#i wouldn't trade the one we actually got for the world but i love these a lot. from the one bond movie i've seen it feels very bondy

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

wanted a compilation of some of my favorite unused scenes for the spy and the liar intro bc i think about these things all the time

[think-like-a-poet]

Crazy Cat Lady

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You got home to find out that your boyfriend has got a new friend.

wc: 551

It was late afternoon when you finally walked into the building. It was one of those days where you had way too much planned, and all you wanted to do now was take a warm bath and go to sleep. 

You open up the door of your shared apartment and put down your bags. You walk into the living room and see Max laying on the couch. To your surprise, you see that your boyfriend is holding a small kitten that you haven't seen before.

"Love, who is that?" you walk up to him and place a kiss on his head.

Max looks up at the sound of your voice, and a smile forms on his face. "She doesn't have a name yet. I wanted to wait until you got here." He carefully stands up and extends his arm to hand the cat to you.

 You accept the cat and give her a pat on the head. "She is cute." It is a Bengal cat, just like the other two cats that were walking around in your apartment most of the time. Max loves this type of cat, and you can't blame him. The fur of the kitten resembles a pattern of a jaguar. Her eyes are kind of large in a beautiful green and gold color. She is a piece of art. 

“Just like you,” Max says. You blush at the compliment and give the kitten back to your boyfriend. "Why did you buy her? Aren't two cats enough?" You mention Jimmy and Sassy, who were both sleeping in the corner of the room.

Max looks around the room. "You can never have enough cats. I love to have hundreds of them, but you also have to take care of them all, so that isn't the best option. I remember you saying you would like one more." "That was ages ago. I didn't think you would actually buy one."

Max pats his hand on the couch, signaling you to sit next to him. "I would buy anything you want. A third cat is a great addition to our little family. I should have gotten one sooner." 

"You are going to turn into a crazy cat lady if you buy any more." You chuckle.

 "Well, I hope that is your type because when I retire, there are going to be more of these little angels." Max gives the kitten a pat over his head. You laugh at his comment. In your head, you pictured Max laying on the floor surrounded by ten cats. He is wearing a crazy sweater, just like those ladies. You wouldn't really mind it. You couldn't help but smile at your boyfriend. He looks so happy with his cats, and you were definitely going to get him one more over a couple of weeks, maybe as a present for winning a race.

"We still have to decide on a name for this sweetheart," you said as you lay your head on Max's shoulder. "I was thinking about naming her Nala, you know, after the Lion King. She is a badass, and I am sure this little angel will be too."

 "That is a great name, love."

 And so you spend your evening laying on the couch with your boyfriend and three children. You would trade this over everything else in this world.

[vivwritesfics]

okay what about reader and charles are super close friends but all his fans and everyone thinks they’re dating because… they’re so flirty with each other. and after enough people ask or something they finally stop being stupid and realize their in love… thoughts…

I got an arthur fic in the works rn, rather excited for it

"Sup Sexy Buns."

It had been his nickname since they were kids, and Charles loved it. He wouldn't trade it for the world. Actually, he would, but only for one of his other nicknames.

They were cute together, the entire grid knew it. Charles would always keep her tucked under his arm as he walked through the paddock, the two of them looking like teenagers in love.

Maybe because they'd been in love since they were teenagers. Just, neither of them realised it.

After nights of hopeless pining and complaining to other driver, something had to be done about the two of them. They were become insufferable, and everyone was beginning to hate them.

Charles had another interview where he made it clear he wasn't dating Y/N. It was a far too regular occurrence and it was beginning to drive him mad. Maybe one day she really would be his and he wouldn't have to tell the world that he didn't love her.

To try and get them together, the other drivers had to rely on Carlos. He waited for Charles to enter his drivers room, lured Y/N in there and then held the door shut behind them. "You're not coming out until you kiss!" He shouted.

"This is really stupid," she said as she leaned against the wall.

"Somehow I don't think Carlos was working alone," Charles said as he stood beside her. "Maybe we should just kiss. Then he'd open the door."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I think they might want us to do more than kiss," she said quietly as she played with the necklace she always wore. It was a gift from Charles and she rarely took it off.

"I can't believe they all found out I like you," Charles muttered.

"I feel like Danny told the rest of the grid that I like you," she answered, turning to face him.

It was incredibly casual how they confessed to each other. But, what now. "We've been really stupid, haven't we?" Said Charles as he cupped her face.

Most other drivers had their ears pressed against the door as they kissed. "They're doing it!" Daniel hissed, smacking Maxs arm.

"I know! Now shut up!"

[illubean]

Can I get a hisokas sister x killua? Like hisokas sister is affectionate but not in a creepy way she just want to show killua how much she likes him😔(mainly in gifts and unexpected hugs, cheek kisses) you can do what you want with this request.🫶🏼have a good day! I love your blogs btw!! :))) it’s nice to see some hxh blogs😭

Killua with HisokasSister!reader

Characters: Killua Zoldyck Type: Fluff, Headcanons, Fem!reader

ok I know my rules say I won't write romantically for Killua or Gon but this one is kinda in a grey area and the request was cute soooo up to interpretation even though it's intended to be mostly platonic >.< also im going to try and be nice as a certified Hisoka hater LMAO

Warnings: Hisoka.

being Hisoka's little sister was...interesting

he's literally insane a lil cray but he's all you got and you wouldn't trade him for the world

you met Killua at the hunter exam and became part of the little friend group he had going because you were one of the only other kids there

and over your time there you ended up getting attached to him

you followed him around all the time and latched yourself to his side whenever you could

and poor boy was conflicted

it was kind of annoying but also? nice at the same time???

so yeah despite him looking so annoyed at you all the time he doesn't actually try stopping you from showing him affection

he has no clue what to do with all the random stuff you give him especially since they're pretty useless sometimes...

and he's very confused on where you find this stuff and why you even thought of giving it to him

like where tf did you find a bird skull? and how did you manage to find so many pieces of sea glass??????

you're like a crow with attachment issues or something

it's not until after the exam and you follow him and Gon to heaven's arena that he finds out you're related to Hisoka

and hes like HAH!?!?

when you all made it to the 200th floor the boys were literally shaking in their boots when they got closer to Hisoka

and when you ran up to him and hugged him like it was nothing? ARE YOU CRAZY!?

after his talking and whatever and Wing coming to get you guys Hisoka's like sooo are you coming with me or what

and you're like nah I wanna stay with Killua

and hes like "Oh my, seem's like someone's infatuated with the Zoldyck boy. Don't worry, he's not the one I'm interested in"

and Killua is like WTFFFF

HOW IS SOMEONE SO WEIRD AND SCARY RELATED TO YOU

he's more weary around you now and a lot more hesitant to ever push you away

he already liked and admired you as a person but now there is an added fear factor

we all know Illumi doesn't like Killua having friends

but if it's you? ...well there's not much you can really do

he doesn't mind all that much because your brother is a valuable ally and you've probably got potential too

but yeah overall Killua just accepts your affection without any questions partially because he is afraid

[athenaswrath]

Until I Found You - Chapter 1

Quinn Hughes x reader

This chapter is more of a background story/introduction of the reader (no Quinn yet)

Word count: 829

>Chapter 1< Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

You were looking for a job when you had the amazing idea to go for one on a hockey team, the only sport I actually enjoy. When I got a call saying I got the job on marketing and social media for the Devils I was head over heels

The day they introduced me to the players I was terribly nervous, I'm not a social person at all, and being surrounded by a group of loud, confident and cocky men was not the best for my anxiety.

After a couple of days with them they noticed how uncomfortable I was being the spotlight so Nico made it his job to make me feel at ease, and to my surprise all of his closest group welcomed me in, even Jack, which sometimes had trouble keeping his flirtatious personality down with me being the only young woman on the road.

Luke on the other way was way too cute and immediately told me he consideres me a sister, saying that he'd traded me for Jack any time.

After a couple of weeks Jack spent some alone time with me, saying that I gave him the peace he'd never had before. He also started saying I was like a twin sister, obviously it had everything to do with our age and nothing with our looks.

I was in my office editing some videos for the last days of the season when Jack came through the door "Hey shortie"

"Jack, for the last time I'm 5'9" I said not even looking up from my work. He didn't have time to reply before Luke also entered the room "Hey shortie" he said in his cheery way.

"Hey pookie" I replied seconds before Jack whined "why does he get to call you that and not me?" I just laughed before looking up and seeing their nervous features. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing" "Dammit" they answered at the same time, I raised an eyebrow and Luke continued "We just... We know that you are going to spend your free time alone and that's fine, there's nothing wrong with that, and I'm sure you'd enjoy it..."

"Luke" Jack said stopping Luke's rambling. "Right... So we wanted to know if you'd like to join us on our lake house these couple of months. It's just us, Zegras, Drysdale, Holtzy and Quinn... I mean sure mom and dad are going to visit a couple of days but..."

"No, no you guys have done so much for me already I can't just take a free vacation at your house. I appreciate it really but I just can't"

Ever since you joined the Devils, they wouldn't allow you pay for anything, everyone treated you like a princess "you're Belle for sure, a beauty and a bookworm" said Holtz one day you mentioned the special treatment

One could say that everyone could kill for that, specially coming from hockey boys, but you couldn't help to ask yourself "am I being a burden? Do they pity me? Do they think I'm a golddigger? A Puck Bunny?"

But I know they love me... Well, sometimes I do. It's hard for me to accept that, when your whole life you've been told by your own family you're annoying and there's not really something to care or love about you.

When your family told you they didn't want to have you home giving them a hard time and cut communication with you, you were heartbroken and desperate for money working multiple jobs until 2 years later you finally found this place you felt peace at.

The problem is no one but Nico knows that it's only you against the world. The rest of the team is oblivious to how sometimes you skip meals in order to save money to have a decent department, or how no one ever visits you, not even in family events.

"Are you listening to me? Are you okay?" Jack's voice took me out of my thoughts and he was close to my face looking at me with a serious expression, which was unusual on him

When I didn't say anything, he said "Darling we want you there you're part of our freak family want it or not. And God knows we need you there, there has to be at least one responsable person... Also it's about a damn time that you meet Quinn"

You've met Jim and Ellen before, but you've never met the oldest Hughes brother, the first time Vancouver played against New Jersey I had the flu and I could get close to anyone to not put them at risk. The second time Quinn was out due to an injury

"Please shortie, you'll break my heart if you refuse to go" said Luke giving his biggest puppy eyes

"Are you sure everyone's okay with me joining, I don't wanna be a bu..."

"Stop it, we all want you there"

Hoping they wouldn't regret their choice and you let yourself be happy for a while you finally agreed to join them.

[harrysmimi]

After Show

Synopsis: Harry and YN finds some alone time after one of his shows to catch up

CW: Smut

Series Masterlist | More of my work

One thing YN was so grateful for were the opportunities she gets to travel now more freely.

It gave her a weird ich, even to think about going to a different country alone. Especially when her family doesn't really seem to care about her existence. She feared for her safety because apparently we still live in a world where no one, especially women can't walk alone.

So, when Harry offers to accompany her, she'd now learnt to taked up the offer. Of course only if she can afford the trip, as she doesn't like to rely on him for anything. She's also gotten more confident traveling alone. She'd learnt to get out of her comfort zone and actually talk to people other than just asking for their coffee orders and serve them.

That also gave her a sense of acceptance about herself as she found people who went through, or are going through similar life situations as hers. Yeah, she loves her friends, Alec and Brielle, she would never trade them for anyone else. But it's nice to make mew acquaintances.

Today, she was going to see Harry after a long time. She had unfortunately missed his birthday this year as her family was nice enough to drag her along with them to their relatives' wedding. It was two week affair. And she hadn't seen him since the after new year's.

She saw him at his concert venue directly, with her luggage bag in hand. He had just gotten off doing the soundcheck. He was surprised because he was supposed to meet her back at his (their!) hotel room, her flight was supposed to be delayed which didn't happened and she got to see him early. Least to say he attacked with a bear hug, as she ran towards him and with her limbs wrapped around him.

"I missed you so much!" She mumbled, her face resting in the gap between his neck and her arm.

"I missed you so much too baby!" He scoffed happily, holding onto her tightly so she doesn't fall straight on her butt. She wouldn't let go. Honestly, he doesn't want her to either. "You good?"

"Mhmm." She nodded, and jumped back on her own two feet. Her arms slipped to wrap around his torso as she looked up at him. "Better now. With you."

"Oh my god, you need to stop flirting with me. I'm engaged for god's sake!" He rolled his eyes jokingly.

"I miss you too much when you're gone!" She snuggle her face into fabric of his hoodie. Harry sighed, slipping his fingers through her hair he massaged her scalp gently.

