#the last time that happened i had some kind of meltdown

[shininginyourlight]

Even with the experience of the last few times this had happened, Kaito still felt like he wasn't too knowledgeable about it all either. Sometimes his usual ideas worked, but sometimes Yagami hated it, or vice versa. Everything about this was kind of unpredictable, and while he found himself frustrated with things at times, Kaito knew Yagami hated it far more than he did.

"Keepin' an eye out for him in shifts would make things a lot easier for both of us. That way we're not overwhelming him, or goin' too long without some rest ourselves." He remembered barely sleeping before. He remembered the mess of the first time. The true experimental phase, where he wasn't sure if he should go home to sleep or sleep over at Yagami's place. Both had had their pros and cons, but ultimately felt like it'd be better not to leave Yagami alone.

"Otherwise, just helpin' out when I ask for it'll be really helpful too. I dunno how long he's gonna be like this, so we may end up needing a few grocery hauls before he finally calms down." The length of these things varied wildly. Kaito could remember that low point after Okubo's second trial lasting over a month. All the while, other meltdowns had only lasted a couple of days.

For all of their sakes, Kaito really hoped it'd be a shorter one.

Sugiura knew that all of his suggestions were simply not ideal, it was just his way to show he was trying to think of something, even if he knew that - deep down - the only way through it was to face it head on and hope for the best. It wasn't a way he enjoyed, that unknowing and unending waiting that came with more anxiety than he could contain, but he had to do his best, had to try and remain strong not just for the suffering Yagami, but for Kaito, too.

"I'm not going anywhere." Sugiura admitted, quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest for a sense of comfort; "Hard as it'll be, I'm not leaving you to it by yourself. I'll help where I can." If seeing him didn't make everything worse for Yagami, that was. Otherwise, he supposed he could take more of a supporting role - making sure there were always meals ready or... something like that.

"Just... lemme know if there is anything I can do to make things easier. I'm... kinda running blind."

[thefirstvessel]

I used to have a co-worker that was notorious for immediately disparaging any opinion that was less than outright bigotry as filthy liberal talk and I still take pride in the one time he called me a liberal and I was like excuse me I'm not that conservative

Dude had no idea how to react to the concept that what he considered extreme leftist bs I considered conservative centrist bs

[solxamber]

How to Tame Your Dragon - Malleus Draconia x reader

Since you and Malleus have gotten into a relationship, you've become a bona-fide dragon soother. But whenever you fumble, the entirety of NRC faces the consequences.

aka the 7 times you cause ecological disasters and the 1 time it works out for you.

this is one of my favorite works i hope y'all enjoy it too

Instance 1: The Unbirthday Party Fumble

It all started so innocently, as most disasters do.

You were sitting on a bench in the gardens with Malleus, who was in one of his "look at my shiny things" moods. He had decided to show you his prized possessions from his extensive, possibly cursed, hoard. Usually, this was an easy gig. You’d nod, say something like “Wow, so shiny,” and then give him a kiss. Easy peasy.

But not today.

Because today, your brain decided to take a little vacation while your body stayed behind, stuck on autopilot.

You were half-paying attention, your focus more on the distant ruckus over at Heartslabyul’s tea party, where Ace and Deuce were most definitely in the middle of doing something stupid. Riddle was probably screaming about proper fork placement, Trey was juggling a thousand responsibilities, and Cater was... doing whatever Cater does.

You could hear the faint sounds of plates clinking and people panicking about the sugar cubes being uneven. It was practically a symphony of disaster waiting to happen.

Meanwhile, Malleus was holding up what looked like a teapot. But not just any teapot—this thing was ornate. Gleaming, intricate patterns, probably blessed by some ancient fae god of beverages. You didn’t notice any of that, though.

Instead, when Malleus asked in his deep, romantic, “I’m-giving-you-a-piece-of-my-soul” voice, “Do you like it, my treasure?” you waved him off like he’d just shown you a half-eaten sandwich.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Looks fine.”

