I might look too cool.”

Sheldon’s (Iain Armitage) first graphic tee is a total game-changer

THIS IS US

Photo : Courtesy of NBC

“You’re as tough as they come, Rebecca Pearson. And you, my dear, have earned a rest.”

Dr. K (Gerald McRaney) gives Rebecca one last (sniff!) pep talk

THE ELLEN DEGENERES SHOW

Photo : Warner Bros. TV Distribution (2)

“When we started the show, I couldn’t say ‘gay.’ I was not allowed to say ‘gay.’ I say it at home a lot — you know, ‘What are we having for our gay breakfast?’ or ‘Pass the gay salt,’ or ‘Has anyone seen the gay remote?’ — but we couldn’t say ‘gay.’ I couldn’t say ‘we’ because that would imply that I was with someone. Sure couldn’t say ‘wife,’ and that’s because it wasn’t legal for gay people to get married. Now I say ‘wife’ all the time.”

During her last show, DeGeneres acknowledges how much has changed since 2003 — and calls attention to wife (and front-row audience member) Portia de Rossi

STRANGER THINGS

Photo : Netflix screenshot

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll punch you so hard in your face that your teeth’ll fall back out.”

“Whoa. Too far.”

Steve (Joe Keery) instantly regrets the way he tells Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo) to stop pointing out his lingering feelings for ex Nancy

STRANGER THINGS (Bonus Quote!)

Photo : Netflix screenshot

“You’ve grown.”

“You shrank.”

Reunited, Mike (Finn Wolfhard) and Hopper (David Harbour) compare the effects of adolescence vs. the Kamchatka diet

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

Photo : Netflix screenshot

“Who elected you, Vanya?”

“It’s, uh, Viktor.”

“Who’s Viktor?”

“I am. It’s who I’ve always been.”

Viktor Hargreeves (Elliot Page) introduces himself to his siblings for the first time

OBI-WAN KENOBI

Photo : Disney+ screenshot

“I am not your failure, Obi-Wan. You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker — I did.”

Darth Vader (Hayden Christensen), reinforcing what Ben Kenobi tells Luke Skywalker in A New Hope — that Vader did, indeed, kill his father

THE BOYS

Photo : Prime Video screenshot

“How long have you been f—king it behind my back?”

“OK, it’s not an ‘it.’ It’s a ‘her.’ Get your pronouns right.”

Cassandra (Katy Breier) and The Deep (Chace Crawford) discuss his relationship with Ambrosius the octopus

TYLER PERRY'S SISTAS

Photo : BET screenshot

“Bitch, you’re f—king Black Panther and Eddie Murphy all rolled into one?!”

In case you couldn’t tell, Danni (Mignon) is pretty excited about Sabrina dating an African prince

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS

Photo : Bravo screenshot

“2020 was bad for a lot of people, but I also think it was kind of like a spiritual awakening. This is going to sound crazy, but I made peace with my vagina.”

“Were you at war with your vagina?”

Not to discredit Sheree Zampino’s epiphany, but Dorit Kemsley poses a valid follow-up question

EVIL

Photo : Paramount+ screenshot

“Boop.”

During her hearing, Sister Andrea (Andrea Martin) subtly reminds Dr. Boggs that he knows firsthand how present demons can be in the world

THE ORVILLE

Photo : Hulu screenshot (2)

“I enjoy spending time with you. You are a male, and yet you possess many prominent female traits. Which I find appealing.”

“Oh.”

Topa (Imani Pullum) puts her crush on Gordon (Scott Grimes) into (awkward) words

BETTER CALL SAUL

Photo : AMC screenshot (inset: Everett Collection)

“Crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy: Fifty-year-old high school chemistry teacher comes into my office. The guy is so broke he can’t pay his own mortgage. One year later, he’s got a pile of cash as big as a Volkswagen. That’s crazy!”

Gee, to whom could Gene (Bob Odenkirk) be referring…?

WESTWORLD

Photo : Courtesy of HBO

“Chair!”

Dolores-Hale (Tessa Thompson), the “bored” god, summons herself a place to sit

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS

Photo : FX screenshot

“Trust me: Gay is in. Gay is hot. I want some gay. Gay it’s gonna be.”

Laszlo (Matt Berry) thinks faking a relationship with Nandor is a sure-fire way to get Colin into private school

LAST WEEK TONIGHT WITH JOHN OLIVER

Photo : HBO screenshot

“We let the [monkeypox] vaccine sit unused on a shelf in our reserves like an expired Chobani — or a $90 million movie on HBO Max. By the way, hi there, new business daddy! Seems like you’re doing a really great job. I do get the vague sense that you’re burning down my network for the insurance money, but I’m sure that that’ll all pass.”

THE BACHELORETTE

Photo : ABC screenshot (2)

“Tino’s being a real baby back bitch.”

Ethan accidentally comes up with an alternate jingle for Chili’s while slamming his romantic rival

HARLEY QUINN

Photo : HBO Max screenshot

“I don’t trust clowns with secrets.”

“I am barely clown-themed anymore. I just think I look hot like this. I mean, check out how good these booty shorts make my ass look, right? [Off Bruce’s confused look] Never mind, you’re 8.”