"I miss you too baby." He whispered, "just a month and we'll be getting and off to our honeymoon, then I'm all yours! For now let's go to my green room." He dragged her and her luggage along with him back stage to his green room. "want a cuppa baby?"

"Sure!" She nodded and looked around his room. The sofa was different but the pillows were same, his humidifier, clothes box, his own suit case with regular clothes. It was felt like him and it felt like home to her. "It's cold here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, a little. The AC's on." He said, "don't feel it while I'm performing though."

"Thank you!" She took the cup of tea he gave her and sat next to her.

"How was your flight?" He asked, his hand rested on her thigh as he scooted closer to her.

"It was fine." YN nodded. "I have to tell you something though!" She placed the hot cup of tea to the side.

"What is it, baby?"

"You remember we talked about trying for a baby, right?" She started off, "well, ummm... I talked to my gynaecologist and my physician, I can get off birth control and we can see from there. They have to change up few of my medications like the painkillers I take for my arthritis and start with prenatal vitamins."

"You sure that's fine with you, baby?" He asked, "changing up the medications and all? I know they'll have to cut off a few things which help you, I don't want you in pain all throughout that time. Being pregnant is hard as it is."

"I don't know." She shrugged, "I have never been pregnant before. But we can see."

"Only if you're so sure about it." He sighed not knowing what to say further, "or we have other options we can opt for always."

"Okay..."

"Don't be upset, love!" He sighed, "I said we have other options only if it doesn't work put of us, okay? I just want to make sure you're fine."

"I am." She assured him.

"Okay." He smiled and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, holding her close to him, "would you like to practice baby making after the show then?"

"I would love to!" She chuckled, giving him a kiss on his mouth. Harry pulled her in before she could try to retrieve, buttoning his mouth back on hers. His hand wandered down to her hips back up inside her shirt rather quickly. "Harry, not here please." She managed to speak up, "anyone can walk in on us."

"Yeah, I'm sorry." He sighed, "just missed you so much!"

"I missed you too." She cooed.

They both cuddled for next two hours till he had to get ready for the show, having a nice baby talk. YN fell asleep there.

"Hey baby, do you wanna wake up?" He gave her arm a soft squeeze.

"Hmm?" YN wome up confused.

"Do you want to wake up? I'm about to go on stage in a bit." He shared.

"How long did I sleep for?" She sighed feeling groggy from being woken up from deep sleep.

"A couple of hours."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She sat up, "and yes I'm up now. Want to see you perform."

"Yeah?" He smiled, "well, I have twenty minutes if you want to change to freshen up or something?"

"Yeah, I need to pee. Where is the toilet?"

"The left door." Be pointed behind him. "Wait!" He pulled her back to steal a quick kiss. "Chop-chop baby love." He smack her bum but recieved one right after. "Ouch!"

"Yeah, ouch!" She yawned walking to the bathroom.

......................................................................

"Last kiss and I'll be out!" Harry promised as he stole another kiss from his missus.

"Harry, stop hogging your missus you need to be on the stage, now!" Tom yelled at him.

"Yes!" Harry yelled back. "Stay safe, okay?"

"I will." She nodded, "go break a bone!"

He felt another smack on his butt. "You're gonna pay for it." He challenged her before he was ready to run out.

"Sure." She rolled her eyes and made her way to the little VIP area by the stage where a few of Harry's industry friends were going to be.

YN's not had a good time with Harry's industry friends except the rest of 1D boys and his immediate work friends like, Jeffery and his wife, Tom, Tyler and the Love Band, well in short his immediate circle of friends. She still had a good amount of amazing people to hang out with whilst her soon-to-be husband worked.

Harry came up on the stage, YN was stood at the side back stage where she can watch him perform. He's like a toddler running around the stage, stumbling and even falling sometimes. Throughout he kept looking at her and smiling.

He's indeed very happy today, especially now his soon-to-be wife is by his side.

He was so happy that he still had the adrenaline pumping through his body when they got back to their room hotel.

"Ow!" YN gasped when he pinned her to the wall, one shoe off as she was stopped by him. He smeared his lips over hers, gathering her hands behind her back. She knew exactly where this was going to go and she didn't mind at all.

It reminded her of their first time. Similar situation, he had just gotten home from a heavy workout session all sweaty. Leading her to his bedroom upstairs, leaving her on the bed for a moment before he went and washed his hands. He debunked that thing for her which she always watched in the movies. And he gave her a head. That's all they did that night. And oh boy did she enjoyed every milliseconds of it, and still remember. YN shocked herself with how comfortable she is with him now versus she was the first time around.

He took off his jacket and threw it on the floor as he picked her up with his hands on her bum. He made his way to the bed, placed her carefully on the mattress as he managed to fit between her thighs. He broke the kiss to give her a breather.

"I missed you so much!" He mumbled leaving a chaste of sloppy wet kissed down her jawline to her neck. A moan slipped through her mouth when she felt his hand on her breast. He lifted his head up to press another kiss on her mouth. "Is it alright if go down on you?"

"Wait..." She stopped him, "haven't shaved down there."

He looked at her in disbelief, "does it look like I care, baby!" It wasn't a question though, "still okay?"

"Mhmm." She nodded, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She missed him as well, in every way. But this not their usual thing after being away for months. They usually get a take out, watch TV or just catch up because Harry always tired and jet lagged. Even though he's a horny animal, she's suggest against his needs and make him rest first.

Her man doesn't like to rest.

With one last kiss on her mouth he got to unbuttoning her jeans and taking them off with her knickers. She layed there vulnerable, visibility wet and dripping. Before she could get another moment to get awkward his mouth was on her clit. As much as he loves to make her come with just his mouth, she loves that too.

Feeling his warm tongue move against her already sensitive and swollen bud of nerves, how his fingers occasionally slip inside of her wet hole. Making her squirm under him. Just to replace his digits with his tongue. He's a skill full man.

"Oh, I'm so close!" She muttered with her voice now becoming more breathy and heavy. It's been what feel like an eternity but mostly because they've been away for so long from one another. The feel of his warmth tongue and his digits now pumping inside of her was pushing her just closer to the edge of her orgasm.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" He asked before he gave her clit another hard suck all the while pumping his fingers in ger pussy, "come for me, yeah?" It wasn't long until she was reaching her orgasm. "Was that good?"

"Amazing!" She chuckled, his weight on top of her as he kissed her cheek moving to her neck. "It tickles."

"I love you."

"And I love you more."

"Not a chance!" He scoffed jokingly, "I love you more. And I am sweaty."

"I don't care, I've missed you!" With her arms around his neck it was enough of a que for him to kiss her again.

"Wanna hop in the shower with me then, baby?" He suggested, finally giving her a moment to breathe.

"Mhmm." She nodded. He briefly crouched to take her off her shoe which he barely gave her a moment to take off herself. Slipped off his shoes as he guided her to the bathroom.

"Is that my hoodie?" He realised-- rather late-- she was wearing his black hoodie with 'DAMN.' written on it as he washed up his hands.

"Our hoodie you mean? Yes." She admitted.

"Cheeky!" Harry chuckled, "c'mere." He placed his hands on her hips he propped her up on the wash besin counter. "Want this off?"

"Yes please." She nodded. Despite him being careful, the fabric got caught in her necklace. "Whoops!"

"It's alright." He fixed it quickly as she sat there giggling. It was like the very first time, how her shirt caught up on her earring and she apologised for laughing at that silly thing. "Remember how flustered you were the first time?" He pressed a kiss on her cheek and chin with his arms wrapped around her naked torso.

"Still embarrassed about tha--" her body shuddered feeling his fingertips run feathery strokes on her spine, wetness in between her legs growing once again.

"Still find it to be the most adorable thing." He moved down to her to her neck, leaving a trail of feathery kisses on her warm skin, finally he looked up to place firm kiss on her mouth, "it makes everything feel so much more better. Remember how I got a cramp in my leg the other day?"

"Yeah, you were screaming in a high pitched voice." She giggled.

"Well, I'm not embarrassed about that because it was my fault I didn't drink enough water that day." He explained, "we can have a little laugh you know." With that be picked her up and walked in the shower to place her back on her feet carefully. He took a moment to shed his pants and boxers, the evident kind of hard on of his was now on a full show.

"Harry it's too cold!" She gasped feeling the water fall over her body.

"If I up the temperature, we're going to be boiled by the end." He pointed out.

"It's not that hot!" She argued, and turned rhe heat up just a tiny bit. "Please?"

"It's summer!" He groaned in defeat. She still kept on her cheeky puppy face to convince him as be buttoned her mouth on his standing on her tippy toes. "You're lucky I love you."

"The luckiest one." Her hand slowly crept downwards over his chest and pecks.

"Cheeky!" He kissed her her again. He still enough of her, he hopes it stays that way. Just as he was about to say something, he felt her warm hand wrapped his hardene penis. "Fuck, fuck!"

"Can we go now?" He asked, "just missed you so much!"

"Yes!" She nodded, as she did his hand was behind her knee lifting her leg up at the same time pushing her against the shower wall. Slowly slipping in through her folds. Just heavy breathing to be heard, especially from Harry. Low grunk and cussing in his voice which only grew deeper.

Air in her lungs gor sucked out when he started moving. His hard and deep thrusts making a new rhythm, making her wrap her arms around him for support.

"God I missed you so much!" His forehead rested on her, "so warm for me." It wasn't enough, he slip out, turned her around to slip right back in her. He picked up his pace, making her orgasm right again.

Least to say, they spent about half an hour there.

......................................................................

"Can we order Pizza?" YN asked, as she tied her bathrobe tie around her waist. Harry had already placed her back on the counter.

"Of course baby, which one do you want?" He was already walking out to grab the hotel phone.

"A small cheese one, thank you." He ordered for the pizza and went back to her, "wanna help you with that." He stopped her as she was about do the last few steps of her skin care. Well, it was just four steps, step was done in the shower. Last two were serum and moisturising.

Harry loves to pamper her.

"Here lemme do that too!" She pulled her Fiancé back towards her caging him in between her legs.

YN placed a few dots on the moisturiser on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin and lastly on his nose for comedic purposes. She proceeded to work the product in his skin, his prominent stubble was poked the skin of her palms. He looked like a little kitten being petted, as she ran her thumbs on the apples of his cheeks.

"Done!" She announced.

"Do you want to be little spoon?" He asked as he picked her up again with one on her back and other behind her knees.

"You know I'm never going to say no to that." She booped his nose, "and you got to let me walk, bestie."

"Just fucked the shit out of you and you're calling me bestie?" He cocked his eye brow up carefully placing her back on her feet just for her to cling back onto him. She tried her best to stand on her wobbly legs, but she was scooped right off her feet and carried to their shared bed.

"I loved it though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" She nodded. But they were interrupted by the room service.

"The pizza is here, your majesty!" He presented her the pizza in a grant way along with a bottle of water, though he took a sip of it first. "Asked them put extra cheese on it for you my love."

"Thank you!" She grinned.

Harry lied next to her on his spot over his tummy, dressed in his purple bathrobe. "So, about the baby?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we good now, or do we have to wait till to start trying?"

"Still need to get off birth control." She shared.

"Wait, doesn't that help you with your period?" He realised.

"Kind of, but I think I can go without those now, it's complicated. So these other medications for my arthritis made my period have rave parties every month, it should be good as I'd have to stop taking those meds and switch to something else." She explained, offering him a bite of her pizza which he accepted. "Do you want to go with me to the next appointment? It's after the tour is finished."

"Of course I'd love to go with you darling." He agreed, "and about the wedding. Did you find a dress yet?"

"No..." She pouted, "my grandma doesn't want me to get a white dress."

"Why so, isn't that the traditional colour?"

"Not in India." She smiled sheepishly, "well, everyone does whatever they want now-a-days but my grandma's a little old fashioned. And white is worn at funerals generally."

"Oh, it's so different everywhere then!" He never thought about it until now, "what colour do you want to get then?"

"I want a white, but ahe wants me to get a red one. She said 'You're not having your funeral, you're getting married', it pissed me off. Not like she's paying a single penny. Just not going to take her or my mum to the next appointment at this boutique Brielle found." She shared mocking her grandma's way of talking, giving him yet another bite of her pizza and he was eating it. "Like she's ever going to be invited to either of those."

"Hey, don't say that!" He gasped.

"Right, she won't live that long anyway."

"Oh god, you're a meanie." He gasped again, "big, big, big meanie!"

"Yeah? And that old wrinkly lady isn't?" She chuckled, "she was trying to find me a guy at my sister's. I was fourteen years old!"