Silence.

Not just any silence. The kind of silence where the air pressure changes and you suddenly realize you might’ve done something very, very bad.

You blinked, finally looking over at Malleus, and oh no. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pursed, and a shadow seemed to fall over him—literally. The sky darkened as if the heavens were in on his mood. His grip on the teapot tightened, and you could swear the wind started to howl.

Oh, no no no.

The moment you realized your mistake, the storm was already brewing. Quite literally. The sky went from clear to “about to smite someone” in about two seconds flat. You could feel the temperature drop, and leaves started swirling around like they were auditioning for a role in a natural disaster movie.

You were in for it now.

Meanwhile, at the world’s most cursed tea party:

Riddle was just getting ready to pour the first cup of tea when the wind decided to yeet the tablecloth right off the table. Teacups clattered, pastries took flight, and the entire garden descended into chaos.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN’S LAWS—” Riddle screamed, clutching a teapot like it was his last lifeline.

Ace, currently dodging a rogue scone, looked over at the sky. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Is this a Malleus thing?”

Deuce, who was using a sugar bowl as a makeshift helmet, shouted over the wind. “It’s always a Malleus thing! Why do I even ask anymore?!”

Cater, hair blown sideways and desperately trying to keep his phone in hand, was trying to snap a selfie in the chaos. “Guys, this is prime MagiCam content—wait, no, my phone’s gone!” He dove after it as it got carried away in the wind.

Riddle, already on the verge of a meltdown, turned to Trey, who was trying to shield a cake from the incoming storm. “I demand an explanation!”

Trey, forever the calm one, glanced up. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say the prefect did something to upset Malleus.”

“OF COURSE, THEY DID,” Riddle shrieked, practically levitating with fury. “Why do we suffer every time they breathe near him?!”

“I don’t know, but we need to fix it before Riddle explodes!” Ace said, dodging a flying plate.

Deuce grabbed Ace’s arm. “We need to talk to them! Make them apologize or something!”

And so, in the middle of the flying teapots and pastries of doom, the group sprinted to find you, dodging airborne desserts and Riddle’s wrath.

Back at the epicenter of destruction:

You were still sitting there, eyes wide as you watched Malleus literally brood so hard it summoned a small hurricane. “Uh, Malleus…?”

He didn’t respond. Nope, he was fully in Pouty Dragon Mode™. The sky darkened even more, the wind howling, the trees bending, and you could faintly hear the sound of Ace, Deuce, and the others screaming in the distance.

Your casual dismissal of the teapot had, quite literally, ruined lives.

Before you could say anything else, the chaos squad came barreling toward you like a human avalanche, looking like they’d been through a war zone.

Ace was covered in frosting, Deuce had bits of shattered china stuck in his hair, and Trey was holding onto what looked like the remnants of a cake stand. Cater was still trying to get a selfie in, even though he looked like he’d been through a tornado.

“FIX. THIS.” Ace wheezed, dropping to his knees dramatically. “BEFORE WE ALL DIE.”

“Riddle’s about to combust,” Deuce added, his eyes wide. “Please. We’re begging you.”

Trey just gave you a calm look. “If you don’t make this right soon, I don’t know if we’ll make it to the end of the day.”

You sighed, realizing there was no escape. You’d have to face the storm—literally—and make things right.

Turning back to Malleus, you slid off the bench and stood in front of him, gently tugging on his sleeve. “Malleus?”

His eyes, still stormy, met yours, but he didn’t say anything. The wind continued to howl, the sky still dark.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your teapot. It’s beautiful, really. I was just…distracted.”

Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the wind died down just a little. Progress.

“I’d never intentionally dismiss something that’s important to you,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “Please forgive me? I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”

The storm finally started to calm as Malleus’s expression softened. The sky cleared up, and the wind turned into a gentle breeze.

He sighed dramatically, though it was more theatrical than anything. “Very well, my treasure. I suppose I can forgive you this time. But you owe me proper attention.”