Harley (voiced by Kaley Cuoco) tries to earn a young Bruce Wayne’s trust

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO

Photo : The CW screenshot

“I think I might just take these as a reminder of my time in Roswell. … Fits like a glove!”

Seeing Allie (played by Shiri Appleby, aka the Liz of the original Roswell series) put on that alien headband was a full-circle moment we won’t soon forget

74TH PRIMETIME EMMY AWARDS

Photo : Kevin Winter/Getty Images

“When I was a little girl, all I wanted to see was me in the media: someone fat like me, Black like me, beautiful like me. If I could go back and tell little Lizzo something, I’d be like, ‘You’re going to see that person, but bitch, it’s going to have to be you.’”

THE GOOD FIGHT

Photo : Paramount+ screenshot

“Mother f—ker. Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t hear that? Mother f—ker. F—k you and your moronic defund the police bulls—t. Why? Because you’re putting Trump back into the White House, you stupid f—kin’ tai-t lick. You never heard me swear before? Well, aren’t you in for a treat.”

After six seasons of watching his mouth on CBS’ The Good Wife, legendarily blunt political strategist Eli Gold (Alan Cumming) wastes no time taking his pent-up potty mouth for a spin in the Paramount+ spinoff

BLOOD & TREASURE

Photo : Paramount+ screenshot (2)

“So we are saying ‘Jeng-his’ now.”

“She does.”

“It’s the right way!”

Chuck (Mark Gagliardi) points out the Season 2 characters’ different pronunciations of Genghis Khan’s name

BIG BROTHER

Best TV Quotes

Photo : Courtesy of CBS

“Monte may have more blood on his hands than me, but as someone who has sat on this eviction block six times on eviction night, I have bled out the most in this game. But I have bandaged myself together every single time and gotten up and continued to fight, because like so many other women in the world, that is what we have to do to get to the end… I have overcome so much in this game, and I have come to understand that I am not a shield, I am a sword. I am not a victim, I am a victor… Jury members, I am challenging you to make the hard decision and change the course of this game. Choose progress for the course of this game. I can be the winner of this season, and I promise you will not do it in vain if you choose me tonight.”

Taylor clinches the game-winning vote with her epic final plea to the jurors

CHICAGO P.D.

Best TV Quotes

Photo : NBC screenshot

“You’re the love of my life, and if I’m yours, then you’ll know that you have to let me go.”

Halstead (Jesse Lee Soffer), breaking our hearts in his tearful goodbye to wife Upton

SHE-HULK: ATTORNEY AT LAW

Photo : Disney+ screenshot

“That’s what Hulks do. We smash things. Bruce smashes buildings, I smash fourth walls and bad endings… and sometimes Matt Murdockkkk.”

Jen (Tatiana Maslany) reminds K.E.V.I.N. of her particular set of skills

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RINGS OF POWER

Photo : Prime Video screenshot

“When in doubt, Elanor Brandyfoot, always follow your nose.”

The Stranger (Daniel Weyman), giving off serious Gandalf vibes while leading the way for his new adventure with Nori

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Photo : HBO screenshot

“He can keep his tongue.”

Before King Viserys can cut out Vaemond’s tongue for publicly questioning Rhaenyra’s sons’ parentage, Daemon (Matt Smith) slices the accuser’s skull in two — but leaves the offending appendage attached

THE HANDMAID'S TALE

Photo : Hulu screenshot

“Hi, June.”

“Hi, Serena.”

“You got a diaper?”

Serena (Yvonne Strahovski) and June (Elisabeth Moss) are in the same boat — er, train — at the end of the Season 5 finale

CHUCKY

Photo : Syfy screenshot

“You think I’m scared to go to hell? F—k that. I’m from Jersey… Jersey!”

Chucky (voiced by Brad Dourif) doesn’t have much love for his home state, it seems

ANDOR

Photo : Disney+ screenshot

“I d-d-don’t want to be alone. I want M-M-Maarva.”

B2EMO (voiced by Dave Chapman) isn’t ready to mourn

CRIMINAL MINDS: EVOLUTION

Photo : Paramount+ screenshot

“You’ve never pulled your gun in the line of duty, have you? Never faced down a psychopath…. You’re a hedge fund manager with a badge.”

Prentiss (Paget Brewster) calls ’em — in this case, FBI Deputy Director Bailey — as she sees ’em

TITANS

Photo : HBO Max screenshot

“This is insane.”

“Compared to what? Two hours ago I was in [Conner’s] stomach trying to kill a ghost snake.”

“And two hours before that we were fighting zombies.”

“And I kissed Bernard.”

Tim (Jay Lycurgo) experienced a different kind of pre-fall finale action

YELLOWSTONE

Photo : Paramount Network screenshot

“How ya feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck. How about you?”

“Like I got hit by a Prius.”

Beth (Kelly Reilly) offers Summer (Piper Perabo) faint praise the morning after their brawl

THE WHITE LOTUS

Best TV Quotes

Photo : HBO screenshot

“These gays! They’re trying to murder me!”

Tanya (Jennifer Coolidge) has an unintentionally hilarious lightbulb moment about the men with whom she’s been spending her Sicilian vacation