"Touché."

"Yeah, and she did. A thirty-two year old man." She added. "Luckily my parents got minds of their own and stood up for me."

"What the fuck!"

"Yeah." She nodded. "He was rich actually, he owned a big finance and insurance company in Saudi."

"So he is rich, rich?" He was stunned.

"Yup, a turn of about eighty-five mil to one billion." She shared, "he died though, Cardiac arrest, five years ago."

"A big loss." He scrunched up his nose.

"Meh, I don't care." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, and now you've a Fiancé who's a decent, indie singer." He nodded, "worth it."

"You are anything but Indie, darling." She laughed. "My wait was worth though, now I can be a trophy wife I want to." She leaned back over the fluffy pillow.

"Oh definitely wouldn't mind that." He agreed and scooted closer to sit next to her taking a yet another bite of the slice in her hand, maintaining a eye contact.

"What in the Italian Christian Grey!" She almost choked on the dough in the mouth.

"What's gotten into you today?" Harry laughed, he fetched water just in case. "Being so funny, did you get accidentally drunk?"

"That was sexy not gonna lie." She shared ignoring his remarks.

"Well," he blushed.

"Awh, look at you blushing, my shy baby!" She cooed leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Just just make him giggle again as he chewed on the fold.

Alas he pulled himself together and draped his arm around her shoulder to bring her closer to him. She was just too busy dipping the crust in the complimentary cheese dip.

"Where do you fancy going to for our honeymoon?" He asked. To be honest they planned anything of their honeymoon. Harry wants it to be special and somewhere she haven't been to before, which is a lot of places. He's just lucky he gets paid to travel and perform in diffe parts of the world.

"I don't quite know yet," she spoke with her mouth full of food, "is there anywhere you want to go?"

"I want to know where you want to go, baby." He pushed the baby hairs off her face, "just want to listen to you with this."

"Finally!" She gasped dramatically. Harry has taken almost everything about the wedding planning on himself. "Finally you admitted it!"

"Hey!"

"No, you've taken over everything. I don't know how you switched the plan of The Savoy hotel to your house in Italy!" She sighed dramatically. "The Gucci room isn't available on our wedding, is it?"

"It is, but figured it would be more private if we got married on our own property, baby." He explained, "everything we have, we share now."

"Okay." She nodded, "I don't know how long I'd be able to take on the break for. I guess we can go somewhere near England?"

"Doesn't matter baby, just tell me two of your dream vacation countries or cities and I'll take you there." He said, "and the owner of your cafe is my school friend, I can talk to him for you."

"What?" She almost chocked on cheese and dough, "he's your friend and you never told me that?"

"Well, I never got the chance to.' he shrugged sheepishly, "but I can still talk to him."

"I don't know, I love my job." She pouted. "I don't want him to fire me."

"He won't baby." Harry assured her, "now come on give me two names."

"We can either go to Puerto Rico or Greece?"

"Those are amazing options!" He never thought of those places, "and I've never been to countries. How about we go to both? We can spend a month in Puerto Rico and a month in Greece."

"That's a lot."

"No it's not." He countered, "I've been touring for two and half years, I deserve a long, long honeymoon and vacation with my wife by my side."

"What about our new house? We haven't even started looking for one." She reminded him.

Look, YN can either afford to pay at least some amount for the house or spend it all on their honeymoon plans. No way in heavens Harry's gonna make the trip cheap. He'll find his way to make it extravagant. She'd feel too bad if he's the only one paying for everything.

"We'll start looking for one as soon as we get back." He assured her, "and we have a lot more work to do, we have a baby to make!"

"Yes we do." She blushed. "But seriously, Harry, I don't think I can afford a trip that long."

"Baby!" He cooed, "it's a wedding present from me to you. And you're refusing for me to get you an actual present. So this is perfect."

"I'd feel too bad." She pouted, "you won't let me get you anything either."

"I'm sure you're not going to sit still until you get me anything, baby, so I'd say it's fair enough." He pointed out, "come on, please? Let me take you somewhere you've always wanted to go!"

"Okay, let's go to Greece but just for two weeks."

"Four?" He negotiated.

"Okay!" She sighed in defeat, there is no point in negotiating with his there. He's going to just tease her further. They sealed their deal with a kiss. "Oh god, why is this so stressful? We have to register for our marriage certificate."

"We'll have my lawyer do that for us, baby, don't worry about it." He assured her.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"I, uhhhh, want to take your last name." She shared hesitantly.

"You want to?" He looked rather shocked.

"Mhmm." She nodded, "you don't mind that right, you seem shocked?"

"Of course I don't baby. I just did not expect that, yes. But I'm happy either way." He shrugged. "You really want to do that?"

"Mhmm." She nodded snuggling closer to him.

They talked more about their wedding planning, and preparations until one of them was fast asleep. Well, it was YN fell asleep first.

......................................................................

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[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Arthur Playing With Your Son In The Bath

Arthur Curry X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, stress, and an obscene amount of fluff

Word Count: 984

(A/N:) I found this gif and it inspired me so fast! XD I was actually looking for something else for a different imagine when I came across it. I couldn't leave without writing something for it and this is the end result! I wrote for Orm and since Arthur is a freaking aquababe I have to write for him too! Hopefully my fellow fangirls enjoy it as much as I did writing it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Being married to the King of Atlantis had it's perks, but it also had it's rough patches. Being so called Queen of a world you never even got to visit had it's pressures. Arthur never told you the horrible things the council would say about you, but you had a good idea of the prejudices they held. Tom was a good confidant and helped you talk about things that bothered you. Arthur had enough on his plate and now with you both producing a heir to the throne, the pressure only increased. Tom was out running errands for you while you stayed at home with Arthur Curry Jr who refused to do anything but eat and cry. It didn't matter how many times you tried, he refused to go to sleep. He was due for a much needed nap and so did you, but the baby universe decided that just wasn't in the cards today. Now as night drew nearer and you being soaked in spit up, drool, and various other baby fluids Arthur finally made it home.

"Sorry I saw dad in town and we stopped for a quick beer," Arthur apologized before brushing strands of your hair to kiss your cheek.

He looked around the little home you both shared with his father. Toys littering the floor and dirty dishes piled up in the sink. His eyebrow raised before leaning his trident against the wall. He knelt down to get eye level with you as you rocked back and forth on the couch trying to keep Jr from crying.

"Rough day," he asked gently.

The strong facade that you worked hard to keep up all day crumbled a little, as your bottom lip began to wobble. Arthur cursed taking you into a hug and trying his best not to squish his son against his giant chest. You let yourself have a few moments of just letting your emotions out before you pulled away. Wiping at your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"That's my girl," Arthur grinned. He took Jr from your arms. "Go take a shower a long one. My son and I are going to have some bonding time with a bubble bath and some rubber duckies. I'll call Pops too, have him bring pizza home for us. Then we'll watch that movie you love and makes me gag. Deal?"

You laughed, this time kissing his cheek, "Sounds wonderful!"

Arthur helped you up from the couch, kissing you deeply and giving you a pat on your rear as you walked to the bathroom. Arthur watched you go before turning to the baby in his arms.

"We'll borrow Grandpop's bathroom so your mom has some much needed quiet time."

Jr gurgled in reply. Arthur nodded in agreement, "Totally. Your mom is a hero. And hot."

Jr just stared and Arthur shrugged.

The hot water was washing away all the day's filth and the stress from your body. Though it was rough at times, raising the future king of Atlantis and being human, you wouldn't trade one moment. Your son was precious. Arthur was a wonderful partner in everything. A doting husband and a loving father. Even your father-in-law amazed you as he was such a help. You couldn't fault him for needing a quiet moment in town. He hadn't given one complaint since you and Arthur still lived with him and birthed the next generation of Curry.

Finished with your nice hot shower, you dressed in one of Arthur's oversized shirts and your favorite pair of leggings. Your slippers silenced your steps and it was easy to hear Jr's squealing giggles and Arthur's laughter follow behind. It brought a smile to your face despite the exhaustion. Opening the door you spied Jr in a little floatie designed for his baths and Arthur bare chested covered in an obnoxious amount of suds.

"Are my boys having fun," you asked.

"Bubbles," Arthur roared animatedly causing Jr to squeal. Water sloshed and bubbles flew everywhere and you couldn't bring yourself to worry about the mess.

Carefully sitting yourself close to the tub and avoiding the numerous puddles on the floor, you stroked Arthur's bare chest, tracing the tattoo patterns. He dutifully scrubbed his son's dirty face before leaning back against the cool tub wall.

"Careful where you touch, or we'll grant Pop's wish early," Arthur warned.

"One's enough for right now," you replied still tracing absentmindedly.

"More than enough. You look like you went to war with an army of babies."

"And here I thought baby spit up was the new Gucci," you sighed.

Arthur tugged you a little closer, tickling your ear with his warm breath, "You did look pretty hot."

"Now who's trying to seduce who," you teased.

You helped Arthur finish up cleaning Jr and get him changed into warm pajamas when Tom finally made it back. Hauling in grocery bags and boxes of pizza, all of you were finally able to sit down together as a family. Arthur wouldn't let you get anything for yourself, so you sat on the couch holding Jr while Arthur made your plates. True to his word he started the movie you loved and he abhorred. Halfway through Jr had finally fallen to sleep and despite wanting to stay up and finish it, you found yourself nodding off too. Without a word Arthur put your son to bed before he scooped you up in his arms.

"Night Pops," he whispered and Tom nodded before turning off the movie and switching to the weather.

"Artie," you mumbled into his chest as he carried you to your shared room.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you," you yawned.

Arthur kissed your temple before depositing you onto the messy bed, "You're welcome."

He tucked you in before getting in himself and with the warm blankets and Arthur's body pressed against yours. You fell into peaceful slumber and all your worries melted away.

[centrally-unplanned]

Adam Tooze giving some pitch-perfect pornography targeted at me specifically with Israel's "Gaza 2035: A three-step master plan to build what they call the Gaza-Arish-Sderot Free Trade Zone", capped with an AI generated Gaza-Dubai:

I'm in love, this is so glorious. "The world if Israel could play around with Gaza like a little set of Legos" tell me this is not identical energy:

Except its not a shitpost its an actual report from the Office of the Prime Minister. And folks we have got it all! The most convoluted administration system you could possibly imagine for no reason:

The new free trade zone would be administered by Israel, Egypt, and what the Israeli Prime Minister calls the Gaza Rehabilitation Authority (GRA)—a proposed Palestinian-run agency that would oversee reconstruction in Gaza and “manage the Strip’s finances.”

A cutesy little minimalist graphic of all the brand new industries that will magically become globally competitive in export markets because Israel says so:

The beach resorts are in my beloved!! But what are the little factories you ask? Oh nothing, just electric car production facilities!

Remember, before building your first factory, you need 18 Burj Khalifas. We economists call this "infrastructure development", take notes.

It will have high-speed rail through its center, oil projects on the coast, and of course, I'm saving the best for last - a rail project to NEOM:

 🥳The 🥳Line 🥳Mentioned 🥳

The legend on the map literally just says "a mega project" like, oh yeah, one of those! See em all the time.

Now, you might be asking - Ash, if this is your goal wouldn't you have not destroyed every square inch of habitable urban infrastructure in Gaza and shredded their economy into scraps of paper soaked in blood if your plan was to Singapore-on-the-Sea the place? You sweet summer child, those apartments? They are apartments of the past, darling, you don't need organically developed urban ecologies built over time to compliment human habitation. That is for fucking libs. All of this "war" thing was just set-up to create a blank slate for the construction of The Line 2: Its Definitely Real This Time!

I am going to murder James C Scott myself just so I can hover this plan over his corpse and watch the sheer hubris of this monument to the state's desire for legibility and technocratic solutionism resurrect him from the goddamn grave.

"Well....at least after all this they would have to recognize Palestine as a stat-" Woah woah woah woah, hold on:

The final stage would be when Palestine signs the Abraham Accords signaling “Palestinian self-rule,” albeit without statehood

Lets not...lets not get overambitious here. Baby steps, you know? We have to be careful.

Anyway this is the most ludicrously ill-considered and ill-presented reconstruction plan I have ever seen in my life and I shudder to think that, instead of it being an off-hand drip of propaganda intended solely to brush off nosey reporters and diplomats, it might actually be serious. Bibi hasn't let me down yet on the "thinking things through" front!

But tbc if this was fiction - instead of a ruthlessly grim reality - the Regional Deputy Minister of Trade charged with implementing this technocratic abortion would be my precious little blorbo and I would stan her to hell and back.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 6 - Nobody's Fool

Summary: In the aftermath of Elvis' last day in his 1969 Vegas residency, Valerie and Elvis get caught in a compromising position. A decision is made, and a plan is formulated. Late at night, Valerie and Elvis almost cross the point of no return.