Relieved, you grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I give you all the attention you want right now?”

That did it. The storm completely vanished, and Malleus’s mood visibly brightened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a possessive, yet affectionate embrace. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head.

Behind you, the chaos squad groaned.

“Oh, sure,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “One cute kiss, and suddenly the hurricane stops. What even is our life?”

“Let’s just never bring up teapots again,” Deuce muttered, shaking bits of pastry out of his hair.

Cater, who had finally managed to get a decent selfie, grinned. “Well, at least we survived!”

You chuckled as Malleus nuzzled into your hair, clearly pleased with your apology. At least for now, disaster had been averted. But something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to apologize for accidentally setting off your dragon boyfriend.

But hey, at least you had kisses to fix everything, right?

Instance 2: The compliment conundrum

It started as one of those innocent slip-ups—the kind that makes you wonder why you even opened your mouth in the first place. You were lounging by the side of the spelldrive field, watching NRC’s teams practice. Malleus, busy handling his own royal duties, hadn’t been able to make it to practice today, so you’d spent the afternoon watching Leona and his squad dominate the field.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were just… appreciating talent, right? And Leona was talented. You couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly dodged tackles, sending spells whizzing through the air with precision. The guy was annoying, sure, but he had undeniable skill.

So when you casually mentioned to Jack and Ruggie, “Man, Leona’s got some impressive moves,” you thought nothing of it.

Until you felt the ground crack beneath you.

You froze mid-sentence, glancing around as a creeping, eerie silence settled over the field. The other players stopped in their tracks, confusion spreading across their faces. The once lush, green training grounds were slowly transforming before your very eyes—the grass yellowing, the soil drying, the sky dimming. It was like nature had collectively decided, Nope, we’re out.

Jack blinked at the ground, then at you, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Did… Did you just—?”

Ruggie, a master of putting two and two together, slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, no. Not again.”

Before you could even ask what was happening, you heard the faintest sound of rumbling in the distance, like some ancient, angry being had woken up from its nap. And that’s when the full weight of your mistake hit you.

You’d praised Leona. And Malleus, who was more possessive than a dragon guarding his hoard, definitely heard you.

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, already starting to backpedal. “Oh, crap, crap, crap—”

The drought spread faster, draining every last drop of moisture from the air. The once-pristine spelldrive field now looked like a scene out of some post-apocalyptic desert movie. Cracks snaked across the ground, the once-refreshing breeze now felt like it was straight out of the Sahara, and the remaining players started wheezing from the dry heat.

Leona, of course, was the first to piece things together. He sauntered over, glancing at the parched earth beneath his feet, then back up at you with a deadly glare.

You tried to stammer out an excuse, but Ruggie was already grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the nearest path off the field. Jack, looking somewhere between worried and resigned, trailed after you.

“Listen,” Ruggie said in a panic, “we gotta fix this now, or the whole school’s gonna turn into a wasteland.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you protested as they half-dragged you across the desertified landscape. “It was just a compliment!”

“You can’t just compliment Leona when you’re dating Malleus!” Jack huffed, sweat dripping from his forehead as the oppressive heat intensified. “You should know better by now!”

You felt a bead of sweat trickle down your temple as you tried to keep up with their frantic pace. “I didn’t know he was that possessive!”

“Oh, he is,” Ruggie muttered, glancing nervously at the sky. “And he’s sulking. You know what that means.”

You groaned. Yes, you did know what that meant. A sulking Malleus equaled world-ending storms, natural disasters, and in this case—apocalyptic droughts.

Leona, who had followed you guys, clearly had enough of this nonsense. He stomped up behind you, glaring daggers. “You’ve ruined my field,” he growled, voice dripping with irritation. “Do me a favor and never say anything nice about me again.”

“Don’t worry, Leona,” you sighed, exasperated. “I’ll only insult you from now on. Promise.”