There are moments when one wakes up, and everything seems okay. That blessed space between sleep and memory, before the brain catches up with your body? 

I had about three seconds of that peace before I opened my eyes and saw Elvis' jacket draped over my chair like a question mark.

The gin-stained dress I'd fallen asleep in clung to me like shame. My mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with Dean Martin's martini shaker. And somewhere in the building's guts, that damn dove was cooing its morning commentary.

The Colonel's note lay where I'd dropped it last night: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."

I looked at the clock. 1:07.

"Well, shit."

The phone rang before I could make it to the shower. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. But in Vegas, you learn quick that ignored calls have a way of turning into bigger problems.

"Hello?"

"Val? Thank God." my best friend’s voice carried all the manic energy of a Chicago morning. "I've been trying to reach you for hours! Have you seen the papers?"

I hadn't. Didn't want to.

"Listen, Dee, I can't really talk right now. I have a meeting—"

"About Memphis?"

The question hit like a slap. I sank onto the bed, still wearing last night's mistakes.

"How did you..."

"There's a blind item in the Tribune. 'Which Chicago music teacher has caught the King's eye? Sources say she's trading the Windy City for Graceland...'" Deena paused. "Val? Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

I practically felt whiplash from how fast the news got out. Through the wall, I could hear the Memphis Mafia stirring - boots on carpet, voices carrying through the International's expensive but thin walls. Red's laugh. Jerry's drawl. The sound of Elvis' world waking up.

"It's exactly what you think it is," I said finally. "And it's going to come out now anyway. His manager’s already planning how to 'handle' it."

The silence on the other end stretched like taffy.

"Holy shit," Deena whispered finally. "Holy actual shit. You and Elvis Presley? All this time? The mystery man you wouldn't tell me about... that was Elvis fucking Presley?"

"Dee—"

"But he's married! To that gorgeous wife who was in all the photos last night, kissing him like—" She stopped. "Oh honey. Those photos. Did you... were you there?"

The memory of that kiss, perfectly timed for the cameras, hit fresh. Elvis's hand on Priscilla's waist. The crowd's approving applause. Ann-Margret's knowing look.

"When I told you to ride that stallion till you break the saddle, I didn't mean steal someone else's horse!" Deena's voice cracked between humor and horror. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Elvis. Actually Elvis."

"I have to go," I said. "Meeting in, like, five minutes. Call me later." I lied. 

"Val, wait—"

I hung up. Stood there for a moment, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Last night's mascara made me look like a raccoon who'd lost a bar fight.

Time to face the music. Or in this case, the Colonel.

*

The Colonel's suite was a shrine to his greatest creation. Elvis stared down at me from every wall - movie posters, concert bills, gold records, photographs spanning from that first Sun Records publicity shot to last night's show. Young Elvis, GI Elvis, Hollywood Elvis, Comeback Elvis, Vegas Elvis. A hundred different versions of the same man, watching our little drama play out beneath their frozen gazes.

The irony wasn't lost on me. We were here to talk about Elvis, but the only Elvis present was made of paper and celluloid.

Red and Sonny flanked the door like bookends. Jerry lounged against a wall between "Love Me Tender" and "Blue Hawaii" posters, trying to look casual and failing. The Colonel himself sat behind a desk (flown in specially) that had probably witnessed a thousand deals, smoking a cigar that put out enough smoke to rival a carnival cotton candy machine.

"Ah, Miss Pedretti." The Colonel's eyes twitched with what might have been amusement. Or annoyance. "Right on time. Coffee?"

"No, thank you." I remained standing, though there was an empty chair positioned precisely in front of his desk - red velvet with gold tassels. The power play was obvious - him elevated, me lower. I wasn't playing. Behind him, a young Elvis smiled down at me. From the very early days. Had there been a girl standing in my spot that day too? Someone else who thought she was different, special?

“Suit yourself." The Colonel gestured at a stack of newspapers spread across his desk, right beneath a photo of Elvis signing his first RCA contract. His mom and dad were in the photo. Her eyes were sad. My eyes were sad looking at her. "I assume you've seen the morning editions?"

I hadn't, but I could see the headlines from where I stood. ELVIS ENDS VEGAS RUN WITH A KISS. KING AND QUEEN OF ROCK REUNITED. And smaller, in the gossip columns: MYSTERY WOMAN IN ELVIS' INNER CIRCLE?

"The paper’s been particularly... creative with their speculation," the Colonel continued. "Something about a Chicago singer-slash-music teacher?"

A distant coo echoed through the ventilation system. Even Tom's dove was eavesdropping.

"Now," the Colonel leaned forward, his head briefly blocking out Army Elvis's crisp salute in the frame behind him, "we need to discuss how we're going to handle your transition to Memphis. I've taken the liberty of arranging—"

"Where’s Elvis?"

The question landed like a grenade in church. Jerry straightened slightly. Red and Sonny suddenly found the ceiling fascinating - specifically, the spot where a massive photograph showed Elvis and the Colonel shaking hands on that first Vegas contract.

"Mr. Presley is... indisposed." The Colonel's voice could have frosted glass. "Mrs. Presley's flight leaves shortly, and certain... appearances must be maintained."

Of course. The real Elvis was playing the devoted husband one last time, seeing Priscilla off. Probably at this very moment they were posing for photographers at the airport, adding one more perfect image to the collection.

I looked at movie star Elvis smoldering down at me from the "Viva Las Vegas" poster. Had Ann-Margret stood in a room like this too? Had the Colonel tried to manage her the same way?

"As I was saying," the Colonel continued, "I've arranged for a house—"

"No."

His eyebrows climbed toward what was left of his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

"No thank you?"

The silence that followed could have choked a carnival strongman. A hundred Elvises watched the standoff - jumpsuit Elvis, leather Elvis, clean-cut Elvis, rebel Elvis. All of them waiting to see what happened when someone said no to the Colonel.

"Miss Pedretti." He said it like he was explaining physics to a child. "Perhaps you don't understand how things work in Memphis. Mr. Presley's... companions require certain... accommodations."

"I'm not his companion." The words came out harder than I meant them. "I'm not his anything. I'm just going to Memphis."

The Colonel's laugh had all the warmth of a snake's belly. "My dear girl, nobody 'just' goes to Memphis. Not in Elvis' world." He pushed a folder across the desk, right past a framed photo of Elvis handing him a gold watch. "Now, I've had my people draw up some papers. Simple things - non-disclosure agreements, property arrangements, a modest monthly allow—"

"No." I didn't touch the folder. "I don't want your house or your money or your papers."

"Then what exactly do you want?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. What did I want? Elvis, obviously. But which one? I looked around the room at all his faces. Which one was real? The one who sang hymns with me? The one who kissed his wife for the cameras? The one who...

A knock at the door saved me from answering. Joe stuck his head in, looking harried.

"Colonel? Sorry to interrupt, but we got a situation. Seems Dean Martin's passed out in the fountain again, and he's telling everyone who'll listen about Elvis and the towel incident..."

The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "Christ on a cracker. Red, Sonny - go handle that. Jerry, get the car ready. Mrs. Presley can't be late for her flight." He turned back to me. "This conversation isn't over, Miss Pedretti."

"Yes," I said quietly. "It is."

I walked out before he could respond, passing under the watchful eyes of a dozen paper Elvises. Behind me, I heard Jerry whistle low.

"Girl's got stones," he murmured to someone.

"Girl's got a death wish," came the response.

Maybe they were both right. I glanced back one last time as the door closed. The Colonel sat fuming beneath his gallery of conquests - every image a reminder of his control over Elvis's destiny.

But I wasn't going to be just another picture on his wall.

*

I found Elvis in his suite, standing at the window in an emerald green suit that hung perfectly on his tall, lithe frame. He was watching something in the distance - maybe the desert, maybe nothing. The real thing was somehow both more and less than all those images in the Colonel's room.

Our reflections caught in the window glass - him in that perfect suit, me still wearing yesterday's mascara and this morning's doubts. Despite myself, I let my eyes linger on the picture we made together. We looked good, in a way that had nothing to do with staging or the Colonel's careful arrangements. Where Priscilla was all porcelain perfection and carefully coiffed hair, I was warmer, earthier. My olive skin glowed next to Elvis's golden tan. My long dark hair fell in natural waves, untamed by hairspray and hot rollers. Where Priscilla's baby doll lips seemed perpetually pursed in careful consideration, my wider mouth was made for laughter, for singing, for other things I tried not to think about.

Different kinds of beautiful, maybe. But standing there next to Elvis, I couldn't help but notice how well we fit.

The sound of my heels on the carpet made him turn. His eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted glasses. 

"Heard you had a meeting with the Colonel," he said softly.

"Gee. Word travels fast ‘round here."

His laugh was hollow. "Everything travels fast here. Except time." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which..."

"You have to take her to the airport."

"Back to Memphis," he nodded. "At least for now. She'll head back to California soon enough." Something flickered across his face - relief? Regret? "Just needs to..." He trailed off.

"Needs to what?"

"Settle some things. At Graceland." His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the implication. Priscilla would be there, in Memphis, when I arrived. On her turf. Or what used to be her turf.

"The Colonel had some interesting ideas about my living arrangements," I said, watching our reflections shift as Elvis moved closer.

His jaw tightened. "I told him to leave that alone."

"Did you really think he would?"

"No." He stepped behind me, his hands hovering near my shoulders but not quite touching. In the glass, we looked like a photograph waiting to be taken - the kind the Colonel would never allow. "But I hoped. Kind of like I hope you didn’t mean what you said. About finding your own place."

"I did."

"Even though I really want you to stay with me?"

"Even though."

In the window's reflection, I watched him study the contrast of us - his emerald suit against my rumpled red dress, his calculated (and rare) stillness against my untamed energy. When Priscilla stood next to him, they looked like matching dolls in a shop window. But this... we looked the part of the real couple. With real differences.

He nodded slowly. "You know what she said to me last night? After all the cameras were gone?"

I waited, watching his reflection's lips form the words.

"Said I better not turn you into another version of her." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Like I would even want that." His hands finally landed on my shoulders, warm through the thin fabric. "Look at you. Telling the Colonel no. Standing here looking like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like the answer to my prayers."

I turned to face him then, breaking the spell of our reflection. Without the glass between us, he was more real, more dangerous. His hands slid down my arms, leaving heat in their wake.

"Elvis—"

A knock at the door made us both jump. Jerry's voice carried through: "Boss? Car's ready."

"Be right there." Elvis' hands tightened briefly on my arms before letting go. When he finally faced me, his eyes were tired behind those blue-tinted glasses. Human. "I have to..."

"I know."

He crossed the space between us in one fluid movement, caught my face between his hands. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine. He smelled of mint and promises.

"Wait for me?" he whispered. "I'll be back after..."

"After you play the dutiful husband one last time?"

His hands tightened slightly. "That ain’t fair."

"None of this is fair." 

I could be detached. I could deal with the casual dalliances and the pills, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But Priscilla’s presence somehow still made my stomach queasy. I think it was the title. Wife had a certain ring to it. A certain authority, an outward declaration. I wanted that role. 

"No." He pulled back, slipped his glasses into place. Just like that, he was Elvis Presley again. "But it's what we've got."

The door opened and Red stuck his head in. "Boss? Mrs. Presley's ready."

Elvis straightened his jacket, checked his reflection one last time. Perfect again. Camera-ready. But just before he turned away, I caught him looking at our reflection once more - that impossible, imperfect picture of what could be.

"See you when I get back?" he asked.

I thought about all those images in the Colonel's room. All those different versions of Elvis, frozen in time. Which one would come back to me?

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be here."

He paused at the door, looking back. For a second, I could see him wanting to say something more. Then Jerry appeared with a reminder about airport traffic, and the moment was gone.

I watched from the window as they loaded into the waiting cars - Elvis in the lead car with Priscilla, the Memphis Mafia spread through the others like an honor guard. Even from so many floors up, I could see the photographers waiting. One last photo op of the perfect couple before reality set in.

*

I stayed at the window long after the cars disappeared, watching Vegas shimmer in the morning heat. Behind me, Elvis's suite felt different without him in it - bigger, emptier, more obviously a stage set than a home. His books were still scattered around, they hadn’t been packed up yet. A half-empty glass of water sat on the bedside table, aspirin dissolving forgotten at the bottom.

The phone rang, making me jump. Probably the Colonel, ready for round two.

But it was Lamar's voice that came through the line. "Valerie? You might want to come down to the lobby."