“Good,” Leona grumbled, adjusting his collar. “Now fix your dragon before I lose my mind.”

By the time you reached Malleus, the situation had reached catastrophic levels. The entire island felt like it was one sunny day away from turning into a desert. The sky was an angry, cloudless blue, and even the birds had fled, probably deciding they didn’t want to risk spontaneous combustion.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, sat your dragon boyfriend, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as you’d ever seen him. His aura was practically radiating misery.

“Malleus,” you called out, panting from the trek across the sun-baked campus.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, but didn’t say a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the pout written all over his face.

Ruggie gave you a light shove. “Well, go on. Apologize before we all die of thirst.”

You shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, you stepped closer to Malleus and knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He huffed, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. “You praised another.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only have eyes for you, you know that.”

Malleus remained silent for a moment, but you could feel his mood softening. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly, the heat less intense, the grass no longer crumbling beneath your feet.

“I don’t like sharing your admiration,” he murmured, still not quite looking at you. “Especially with him.”

“Leona’s not a threat,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “He’s too busy napping to notice, anyway.”

That earned a tiny smirk from Malleus, though he was clearly still in sulk mode. You couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled into his neck, placing little butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Come on… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll praise you for hours if you want. No one is more worthy of my compliments than you.”

That finally did the trick. His stiff posture relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he murmured, turning his head to look at you. “I suppose I can forgive you… this time.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Malleus, now fully basking in your affection, wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head. The sky finally returned to normal, the air cooling down, and the earth itself seemed to let out a relieved sigh.

Meanwhile, back on the now-saved-from-death spelldrive field, Leona collapsed onto the cracked ground with an annoyed grunt. “I swear, if they ever break up, I’m moving to a different continent.”

“Honestly, same,” Ruggie groaned, lying down beside him. Jack just nodded in agreement, too tired to even complain.

But as the world finally returned to normal, and you cuddled up against your not-so-grumpy-anymore dragon boyfriend, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be more careful with your compliments from now on.

…Maybe.

Instance 3: Dinner Downpour

It had started out as an innocent evening. Just you, Malleus, and a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge. You figured it was a good idea—a cozy meal, some quiet time away from the usual chaos. Plus, Malleus had never been to the Lounge before, and you wanted to show him a little piece of what passed for fine dining at NRC.

Everything was going smoothly. The candlelight cast a soft glow over the table, and Malleus seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he occasionally side-eyed the giant aquariums and questionable dishes swimming in ink. You were halfway through your meal when it happened. The moment that would soon be known as The Great Mostro Lounge Flood of the Century.

Malleus, eyes warm and his tone utterly princely, leaned toward you as the waiter left the bill on the table. “Allow me to cover this,” he said, reaching for his wallet—or whatever it was that dragons carry their horde in. “I would like to treat you.”

You, not sensing the danger, waved him off with a smile. “No need, Malleus. I’ve got this.”

Oh no.

If you could rewind time, maybe you would’ve noticed the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. The tiniest furrow of his brow, the faint tightening of his grip on his silverware. But you didn’t. You were oblivious. You, poor unfortunate soul, paid the bill yourself.

And that’s when the first clap of thunder rolled through the building.

It didn’t take long for things to go from zero to we’re-all-gonna-die levels of chaos. The sky outside darkened almost instantly, rain pouring down like the heavens had just decided to empty all their buckets at once. But it wasn’t just rain—oh no, this was a full-blown, hurricane-tier downpour. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shocked faces of the Mostro Lounge patrons as water started seeping in through the windows.

Inside, chaos erupted. The once-elegant ambiance of the Mostro Lounge turned into something out of a disaster movie. Jade was frantically trying to keep the dining area dry with what looked like twenty towels, but the water just kept rising. Floyd was sitting on top of a table, cackling at the sheer absurdity of it all, while Azul was on the verge of a mental breakdown, clutching his ledger to his chest as if it could somehow save him from bankruptcy.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Azul’s voice broke through the chaos as he practically teleported to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a maraca.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, still processing the fact that the place was flooding. “We were just having dinner!”