"Why?"

"Press got wind of something. They're asking about a Chicago music teacher."

My stomach dropped. "How many?"

"Enough." He paused. "Bring sunglasses. And maybe a scarf."

The lobby had transformed into a circus since I'd passed through it earlier. Photographers clustered around the entrance like hungry wolves, their cameras ready. Someone had leaked something. It didn't matter now.

What mattered was protecting Elvis.

I thought about Ann-Margret, about how she'd lost him partly because she'd talked to the press. About how fiercely he guarded his private world, even while living in the spotlight. About how trust, once broken, never quite mended the same way.

The Colonel stood near the reception desk, watching me with calculating eyes. For once, we wanted the same thing - to control this story. Just for very different reasons.

"Miss Pedretti." His voice carried across the lobby. "A word?"

Every head turned. I felt the cameras swivel, seeking their new target. Someone whispered "That's her." Another voice: "The teacher." A third: “I heard she’s a bar singer.”

I touched the scarf at my throat - one of Elvis's, smelling faintly of his cologne. Beneath it, my pulse hammered against my neck.

I had two choices: run back to the elevator, or face this head-on. But there was really only one choice. Because whatever happened next, I wouldn't be the one to betray Elvis's trust.

I dropped the scarf and sunglasses in my purse - hiding would only make it worse - and walked through the lobby like I had every right to be there. Like I was exactly what I'd tell them I was: a music teacher and a studio session musician (okay, so I stretched the truth a little) who'd found herself in an extraordinary situation, nothing more.

The cameras went crazy, questions flying like bullets: "Miss Pedretti, what's your relationship with Elvis?" 

"Are you moving to Memphis?" 

"What about Mrs. Presley?"

I stopped, turned, met their hungry gazes with a calm I didn't feel. When I spoke, my voice was steady.

"Mr. Presley has been very kind to a fellow musician. We share an interest in rhythm and blues. And gospel." A truth, if not the whole truth. "Beyond that, I don't discuss my friendships. If you have questions about Mr. Presley, I suggest you speak to his management."

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly - surprise? approval? - as I walked past him toward the exit. The cameras kept firing, but I didn't stop again.

I'd protected what mattered. Everything else was just noise.

*

A short while later, the Colonel caught up with me at the elevator on my walk back from lunch. "Interesting performance this afternoon."

"Not a performance."

"No?" His mustache twitched. "Could've fooled me. Very neat, very clean. 'Fellow musician.' 'Gospel music.' Almost like you'd rehearsed it."

The elevator doors opened. I stepped in, but he caught the door before it could close.

"Maybe," he said slowly, "we got off on the wrong foot this morning."

"Maybe."

"A girl who knows how to handle the press... that's valuable." He studied me with new interest. "Very valuable. Perhaps we could discuss those arrangements again—"

"No." But I softened it with a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Parker."

The doors started to close. This time he let them.

Back in my room, the phone was ringing again. Deena, probably, having had time to stew on it all. But when I picked up, it was Jerry.

"Boss wanted you to know he saw what you did down there earlier. Says to tell you..." 

Word traveled fast in this crew. I filed that bit of information away for later use. 

He paused, and could hear him smiling somehow. He was choosing his words carefully, aware of who might be listening. "Says you did good."

My throat tightened. "He's still at the airport?"

"On his way back, I think. Photographers were everywhere, of course." Jerry's voice dropped lower. "Listen, about Memphis..." I heard other voices behind him. “Listen, I’ll call you back.”

*

Lamar materialized at my door. "Boss is here. Wants you to meet him out back. Service entrance. Less cameras."

Less cameras, but not no cameras. There were always cameras now.

I found Elvis leaning against his Cadillac in the service alley, still in that perfect green suit but somehow looking more rumpled. His glasses were off, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The pills had worn off again. I made a mental note to watch his use a little more carefully. Just in case.

"Hey," he said softly.

"How was the airport?"

"Like a damn circus." He rubbed his face. "We played it perfect, of course. Always do. All smiles and waves, right up until she got on that plane." He paused. "Heard you had your own circus down here."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Yeah." Something flickered in his expression. "Jerry told me what you said. About the gospel music."

"It's true, isn't it? We do share an interest."

"That all we share?"

The question hung between us like smoke. I thought about all those photographers, hungry for any hint of scandal. About the Colonel's calculating eyes. About Priscilla, perfect to the last moment.

"That's all they need to know," I said finally.

He studied me for a long moment, then pushed off from the car. In two strides he was there, his hands framing my face like he had in the suite. But this time he didn't stop.

The kiss was different than any we'd shared before - desperate, almost angry. Like he was trying to prove something. To me, to himself, to the whole damn world. His hands slid into my hair, messing it up.

When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"Inside," he muttered. "Now."

But before we could move, a flash went off at the end of the alley.

"Shit." Elvis turned, putting himself between me and the photographer. "Red! Sonny!"

The Memphis Mafia materialized from nowhere, intercepting the photographer who was already running. But we all knew it was too late.

Elvis's hands were shaking worse now. "Val, I—"

"Don't." I straightened my hair, tried to calm my racing heart. "We knew this would happen eventually."

"The Colonel's gonna—"

"Let me handle the Colonel."

He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Handle the Colonel? Baby, nobody handles the Colonel."

"I dunno.” I giggled like I knew something Elvis didn’t. “I kinda think he’s starting to like me.”

Another flash, this one from a different angle. Elvis swore under his breath.

"Get inside," he said. "I'll deal with this."

"Elvis—"

"Please." His voice cracked slightly. "Just... let me fix this. I can fix this."

But as I watched him stride toward the gathering photographers, all controlled power and perfect posture again, I wondered which version of "fixed" we were about to get.

*

Back in the hotel, everything moved fast. The Memphis Mafia scattered like pool balls after a break, each man with his own mission. Jerry was on the phone with newspapers, his voice smooth as silk: "No comment at this time." Red had the photographer's camera - though we all knew there had to be more photos out there. Lamar was coordinating with hotel security to lock down the service entrances. Sonny and Marty were watching the elevators on our floor.

And somewhere, the Colonel was planning.

I made it to the elevator before he found me.

"Inside." He didn't wait for my response, just steered me into the car with surprising strength for a man his age. The doors closed on us, and he hit the button for his floor.

"Mr. Parker—"

"Not one word." His voice was deadly quiet. "Not until we're in my office." So much for him starting to like me. 

The elevator seemed to crawl. Somewhere above us, that damn dove cooed - even it knew we were in trouble.

His office felt different now. All those Elvis images on the walls weren't just pictures anymore - they were warnings. See what I built? See what I can destroy?

"Sit."

This time, I sat.

"Now then." He lit a cigar with deliberate calm. "Let's discuss what happens next."

"Nothing happens next. It was just a kiss."

His laugh could have stripped paint. "Just a kiss? With a married man? In broad daylight? After you so carefully told those reporters you were 'just friends'?" He blew a perfect smoke ring. "No, my dear. This is what happens next: You're going to take a generous settlement and disappear. Back to Chicago, preferably. We'll spin it as a brief friendship, nothing more. Elvis was being kind to a fellow musician, just like you said. End of story."

"No." 

"No?" His eyebrows climbed. "Perhaps you didn't understand. This isn't a negotiation."

"You're right." I met his gaze. "It's not. Because there's nothing to negotiate. I’m not disappearing unless—"

"Then let me be clearer." He leaned forward. "Elvis Presley is more than a man. He's an industry. An empire. And that empire is built on certain... understandings. With his public. With his wife."

"His wife who lives in California?"

His mustache twitched. "A temporary arrangement."

"Like I'm supposed to be? Another 'temporary arrangement'?"

"Now you're beginning to understand."

“I’ll only go away if Elvis wants me to. I’d like to hear it from him, please.”

As if on cue, the phone on his desk rang. He answered it, listened, then held it out to me.

"For you. It's Elvis." His smile hadn't wavered. "He's going to tell you he's fixed everything. That there's a plan. A story we're going to tell." He paused. "The question is: are you going to play along?"

I took the phone, my hand steady despite everything.

"Elvis?"

"Baby, listen..." His voice was tight. "I know what to do. But you're not going to like it."

Behind his desk, the Colonel watched me like a snake watching a mouse. Some choices, I was learning, weren't really choices at all. But how you played them - that was everything.

"The story's simple," Elvis said, his voice tight with something between exhaustion and resignation. "You're my new backup singer. Been rehearsing in secret. That's why you're coming to Memphis. Professional opportunity, nothing more."

​​I watched the Colonel's satisfied smile grow behind his cigar smoke. Of course this was his idea - neat, clean, controllable. A story that would explain everything while revealing nothing.

"The kiss..." Elvis continued.

"Was gratitude," I finished, seeing the shape of it. "Excitement over the opportunity. A momentary celebration caught at an unfortunate angle."

"Yeah." He sounded tired. So tired. "Colonel's already got the contracts drawn up. Real ones, not just for show. You'll actually have to..."

"Sing backup?" I almost laughed. "Elvis, I've been singing my whole life."

"Yeah, but this is different. This is..."

"Playing a part?"

The silence on the line spoke volumes.

"It's a good solution," the Colonel cut in, clearly having heard every word on his extension. "Clean. Professional. Gives you a legitimate reason to be in Memphis, access to Graceland for rehearsals, everything you want. Just with... proper boundaries."

Proper boundaries. Right. Like the ones he'd established for all those other girls, the ones whose pictures didn't make it onto his wall of fame.

"There's one condition," Elvis said suddenly. "My condition, not the Colonel's."

I waited.

"You keep your own place. Like you wanted. No arrangements, no settlements. You do this as a professional, not as..."

Not as what? His mistress? His kept woman? Another Ann-Margret who got too close to the sun?

"Okay," I said.

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd expected more fight, more negotiation. But he didn't understand - I wasn't negotiating. I was playing chess.

"Just like that?" Elvis sounded surprised too.

"Just like that." I kept my voice level, professional. "When do we start rehearsals?"

What followed was a blur of activity. Contracts appeared as if by magic - the Colonel had probably had them ready since that first elevator ride. Throughout it all, I signed where I was told, smiled when expected, played the part of the grateful unknown singer getting her big break. 

Statements were prepared for the press. A schedule materialized for rehearsals, appearances, recordings. Something flickered in the old man’s eyes - recognition, maybe. Of what, I wasn't sure yet. 

It was late afternoon by the time everything was "handled." The photos from the alley had mysteriously vanished, though we all knew copies existed somewhere. The press had their official story. Even that damn dove seemed to have finally found somewhere else to roost.

"Perhaps," the Colonel said softly, "I underestimated you."

I smiled and headed back to my room.

*

Packing shouldn't have been hard. I hadn't brought much to Vegas in the first place. But somehow my belongings had multiplied, scattered across the suite like evidence of a life I hadn't planned on living.

"You'll want to pack light," Jerry said from the doorway. He'd appeared with coffee and what he called "Memphis wisdom," though I suspected he just didn't want me to be alone after the alley incident. "Graceland's got its own weather system. Nothing you bring is gonna make sense there anyway."

"Helpful, Jer. Real helpful." I held up two dresses - one Elvis had sent up last week, one I'd brought from Chicago. The difference in quality was almost embarrassing.

"Take both," he advised. "You'll need the fancy one for show, the real one to feel like yourself." He paused. "That's the trick, you know. For when everything else gets crazy."

I folded both dresses carefully, thinking about Elvis's books scattered across my bed, their margins filled with his handwritten notes. Questions, observations, searches for meaning in scientific formulas and ancient wisdom. I'd been packing them when Jerry arrived.

"Speaking of crazy," Red's voice came from the hall, "wait'll you meet the Memphis ladies." He joined Jerry in the doorway, looking oddly formal. "Got a whole briefing prepared for you about that."

"A briefing?"

"Those women are sharks in southern belle clothing," he said seriously. "Especially the ones who've had their eye on Elvis since high school. They're gonna hate you on principle."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Red."

"Just trying to prepare you." But his eyes were kind. "Though something tells me you can handle them just fine."

I picked up Elvis's jacket from the chair - the one I'd been wearing this morning when everything changed. His cologne still clung to it faintly, mixing with the gin stains from last night's party. Had that really been less than 24 hours ago?

"Leave the jacket," Jerry said quietly. "Trust me on that one."

Before I could respond, Lamar appeared behind Red and Jerry, making the doorway look like a Memphis Mafia convention.

"Y'all telling stories about Memphis?" He squeezed past them into the room. "Let me tell you about Elvis's first day at Graceland. There he is, king of the world, right? And he can't figure out how to work the dang intercom system. Kept accidentally broadcasting everything to the whole house. And I mean everything." He winked. "Including some very private conversations with very private guests, if you know what I mean."