“Oh, you were ‘just having dinner,’” Azul mocked, his voice climbing an octave as the water level rose past your ankles. “Sure, just dinner—and now I’m watching my profits swim away!”

Jade appeared next, a suspiciously calm smile on his face despite the absolute catastrophe around him. “You didn’t happen to upset the prince of Briar Valley, did you?”

Floyd leaned in, grinning like a maniac. “Yeah, did ya snub him or somethin’? This is hilarious.”

Your face paled. Oh no. You replayed the scene in your head—the offer to pay, your refusal—and realization hit you like one of the lightning bolts currently striking outside. “Oh my god. He’s upset because I didn’t let him pay.”

“That’s it?!” Floyd burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “All this ‘cause you didn’t let him foot the bill? Man, that’s rich!”

Azul’s eye twitched. “Fix. This. Now.”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” you protested, feeling the water slosh against your calves as the storm outside intensified. “I just wanted to treat him for once!”

“Clearly, that was a mistake,” Jade said, entirely too serene for someone standing in knee-deep water. “I suggest you… rectify it.”

“Rectify it,” Azul echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Or I swear I’ll have you and your little dragon both in debt until you’re ancient fossils.”

Floyd, still howling with laughter, gave you a light shove toward the entrance. “Better hurry, Shrimpy, before we gotta start charging people for canoe rentals!”

You rushed outside, braving the storm as the winds whipped around you. The ground was already flooded, rain pelting down so hard you could barely see two feet in front of you. But there, standing in the middle of it all like some tragic figure from a gothic romance novel, was Malleus.

He wasn’t even trying to shield himself from the rain—he just stood there, soaked, staring up at the stormy sky as if summoning the wrath of the heavens. His mood was palpable, the air around him crackling with discontent.

“Malleus!” you called out, running over and nearly slipping in a puddle. “Malleus, wait!”

He glanced down at you, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by his usual regal composure. “I thought… I could treat you. It seems you do not trust me to do even that.”

You winced. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. You should’ve known better—Malleus was always thinking about how to show you he cared, and this was just one more way for him to do that. And you’d brushed him off without realizing the significance.

“Hey, that’s not it at all,” you said softly, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “I just… I wanted to treat you this time. But I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”

The storm rumbled ominously overhead, but you could feel his mood starting to shift.

You squeezed his hands, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t appreciate it. You always take such good care of me.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his posture. “I simply wished to show you how much I treasure our time together.”

“And I treasure you,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “So how about this—I’ll let you treat me next time. Dinner, ice cream, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you replied, kissing him again for good measure. “But for now, maybe we could, uh… ease up on the weather a bit? I think Azul’s about to have a heart attack.”

Malleus chuckled softly, the storm clouds above beginning to break apart as the rain slowed to a drizzle. “Very well. I shall spare them—for now.”

Back inside the Lounge, Azul was clinging to his precious ledger like a lifeline, watching with wide eyes as the floodwaters slowly receded. The place was still a soaked mess, but at least it wasn’t Atlantis anymore.

Floyd, leaning against the bar, gave you a lazy grin as you walked back in, hand-in-hand with Malleus. “Well, looks like you managed to cool down your dragon, huh? Good job, Shrimpy.”

Jade smiled pleasantly, though you could tell there was relief in his gaze. “The Lounge owes you a great debt.”

Azul, drenched and looking like he’d aged ten years, just sighed. “Please. Next time… just let him pay.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Noted.”

Malleus, still holding your hand, glanced down at you with a fond expression. “Shall we continue our evening?”

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his affection, even if he had almost accidentally drowned the entire restaurant. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And as you left the Mostro Lounge, water still dripping from the ceiling and Floyd’s laughter echoing behind you, you couldn’t help but think that for all the chaos that came with dating the prince of Briar Valley, it was worth every second.

Instance 4: Deserted Dreams

It all started with an innocent suggestion over breakfast. You and Malleus were sitting at your usual spot in Diasomnia, peacefully munching on breakfast. Things were nice, calm—Malleus was in a good mood, the sun was shining, and there hadn’t been any catastrophic magical incidents for a solid two days.

But, of course, you just had to ruin it.

"So," you said, casually buttering a slice of toast, "I was thinking… maybe for our next vacation, instead of going to Briar Valley again, we could head over to the Scalding Sands? I heard Kalim raving about the heat and all the festivals, and I thought it might be fun to experience a little warmth for a change."

Malleus, who had been sipping his tea, froze. He looked at you, his eyes wide and a bit too intense. "The Scalding Sands?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you know—sun, sand, maybe a beach or two. Something different!" You smiled, clearly not reading the massive red flags flying in the air. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, Briar Valley is great and all, but we always go there. I thought a change of scenery would be nice!"

And that, was when the Dorms of Scarabia and Diasomnia turned into a hellish desert wasteland.

It started slowly—just a bit of extra heat creeping into the room, making you fidget in your seat. Then it escalated. The temperature spiked dramatically, and before you knew it, the dorm felt like someone had thrown open the gates to the underworld and invited the sun to personally burn it all down. You swore you could hear the sound of sand shifting beneath your feet, though you were still indoors. Indoors, for crying out loud!

Malleus sat in silence, clearly displeased. His usual dark, moody aura was now tinged with the kind of slow-boiling frustration that made you realize: you’d made a huge mistake.

Just as you were about to apologize and backpedal your way out of the desertification of Diasomnia and Scarabia, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by a chorus of complaints.

You stepped out of the dorm and were met with chaos. The whole area around Diasomnia had transformed into an arid, sweltering desert. The grass? Gone. The trees? Withered. The nice, cool breeze that used to blow through? Now replaced by blistering heat waves. Students were dragging themselves around, sweating profusely as the once lush grounds became a scorching wasteland.

At the heart of the chaos stood Kalim, as cheerful as ever, while a very sweaty and very done Jamil stood nearby, looking like he had reached the end of his rope.

Jamil spotted you immediately and marched over, steam practically rising off his skin. “What did you do?!” he hissed, looking like he was five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

"I—" you stammered, glancing at Kalim, who was happily waving a fan like he was at a resort.

"Isn’t this great?!" Kalim chirped, smiling ear to ear. "It feels just like home! Now we can have all the desert parties we want! Thanks for the heatwave!"

You blinked. "Um… you’re welcome?"

"No," Jamil interjected, glaring at you like you’d personally set him on fire. “Don’t thank them! What possessed you to turn Scarabia into a furnace?!”

You grimaced, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not my fault! I just suggested we vacation in the Scalding Sands instead of Briar Valley and—"

"You did what?!" Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. "So because you didn’t want to vacation in Briar Valley, this happens? Do you know how long it’s going to take to get the dorm back to normal? Or the fact that I’m now stuck babysitting Kalim in what feels like the surface of the sun?"

Kalim, still oblivious to the suffering around him, beamed. “You should make up with Malleus! Then maybe we can have two vacations!”

Jamil’s eye twitched.

It didn’t take long before you were escorted (dragged) back to Malleus, courtesy of a very sunburned Jamil and a still-chipper Kalim. They deposited you at the door to Diasomnia, giving you the kind of look that screamed fix this, or we’ll make you regret it.

Sighing, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Unsurprisingly, it was even hotter indoors than it had been outside. Malleus was sitting in the corner of the common room, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he was contemplating the deep mysteries of life—or brooding over your vacation suggestion. Probably the latter.

“Malleus?” you called softly, approaching him carefully as the air around him practically sizzled with residual magic.

He didn’t respond, still looking like a dragon that had just been told his gold stash was getting replaced with copper coins.