"Lamar," Jerry warned.

"What? She should know what she's getting into! Place is like a funhouse sometimes. Secret passages, hidden doors, two-way windows - Elvis had them put in during renovations. Says it's for security, but really he just likes playing hide and seek."

I tried to picture it - Elvis Presley, the king of rock and roll, playing hide and seek in his mansion. What would he need a two-way window for? Yet, somehow it wasn't hard to imagine at all.

The phone rang, making us all jump. The Memphis Mafia exchanged glances.

"That'll be your pal again," Jerry said. "She's called four times."

I stared at the phone. "How do you know?"

"We know everything, honey." Red smiled. "Part of the job."

I picked up the receiver. Sure enough: "Val? Finally! I've been trying to call you back all day!"

The Memphis Mafia made themselves scarce, but not before Jerry mouthed "be careful" and tapped his ear - reminding me that in Vegas, walls had ears and phones had extensions.

"Dee." I cut her off, gentle but firm. "I need you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?"

A pause. Then, quieter: "Yeah."

"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But I need you to trust me when I say that what's in those papers... it's not the whole story. And I need you to not tell anyone anything beyond what's already out there. Can you do that for me?"

The silence stretched so long I thought we'd been disconnected. Finally: "This is really serious, isn't it?"

"Yeah." I twisted the phone cord around my finger. "It really is."

"But you're okay? You're being careful?"

I thought about the Colonel's offer, about Elvis's message through Jerry, about all the delicate threads I was trying to navigate.

"I'm trying to be."

"Val, a backup singer? Really? That's the story they're going with?"

I started folding a sweater, phone cradled against my shoulder. "That's the truth they're going with."

She caught the emphasis. "Oh. Oh." A pause. "So we're not talking about the real truth yet?"

"Not yet."

Another pause. Then: "Okay. But Valerie?"

"Yeah?"

"When you can tell me... when it's safe... you'll tell me everything?"

"Everything I can," I promised. "Just... not yet."

After I hung up, I found Elvis's books again. Opening one at random, I found a passage underlined: "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." In the margin, his handwriting asked: "But what if you're living multiple truths?"

*

A knock at the door made me look up. Elvis stood there, looking somehow both perfect and wrecked. His hair was immaculate but his eyes were tired behind his glasses.

"Hey," he said softly. He took in the scene - the half-packed suitcases, the scattered books, his jacket still draped over the chair.

"Need help packing?"

"I’m almost done. Just trying to figure out what belongs in Memphis and what should stay in Vegas."

He understood the real question. Moving into the room, he picked up one of his books. "Take ‘em all," he said. "We can read them together at Graceland. When things are... quiet."

"Does it get quiet there?"

"Sometimes. Late at night, or early morning. When everyone else is asleep." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my packing. "It's different than here. Better in some ways, harder in others."

"Because of Priscilla?"

"Because of everything." He rubbed his face. "You know she redecorated the whole place when we got married? Made it exactly what she thought it should be."

"Nothing wrong with that, Elvis. That’s what women do." I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah but now it's like living in a museum sometimes. Even the air feels..." He trailed off.

"Curated?"

"Yeah." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "That's what I love about you, you know? You always find the right words."

"That why you kissed me? In the alley?"

His hands tightened on the book he was holding. "I kissed you because I couldn't not kiss you anymore."

The air between us felt electric, dangerous.

"Baby—"

"I know." He stood up abruptly. "I know we can't. Not now. Not with everything..." He gestured vaguely. "But in Memphis. When things settle… God, Valley Cat, I can’t wait to…”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever he might have said next. Joe stuck his head in.

"Boss? Car's ready whenever you are. And the Colonel wants—"

"Tell the Colonel I'll be there when I'm there." For once, Elvis's voice held an edge of real authority. I liked it.

Joe disappeared. Elvis turned back to me.

"I have to go. More appearances, more pictures, more..." He shrugged. "You know."

"I know."

He moved to the door, then stopped. "The backup singer story... I'm sorry about that. I know it's not what you wanted."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. But it's what we've got." He smiled slightly. "For now."

After he left, I continued packing. The books went in first - all of them, even the ones I hadn't read yet. Then the dresses, both fancy and plain. But the jacket... Jerry was right. The jacket stayed behind.

The sun was setting over Vegas, painting the desert in shades of pink and gold. From my window, I could see photographers still lingering near the hotel entrance. Four weeks ago, I'd stood at this same window, watching Elvis's world from the outside. Now I was part of it, for better or worse.

A familiar coo made me look up. That damn dove was perched on my windowsill, looking remarkably pleased with itself.

"You're not coming to Memphis," I told it firmly.

It just cooed again, like it knew something I didn't.

Maybe it did.

*

I was deep in dreamless sleep when the knock came. So faint I almost missed it. For a moment I thought it was part of the dream, until it came again. Soft, uncertain, not like Elvis's usual confident rap.

When I opened the door, he was leaning against the frame, pajama shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. His hair, usually perfect, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly young.

"Hey songbird," he slurred slightly. "Can I... can I come in?"

I hesitated. I'd never seen him this far gone before.

He swayed a little, caught himself. "Please?" His voice cracked on the word. "Just need... need somewhere quiet. Need you."

Something in my chest twisted at the naked vulnerability in his voice. I stepped aside to let him in. He made it three steps before stumbling. I caught him, guided him to the nearest chair.

"Everything's spinning," he mumbled, letting his head fall back. "Doctor Nick gave me something new. Said it would help with the... with the..." He gestured vaguely at his head. "But it's not... I can't..."

"Shh," I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "It's okay."

"No." He caught my hand, pressed it to his cheek. "Not okay."

He pulled me down onto his lap, hands clumsy but insistent as they found the zipper of my nightgown. "Need you," he mumbled against my neck. "Been needing you so long..."

For a moment, I let myself feel it - the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, everything I'd been dreaming about since that first elevator ride. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't manage the zipper. His words slurred together as he tried to kiss me and missed.

"Not like this," I said softly, catching his hands. "Not when you're not yourself."

"But I am myself," he insisted, eyes struggling to focus. "Love you. I love you."

My heart stopped. "Elvis, you're not—"

"No." He pressed his forehead to mine, suddenly intense. "This is right. I love you. Been trying not to but I do."

His voice broke on the last word and suddenly he was crying - silent tears sliding down his perfect face. Without thinking, I gathered him to me, cradling his head against my chest. He curled into me like a child, all that powerful frame somehow becoming small and lost.

"It's okay," I whispered, rocking him slowly. "I've got you."

I held him like that for what felt like hours, studying his face in the dim light. The thick fan of his lashes wet with tears. The vulnerable curve of his mouth. The slight tremor in his jaw that betrayed how hard he was fighting for control.

Something shifted in my chest - a fierce protectiveness mixing with a love so deep it almost scared me. I wanted to be needed by him. Wanted to be the one who could hold him like this, who could see him at his most vulnerable and love him more for it, not less.

"M'sorry," he mumbled eventually. "Didn't mean to... to fall apart like that."

"Don't be sorry." I wiped his cheeks gently. "Ever."

He caught my hand, pressed a clumsy kiss to my palm. "Still coming to Memphis? Even after seeing me like this?"

"Especially after seeing you like this."

We made our slow way to his suite, him leaning heavily on my shoulder. The halls were empty - the Memphis Mafia mysteriously absent. Maybe they knew to give him this privacy. This moment of absolute vulnerability.

At his door, he turned to me. For a second, his eyes cleared.

"Meant it," he said softly. "About loving you."

"I know." I touched his cheek. "But tell me again tomorrow when you're you."

"Promise you'll still be here tomorrow?"

"Promise."

I waited until his door closed before letting out the breath I'd been holding. The empty hallway suddenly felt very long, very quiet. We'd have to talk about the pills eventually. About limits and boundaries and all the things that could go wrong. But not tonight.

Tonight, I just wanted to remember the weight of him in my arms. The trust it took for him to let me see him like this. The way my heart had cracked and mended and grown when he'd said he loved me, even through the chemical haze.

Because somewhere between that first elevator ride and this moment, between Vegas glamour and raw need, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him. Not Elvis Presley the star, but this complicated, brilliant, troubled man who read numerology and cried in my arms and trusted me to get him home safe.

I wasn't going anywhere.

*

Morning came too soon. The hotel staff who'd barely noticed me four weeks ago now watched my every move, their eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The maids whispered in corners. The bellhops suddenly knew my name. Even the woman who'd cleaned my room every day, Marie, looked at me differently as she helped pack my final items.

"You take care," she said softly, folding my last dress. "It's not like Vegas there."

The front desk clerk who'd checked me in that first day - Brenda, still blizzard-cold - handed me my final bill with a knowing smile. "So. Backup singer?"

I just smiled, remembering how she'd dismissed me a month ago. How I'd been nobody then - just another hopeful in a city full of them. Now I was somebody. Or at least, I was somebody's somebody.

Elvis had left earlier, his departure orchestrated by the Colonel down to the last detail. Priscilla was already in Memphis, preparing Graceland. I would fly commercial, arrive hours after them. Keep up appearances. Play the part.

I wasn't to go near Graceland, not yet. Not while Priscilla was there. The Colonel had made that crystal clear - I was to find an apartment far away from Graceland until... until what? Until Priscilla left? Until some arbitrary waiting period passed? Until the scandal died down? I felt caught in limbo, neither here nor there.

My stomach churned with guilt as I thought about her. How must she feel, knowing her husband's... what was I exactly? Mistress seemed too tawdry, girlfriend too simple for whatever this complex thing between Elvis and me was becoming. But whatever I was, I was coming to her town, into her world. Sure, Elvis swore their marriage was over, that she had her own life in California now. But she was still his wife. Still the woman whose home I was effectively invading, even if I wouldn't be living under her roof.

My cheeks burned with shame. Part of me wanted to do right by her - maybe even eventually talk to her, explain... what? That I loved her husband? That I couldn't help myself? That I believed him when he said they were done?

But another part of me bristled at feeling guilty at all. If they really were separated, if she really was building a new life in California, why shouldn't I be with Elvis? Why shouldn't I take this chance with him?

I made a mental note to find out the truth about their marriage - not from Elvis, whose view was complicated by pills and promises, but from someone who would know. Maybe Jerry. Maybe Red. Someone who could tell me if divorce was really on the horizon or if I was just another chapter in Elvis' story of extramarital adventures.

The press lingered outside despite the early hour, their cameras ready. I spotted the one who'd caught us in the alley - he had the decency to look slightly ashamed when our eyes met.

Red appeared at my elbow as I headed for the cab. "Ready?"

"No."

He laughed. "Nobody ever is."

Looking up at the International's gleaming façade, I remembered that first day. How overwhelming it had all seemed. How impossible. I'd been so naive then, thinking talent and determination were enough. Now I knew better. Now I knew about pills and promises, about public faces and private truths, about loving someone so completely that even their broken pieces felt precious.

A familiar coo made me look up one last time. That damn dove sat on the hotel awning, watching my departure like it had watched everything else.

"Still here?" I called up to it.

Red followed my gaze. "Tom's trying to catch it, you know. Says it's his responsibility."

"Tell him to let it be." I smiled. "Some things aren't meant to be caught."

The cab pulled up. Red loaded my bags while I took one last look at the Strip, already shimmering in the heat. Somewhere up there was the elevator where it all began. The suite where Elvis had cried in my arms last night. The lobby where I'd first heard him laugh.

"Miss?" The driver was waiting.

I slid into the back seat, letting Vegas fall away behind me. In a few hours, I'd be in Memphis. In Graceland. In Elvis's world for real.

The morning sun caught my reflection in the cab window. I looked different somehow. Older, maybe. Or just... more. More aware. More certain. More myself.

"Airport," I told the driver. Then, softer, more to myself than anyone: "Time to see what Memphis has in store."

As we pulled away, I could have sworn I heard one last coo from above. A goodbye, maybe. Or a warning.

Either way, there was no turning back now.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather  @atleastpleasetelephone @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[yesimwriting]

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”

[rebo-chan]

Sorry y'all this one's gonna be a long one lol fun analysis/theorizing/headcanoning whatever the fuck this is under the cut :)

So, lately I've been really thinking about Lambo and Tsuna's relationship, Lambo's connection to Vongola, and Lambo's spot as the Lightning Guardian. I know as a fandom, we tend to disregard Lambo because he has like.. two fights in the whole series or wish that someone else was made the Lightning Guardian because that boy is Literally Five. And I won't act like it wouldn't have been cool to see another character as Lightning Guardian (My Haru Guardian fans rise up where are you) but I think what Amanos done here is really fun too from an analysis perspective.