You sighed and knelt down in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it’d be nice to see a new place, but if you want to go back to Briar Valley, that’s totally fine. We can go wherever you want.”

Malleus blinked, finally looking down at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You wished to travel somewhere unfamiliar,” he murmured, his voice low. “I should have taken your desires into account. But… the thought of you preferring another land over mine… it unsettled me.”

You blinked. “Wait, is that what this is about? Malleus, I love Briar Valley! I just wanted to try something new, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back. We could go anywhere, and I’d be happy as long as I’m with you.”

He softened even more, the heat in the room fading as his magic began to relax. “You mean that?”

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course I do.”

His arms, once tense, reached out to pull you into his lap, holding you close as if the idea of you slipping away to some other land without him had weighed far too heavily on his mind. You snuggled into him, feeling the last traces of heatwave melt away into nothing but warmth and comfort.

Malleus nuzzled his face into your hair, his voice a soft rumble. “Then we shall go wherever your heart desires. As long as we are together.”

You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Okay, deal. But, uh, maybe we avoid any more heatwave-related disasters? Jamil might actually combust next time.”

Malleus chuckled softly, his mood lightening as he held you close. “Very well. I shall spare them from further torment… this time.”

And as you cuddled into him, the remnants of the desert wasteland outside slowly returning to normal, you couldn’t help but think that as long as you had Malleus (and could keep him happy), the world—weather catastrophes included—would be just fine.

Instance 5: Fashion Fiasco

You and Malleus were at one of Vil’s fashion shows, sitting in the audience with everyone else as Vil strutted his stuff on the runway, looking absolutely flawless as per usual. The lights sparkled, the music boomed, and Vil practically radiated beauty and grace in an outfit that could only be described as something plucked straight from a dream.

"Wow," you breathed, eyes wide as you watched Vil pose dramatically at the end of the runway. "Vil really does look amazing, doesn’t he? Like, how is anyone supposed to compete with that level of perfection?"

Malleus, sitting beside you, went absolutely still.

It didn’t register right away. You were too busy marveling at Vil’s next ensemble to notice Malleus stiffening beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But as the next model waltzed down the runway, you felt a sudden chill in the air. Literally.

You blinked. Was it just you, or was it… colder? You glanced up at the ceiling, frowning as tiny snowflakes started to drift down from nowhere. The air grew icy, your breath visible as the temperature plummeted in mere seconds.

"What the—" You stood up, just in time to see the entire fashion show being transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Snow was now falling heavily, frosting over the runway, the lights, and, most importantly, Vil’s perfect hair.

The shriek that followed was one of pure, unbridled horror.

“No! My HAIR!” Vil screeched, desperately clutching his head as snowflakes clung to his golden locks, which were slowly wilting under the weight of the ice. “This is a disaster!”

Models fled the scene, their designer clothes dragging through snowdrifts that were rapidly accumulating on stage. The music cut off, the audience panicked, and Vil looked like he was about five seconds away from declaring the end of the world.

Amidst the chaos, Rook Hunt stood in the middle of the snowy storm, spinning in circles with glee. “Magnifique!” he cried, twirling with open arms as if he were auditioning for a Broadway production of Frozen. “The raw beauty of nature meets the elegance of fashion—oh, how the world has blessed us with this miracle of frost!”

“ROOK!” Vil screeched again, eyes wide and wild as he tried—and failed—to maintain some sense of composure. “This is NOT a miracle! This is a CATASTROPHE! My show—my hair!”

Epel, looking somewhere between terrified and confused, rushed up to you, nearly slipping on the snow-covered floor in his haste. “We need your help!” he gasped, grabbing your arm and shaking it with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake here. “You have to do something! Malleus is causing the storm!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that this wasn’t just some freak weather event but a full-on emotional meltdown from your very moody fae boyfriend.

“Malleus is… mad?” you asked, finally connecting the dots.

“Of course he’s mad!” Epel huffed, snowflakes clinging to his own purple hair. “You complimented Vil! Now he thinks you like Vil more than him! We’re all gonna freeze to death if you don’t fix it!”