To start with, Tsuna's family is not really a..traditional Mafia family or even a traditional Vongola family either. Let's look at this here, he's got his Two Best Friends(TM), his crush's big brother, the leader of the Disciplinary Committee at his school, a criminal, a half dead girl, and the aforementioned five year old as his guardians. This is FAR from what's likely expected out of the Vongola family, even when you date it back to Primo AT LEAST PRIMO HAD PRINCES, PRIESTS, SAMURAIS as his guardians. (Though he gets away with having One Best Friend (TM) as his guardian.) Yet somehow, their family makes it work!! They survive the Mafia world, multiple times throughout the series and when it's not working they get stronger as a unit and they fight for each other and make it out together. And I think that's the beauty of their specific family.

So then you have Lambo, who Tsuna would do anything for just to avoid Lambo having to experience a fraction of the shit they go through. And Tsuna actually SUCCEEDS at this, he doesn't normally succeed when it comes to being avoidant of Mafia stuff but this was something throughout the series that he was so genuinely adamant against. He only let Lambo fight when he truly had to and even then he very minimally let the Mafia world wrap its greedy paws around Lambo. Kokuyo arc, Tsuna didn't even sort of kind of a little bit consider taking Lambo with them (which would later help keep Kyoko and Haru safe), Varia arc, knowing that this would disqualify him, Tsuna decided he could not allow Lambo to keep fighting.

Future Arc, Tsuna kept Lambo out of the fight as much as he could, allowing the non-fighters to take care of him and I-pin. Shimon Arc, Tsuna felt real regret at the prospect that he allowed Lambo to come.

(And Arco arc where Lambo was hardly present at either, which I'd like to imagine that if Lambo was involved in Arco arc then Tsuna may have just absolutely fucking died)

Tsuna to Lambo is not his guardian (Frankly, he doesn't view any of his guardians as such, they are his friends, his pride, his comrades, and those he has traded blows with and knows they can be trusted.) Lambo to Tsuna is his little brother. This five year old was sent on an assassination attempt that was absolutely in no circumstance meant to actually succeed and the Bovinos know that. To send Lambo to assassinate the strongest hitman was a death mission. So, Tsuna took this child in (or rather this child stuck around bc his Mom makes banger meals) and immediately Tsuna assumes the role of his brother. Lambo and Tsuna are the closest out of all the kids. (Ofc Tsuna loves I-pin and fuuta too, but I think it's safe to say Lambo is his dumb little brother)

Now, I don't think that Tsuna is ever going to see Lambo as anything but his little brother. I actually theorize that the way TYL Lambo is the way he is because Tsuna never really got out of the habit of babying him. He's calmed down since he was a kid and developed a more nonchalant personality with the occasional tantrum because you can't tell me Tsuna DOESNT STILL view TYL Lambo as a non-combatant. When Tsunas 15, he looks at 5 year old Lambo and goes no thanks that boy is never touching a weapon in his life. When Tsunas is 25, he sees 15 year Lambo and goes that is STILL a child he is never touching a weapon in his life. And yes he's completely unaware of the hypocrisy in my head.

This is a spoiled little brother no one can tell me otherwise.

So we know Tsuna just sees him as his kid brother and not a real guardian. But then you have Lambo's feelings about the whole matter. We know that Lambo doesn't really consider Tsuna a boss but as his big brother, but I don't think that changes a lot for Lambo. While fighting is scary for Lambo, he still desires to follow alongside Tsuna and his friends. He doesn't want to be left behind and makes Tsuna promise him he'll take him wherever he goes. He sees Tsuna freaking out about him being a child in a battlefield and he goes, "No you don't understand, I want to be there."

And that? That right there is what fucks me up after everything. Lambo as a concept for a Lightning Guardian feels really unique because of this. He's the youngest one. He's always going to chase after the others, trying to keep up with them, to walk alongside them. One day, he wants to catch up and be considered a rightful Guardian like the others. And that is so... Tsuna and him would be batting heads over this because I cannot see Tsuna relenting on Lambo staying out of the battle. I cannot see Tsuna ever feeling like Lambo's ready. Not because he thinks Lambo is weak, but because Lambo's his baby brother and Tsuna needs him more away from the battle or else he can't focus.

While Tsuna doesn't react outwardly in this frame, I do think it's not a coincidence that he could focus on fighting the battle and not be "impatient" as Reborn put it, the moment he saw Gokudera and Hibari on the battlefield. He could focus easier knowing his friends were running around saving Lambo and co.

Okay, so you have the Big brother who wants to protect his little brother from seeing the same stuff he does, from fighting the same battles he does, and wants him to grow up as a regular kid (a right which he had been robbed off the moment a certain hitman showed up at his door). Then you have the little brother who wants wholeheartedly to be there, desires to catch up to his big brother and know the world that his big brother knows.

How does this difference in value get addressed? well it doesn't because Lambo is still 5 and Shounen jump are cowards for ending Amanos series when they did <3 B U T we have this.

We all know this scene for when we rewatched Reborn for the first and went "..wait.." because that was some actually sweet foreshadowing from Amano. Okay, so. We have a Lambo who finally did it. Finally is someone worthy of being called the Vongola Lightning Guardian. And Tsuna and co are implied to have just been... Gone. All of Tsuna's efforts to raise this kid in a regular life are ripped away because something happens to HIM, not Lambo. And from Lambo's perspective, he's caught up finally but the person he was following isn't around anymore. He didn't think he'd see him again. I think it's safe to assume that this scene either implies that something happens to Tsuna in his 30s (since we know he wasn't actually dead TYL) OR 20yl Lambo is from a parallel world where Byakuran had actually won and actually took Tsunas life.

And I think that's some real meat to bite into for these characters. A little brother who will lose his big brother if he doesn't do something, get stronger in time. A big brother who won't let him join the battle because he's afraid of losing HIS little brother. A Vongola Lightning Guardian who wants to be a shield for his Boss, and a Boss won't let him be a shield.

And that? That's a good concept for a Vongola Lightning Guardian.

Thank you for reading this far if you did :] this is a bit of a ramble but I was thinking about it and I felt it nice to share. I hope maybe I shared some of my brain worms with you <3

[amourningcrow]

Late game spoilers, particulary about Varric! I wasn't able to put this into words before, but now that I've had some time, I think I can actually talk about it. It's a little long though.

I tried to start a new playthrough three times now, but I can't even make it to the ritual site without breaking down. It is, frankly, embarrassing.

But Varric means so, so much to me. I knew deep down that he wouldn't make it out of this alive - that he even survived past DA2 was a surprise to me. The man's got tragic death written all over him! But I still wish we had gotten some more out of him. Some more interactions with the companions, more banter, more relationship dynamics. We never even found out what he would have called the others! (Aside from Neve, who was 'Slick', apparently.)

This isn't even a criticism of the writing! I think it makes sense and fits his character, sadly. (Though it's also the first time they actually managed to make me hate Solas, which is quite a feat.) It's just me being heartbroken about one of - or maybe even my ultimate - comfort character. I played DA2 (and the others, too, but DA2 holds a special place in my heart in this regard) during a time in my life where I was very much just... lost, I guess. God. I think I actually felt physical fucking grief when I went through the Fade prison scene? I was shaking and sobbing the whole time and I don't know if I have it in me again.

I'm a bookseller by trade and Varric loving stories always resonated with me. He's often reduced to being the sarcastic sidekick, but I love all his aspects and complexities so very dearly.

The son who didn't ever quite fit in with the society he grew up in, who couldn't hold up to his parent's expectations and so instead refused to be tied down by them, but still had a deep love for his family.

The man who was so tragically in love with a woman he couldn't have that he made her his little secret, keeping Bianca's identity even from his best friends. Who probably still didn't let go of his yearning all those years later, maybe because it was easier than opening up and getting hurt again.

The one who was always bickering with Cassandra, this steely woman he was always at odds with, but still wrote her a continuation for his romance series he didn't even think was good because beneath all of his veneer, he still cared.

Who was presented with this half-spirit half-boy and saw just a squirrely kid who needed some help to find his place in the world. (And yeah, this is special to me. Because god damn it, I never had someone like that growing up, and I would have given all my limbs and a kidney for it.)

Who was so, so full of compassion himself, despite all the shit the world had already thrown at him.

I don't know. Maybe I just have a thing for people who try to lock their hurt away so not even they, themselves, have to confront it. (Maybe because I'm a little like that myself and maybe that's why I like Lucanis so much, as well. Damn you, Mary Kirby.)

But anyway. Sorry for the vent. I just needed someplace to share this, I guess. I don't know what to do with this hole in my chest, but props to Bioware (and damn you again, Mary Kirby) for putting it there, because it's definitely not normal for me to care this much. I wasn't even this sad when I had to leave my Hawke in the Fade. Maybe they'll finally find each other again, wherever they are now 💔

[animentality]

Re Gortash’s parents: you ever think about the fact that in all the years since he’s been free of the hells- a couple of decades, likely- he hasn’t killed them? He hasn’t used his connections to ruin their business? Didn’t ask or let slip to Durge that no one would miss them, certainly not any children these poor cobblers might have had? I find it so interesting. For all we know, he’s had contact with them in the interim, maybe hoping against hope that they’d finally see him as worthy of love. And when they never did… well. That’s what the tadpoles were for.

I actually think that he didn't visit them until he had the tadpoles and the absolute plan.

They act as though he just showed up one day, after years of simply being gone, and tadpoled them, and that makes a lot of sense, actually.

Because consider this:

As a kid, your parents are your entire world. They shape literally everything about you, whether you become exactly like them or act out deliberately to be their total opposite.

They shape your world view and how you see men and women and relationships. They teach you how to react to pain, they teach you what pain is, and how to fix it, they teach you patience, they teach you understanding.

Or not.

So my theory is that Gortash never bothered his parents until he got the tadpoles for two reasons.

1) the pain he must've felt after being sold, and after years of being tortured by Raphael, was too great for him to bear revisiting. We know from how he talks to Karlach that he minimizes and condescends and pretends that being enslaved doesn't hurt, isn't a betrayal, isn't an awful thing.

Why do you call it awful? I was enslaved once. I didn't care.

His parents taught him early on, and it was reinforced by a devil who literally bargains with souls, that people are just bargaining chips.

They're tools, to be used and traded and discarded when they're no longer useful.

So why would he go back to his parents, even if it was to ruin their lives?

Because that would be admitting that they hurt him. That would be admitting he needed closure.

A strong man doesn't need to visit his parents and ask why they didn't want him.

And 2)

He is a fucking liar. We know he's a liar.

If he truly didn't care, he wouldn't have tadpoled his parents. He wouldn't be tormenting his mother, by forcing her to pretend that she'd never sell her son to a devil. He wouldn't have erased his father completely.

There is no reason at all to tadpole a couple of fucking cobblers.

But he's holding onto it, and like any megalomaniacal man child with parental issues, he's pushing it down and pretending he doesn't care, when it still hurts.

And that's why I don't think he visited them until he had tadpoles to use on them.

Part of him wouldn't want to re-live his past. Part of him would be terrified of being helpless again.

Of feeling powerless.

Abusive and neglectful parents often fill their children with terror.

Even as adults, abused children still remember that fear. It's settled deep within their guts, and they feel a flicker of it every time a partner raises their voice or a friend screams at them.

Gortash didn't visit his parents because he needed to feel powerful first.

He needed to know he could go back, and not become Enver, that sniveling little boy who used to cry every night in the hells for his mom and dad, who were the only reason he was ever there in the first place.

He needed to be Lord Gortash.

Chosen of Bane.

And...he needed the tadpoles.

He needed to make his parents helpless.

So that he wouldn't feel that way, ever again.

So they say empty platitudes. Truthfully, I don't know if he cares about impressing them anymore.

To me, it's more about...eliminating all traces of Enver Flymm from the world.

Letting that little boy die in the hells...

So in short, anon...no, I don't think he visited them ever.

Not until he had the means to keep them totally helpless.

I also doubt the dark urge ever knew about them, until they tadpoled them, maybe.

Because why would Enver want the dark urge to ever know that there was a time when he was not the Chosen of Bane, the mighty tyrant, the equal of the Child of Murder?

Enver wouldn't just be embarrassed. He'd despise the Dark Urge seeing him that way.

He refuses to look weak or tolerate weakness.

That includes his own.

[jasmyluv]

042. An end of another chapter with you

wc: 1075

Graduation.

A day most people either dread or dream of their whole high school life, you included.

A few weeks ago, you got called to the principal’s office for the first time, to everyone's surprise. It wasn’t long till a rumor of you doing something bad spread like wildfire. Were you expelled? Suspended? Caught doing who knows what?

Quite the opposite actually. You sit on the chair in front of the principal, nervously waiting for what he has to say.

“Ms. [Last name], I’m sorry if I excused you from your class, but I think you’re going to want to hear this.”

Huh?

“What is it, sir?” You ask eagerly. Is it what you think it is?

“I am proud to say that you, [Name] [Last name], is this batch’s valedictorian for Academic Year 2022 to 2023. Congratulations,” he says with a wide smile on his face.

Yes.

Finally, you achieved what you’ve been dreaming all your life, to hear your name with valedictorian is something that you have been waiting for. It is to this that the sleepless nights are worth it. You wanted to jump up and down and squeal, but you needed to keep your composure.

“I see! Thank you, sir! Now, if I may, I will need to go to class now,” You say hurriedly, standing up out of excitement.

“Well, alright. Please prepare your valedictorian speech for graduation. Congratulations again,” You smile at the words that came out of his mouth. You quickly speed-walked to class, entering it as if nothing happened.

Now, here you were, awaiting for your name to be called, your hands, shaking. You couldn’t explain how nervous you were, you forgot that you hated speaking in front of large crowds.

“Please welcome [Name] [Last name], your Academic Year 2022 to 2023 batch’s valedictorian,” the speaker called as everyone clapped and cheered. This was the moment you’ve been waiting for all your life. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

You walk to the podium, your speech in your hand and a mic in front of you.

“Hello everyone. Welcome to my batch’s graduation ceremony. I would first like to say that I am proud of each and every graduate here today. I can not express how I’m so happy to have been with every single one of you throughout my journey through high school. The only reason why I am here is because of the unrelenting support of my friends and family, I can not thank them enough. As they know, I’m not the best at speaking in front of large crowds, much less the parents and loved ones of many graduates. So, I will be using a trick that I learned from a show called “Young Sheldon”, to only deliver that speech to this one person.

To this person, I know you know who you are. You have taught me to be the best version of myself in the very short period of time that we have been together. You were there when I cried because there were times I couldn’t do it anymore. You were there when I was at my happiest. You were there when I was just there. We’ve competed with each other many times over grades, scores, and who can finish their research paper the fastest. But, I wouldn't trade it for even the most expensive diamond in the world. This person taught me to just be myself, to be happy. I know it’s such a silly phrase, cliché maybe. But, you taught me that to be happy is the best thing that you can do in this world full of unending consequences and the worst things you couldn’t even believe happens. You taught me to just be happy through it all because you can’t control fate, so you just let it happen.

To be happy is to be the best, your best, you said. Soon, if you just keep smiling and look at the better side of things, then you’ll be happier than you were before. Sure, you will cry, get angry, fear many things, but know that all of that is temporary. Soon, you will find that something that will make you smile. Soon, you will find that someone who you will giggle about just thinking about them. And, do not get me wrong, maybe it will take years until you find it, but when you will, you will be happier than you ever were before. So, if any one of my fellow graduates aren’t at your happiest right now, know that you will get through this feeling, know that you will feel better because I can’t even begin to think what every single one of us will be doing in the future. So, just as a very popular artist once said, as long as we are fortunate enough to be breathing, we will breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out (Swift, 2022). Believe me, we will get through it. Thank you and have a good day,” as you walked to the place where the graduates were, behind the podium, everyone stood up and clapped, some of the graduates even teared up at your speech. You look at the person who you dedicated your speech to, Scaramouche, you smile as your heart flutters with excitement.

After the graduation, you met up with your friends, exchanging “congratulations” with each other.

“Oh my God, [Name]! That was the best best speech I have ever heard in my entire life! It almost made me cry!” Yoimiya exclaims as she hugs you.

“Haha! Thanks, Yoi,”

“[Name], I have a question,” Ayaka says.

“Go for it,”

“Who did you dedicate your speech to?” She asks, everyone looking at you as they await your response.

“Well-“

“[Nameee],” a male voice cuts you off, you immediately recognize who it is. You turn around and smile at the sight. Scaramouche with a bouquet of roses in his hands, covering himself with them.

“Speak of the devil. Kunii! How are you, my love? Did you cry at my speech?” You ask as he gives you the flowers. You friends finally know who your speech was about. So, they leave you two alone.

“Cocky of you to think I’d cry. I’m alright, congratulations [Name],” he says. He most certainly did cry. You hug him tight. “Thanks, Kuni, love you,” your words were muffled, but he still heard it, nonetheless. He hugs you back, returning the “I love you.”

- College -

previous :: MASTERLIST

Of all people… - scaramouche x fem!reader smau

SYNOPSIS When you, a student who finds her best friend admits the terrors of high school. A best friend who’ve you’d hated ever since he left. Of all people, why was he the one to make you swoon, a person you swore to hate?

Fun facts!

Albedo was the salutatorian

yes that's trade L

[Name]'s pfp is my dog :))

The speech is inspired by young sheldon HUJEWUHAHA

Tag list;

@yourstrulykore @sakiimeo @ttoshiiroz @lxry-chxn @stopandget-help @r0ttenhearts @h-8chi @thenightsflower @killuixz @linn-a-a @vodkistt @raideneiari @yuyan @layla240 @barbatosfavouritenun @plinkuro @taikabae @beriiov @ghostxrism @rifran @elakari @kairxse @belovedxiao @alwaysmentallyill @mellowknightcolorfarm @xingyunclouds @scooofyaei @nambii @scaraapologist @samyayaya @kunikuzushisbeloved @dee-zbignuts @kaekazuha04 @monochromaticelliot @erosdevil @wisteriarain @kaoyamamegami @dazaiswifenicole @phoenix-eclipses @vivinsoul @vuvulia @r4yyyyy @cinnamontimecrunch @whatamidoing89 @aludicpoet @cindywasneverhere @vvasant @st0pthatsgay @kxr0mi @divinechicha @sketcheeee @wonderful-worlds

A/n:

the long awaited last chapter!!!! kinda sad it's ending since I've been doing this series since november 2022. Thank you to everyone who supported this series, I hope you loved it as much as I loved making it!! Get ready for more fics and Call you mine to come <3

[glassprism]

hey there! i just read your post about musical bootlegs, and you mentioned that some filmers just disappeared. do you have any examples? i'd love to learn more about the history of bootlegging

Oh, that would probably be a really long list. I'll just note some of the most well-known ones that occurred during my time trading (so post-2011), whether within the trading community or in Phantom. Keep in mind too that some filmers disappear for a long while only to make a return; I won't be listing them since they're still around in some form. I'm also not going to name many of them because, well, safety, but you might be able to tell who they are based on the bootlegs I list as theirs.

One of the first is a filmer who filmed, among other things, the last show of Phantom's 3rd national tour, the video of Chris Mann and Katie Travis in Phantom, and the complete video of Dallas's modernized version of Les Miserables. They're well known to me because they actually posted their releases on Tumblr for a time, only to get harassed out because people kept yelling at them for bootlegging or selling bootlegs. They disappeared shortly thereafter; not sure if it's related to what happened to them on Tumblr, but it was a loss because I believe they were situated on the West Coast, whereas most other US filmers are in the East Coast, around Broadway, so we lost someone who could film productions in LA, San Francisco, and the tours.

Another who disappeared shortly thereafter was someone who was, well, a prolific filmer of many shows on Broadway and occasionally tours all over the US and was active since at least the mid-2000s. If you've watched, I don't know, the Cooper Grodin restaged tour videos, the original Broadway cast of Hamilton, the original Broadway cast of the 2nd revival of Les Miserables, any of those, you've seen their videos. From what I've gathered, they experienced some personal issues that caused them to take a break from filming and they have not returned since.

Also happening around the same period of time was another, mainly Broadway-based filmer who also did a few videos on the West End. (They filmed a video of Ben Crawford with Ali Ewoldt as well as the video of David Thaxton and Kelly Mathieson.) My recollection is that this person experienced a lot of leaks of their videos, causing them to take stricter and stricter measures in an effort to stop that, which culminated in them leaving altogether. Them leaving along with the two above contributed in some part to the dearth of bootlegs you see in the... late 2010s or so, at least with Phantom, because they were some of the most prolific filmers around. It wouldn't be until after COVID-19 that I saw a resurgence of filmers on Broadway.

Going back in time a bit! If you ever look at trading lists, you might see that there are a lot, and I mean a lot, of videos from the Broadway production of Phantom from 2012-2015 or so. That's almost entirely due to two filmers who were also very active on Tumblr and were based in NYC and went quite often to catch various understudies, swings, and unusual cast combinations. Both have since left filming, though in their case, it's at least partially because they're working in the theater industry in some capacity now.

And onto more depressing cases... there were a couple of filmers based in Europe, I think Germany or Austria, though they definitely made trips to other countries. They filmed several of the Phantom Hamburg revival videos, a lot of Elisabeth videos, and a number of the West End Les Miserables videos (if you see one that's heavily focused on Anton Zetterholm - yeah, that's one of theirs, that filmer was a fan). Unfortunately both were... I think either arrested or had their homes raided (or both) and collections confiscated, and while I think they were released, you can bet that put them off filming.

Finally and most recently, that I know of, the filmer who got the one complete video of Jonathan Roxmouth in the World Tour was caught and has not done any filming since, obviously. That was a shame as well because they had been planning to get more videos of the World Tour with the various alternates and understudies, but of course that never happened.

So that's a few, there's way more around, but I was just trying to think of some of the most prolific recorders around.

[misfitclassismyfreetherapy]

Clara Appreciation Post

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I'm making this as contribution to Mairuma Manga's chapter 304

I'm surprised no one said shit on how Clara saved the day with her optimistic and fun personality. Honestly it was unexpected but also unsurprising and comforting that Clara was the one who stopped them. I genuinely thought Ameri was the one who would interrupt but you know, nevermind.

Also it makes sense in a way, Nishi didn't want to make Clara feel left out in the situation so she dropped the bomb (cliffhanger) on us so we would want to remember and look forward to what happened next and that's when Clara came in. The love trio does have to stick together afterall.

So without further a do here are 5 things I love about Clara Valac! Our adorable little charming playful demon!

Clara's amazing nicknames

These three being the dorks that I wouldn't trade for the world.

Like literally Azz-azz and Irumachi sounds so cute wtf- and like other nicknames Eggy-sensei. It reflects her personality well and actually makes her unique. ( I want to say quirky but it sounds weird so no. )

Her voice actor is also delivering her lines incredibly accurate also her voice actor is also known to voice Valac's entire family. Now that's what I called fucking talent. Since we're getting off-topic, let's move on to the next one.

2. Clara's overlooked selflessness.

I hate seeing Clara cry but I have to like put an image to showcase her selfishness.

You know how the netherworld always say that there are rarely other demons who would care for other people than themselves? If Clara was selfish, she wouldn't care for the other demons consent and she could easily force them to play with her.

But no, she wanted people to play with her with consent. She wants the other demon have fun as much as she has. There are many things that she could do but didn't because she cares for other demons feelings. She is a rare demon that wants to play and both side to have fun.

3. Clara has no doubt that Azz-kun and Iruma loves her.

Her eyes shine with utter confidence.

I don't need to explain much just-

Read this amazing post.

Totally not because I'm lazy. Also credits to @somayants for this masterpiece  🛐 .

4. Clara's unique family.

Shit I forgot the fucking twins-and the fucking brother-

Adorable as fuck. Wholesome as fuck. Cute as fuck.

Also her mum is such a MILF /j

Basically Clara's emotional support team besides the misfit class.

That's all I have to say.

Now I saved my best for last...

5. Clara's patience and endurance.

This is just adorable-

Clara's patience and endurance is honestly so admirable. I kinda lost count on the times, she endured being left out. We know well that Clara loves Iruma and Azz-kun so much that she doesn't want to ever get separated from them.

So the fact that she endured the clinginess of hers and have patience is so amazing of her. She truly does act like the role of the big sister sometimes. Honestly this is probably one of the few things that Clara does better than Azz-kun because let's be honest, he wouldn't last two weeks of separation from Iruma ( without training that is.).

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ENDING

You can tell I lost motivation halfway through that but I really want to finish this so people could appreciate Clara more for who she is, and we wouldn't want to change her for anything.

Also if through chapter 304 I made this as a #ClaraValacAppreciation post. I just made that hashtag myself cause I'm an antisocial idiot.

But if you want to join in on the appreciation of Clara you can! By using this hashtag.

(This is probably gonna flop but I honestly don't care.)

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~Claire has logged off~