“Oh… oh no.”

It took a few minutes (and a shove from a panicked Vil) to find Malleus, who had retreated to the far corner of the room, looking like a grumpy snow dragon with his arms crossed and snowflakes swirling around him. His expression was dark, brooding, and way too dramatic for someone who was causing a blizzard in the middle of a fashion show.

You approached cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice that was now coating the floor. “Malleus?” you called softly, inching closer. “Are you… okay?”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you were quite taken with Vil’s appearance today.”

You blinked, a bit thrown off by the sheer seriousness in his tone. “Uh, I mean… yeah, Vil’s always beautiful. But, um, you know that’s just how he is. It’s his whole thing.”

Malleus’s frown deepened. “So you find him more beautiful than me.”

Oh. Oh.

You nearly facepalmed at the realization. “Malleus, no, that’s not what I meant!” you rushed to say, waving your hands in a flustered manner. “Vil is beautiful, but you—you’re, like, otherworldly! You know, fae beauty and all that. No one could possibly compare!”

Malleus eyed you warily, his lips pursed. “So… you do not prefer him over me?"

“Of course not!” you said quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I know. No one comes close to your level of magnificence, I swear.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, ever so slowly, the storm began to die down. The snowflakes stopped falling, the icy chill in the air dissipated, and the temperature returned to normal. Malleus’s expression softened, his moody sulk fading as he looked down at you with a much gentler gaze.

“Is that truly how you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course, Malleus. You’re my favorite, always.”

Malleus visibly brightened at that, his usual regal aura returning as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a warm embrace. “Very well, then. I shall forgive this transgression. But only because you have reassured me of your affections.”

You giggled, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll make sure to tell you more often how beautiful you are.”

Vil then walks directly up to you and stares you down. "If you're done wrecking my show, could ypu please keep your dragon in check?"

All you can do is grin sheepishly at him.

Instance 6: Gaming Shenanigans

It all started because of that one last raid. You and Idia were deep in an epic gaming marathon, tackling a boss so difficult that even Idia—self-proclaimed gaming god—had to break out his limited-edition controller. It was all good fun, hours flying by without you even noticing, as you spammed attacks and worked together like the perfect gaming duo you were.

That is, until Idia hit you with a question that made your stomach drop.

"So, uh, aren't you supposed to, like... do something tonight?" Idia asked, mid-battle. His voice was a little too casual, almost like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to figure it out yourself.

You froze for a split second, still pressing buttons but no longer fully paying attention. Something... tonight? What could he—

Oh no.

You had plans tonight. With Malleus.

Specifically, your nightly walks around campus, which had become somewhat of a ritual. Every night, you’d stroll through the darkened grounds, hand-in-hand, talking about anything and everything. It was Malleus’s favorite part of the day—something he eagerly looked forward to.

And you’d… forgotten.

Your eyes darted to your phone, which was lying face down on the desk, completely ignored for the last several hours. You didn’t even need to check it to know what you’d find: missed calls, unread messages, probably a voicemail or two from Malleus, wondering where you were.

"Oh no," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of explosions and battle cries on screen.

"Wait, what?" Idia’s character paused for a second as he glanced at you. "Did you just say 'oh no'? What 'oh no'? Are we talking minor 'oh no' or, like, 'I've-angered-a-final-boss-oh-no'?"

You gulped, heart sinking as you realized just how much trouble you were in. "Um... the second one. Definitely the second one."

Before Idia could even react, the room went dark. The power cut out so fast, you barely had time to process it. The glow of the screens, the hum of electronics—all gone, leaving only the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.

Idia's horrified gasp echoed through the sudden silence.

"No. No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening! We were in the middle of a raid!” His hands flew to his hair, the blue flames flickering wildly as panic set in. "Dude, you forgot your dragon?!"

The color drained from your face as the gravity of the situation fully hit. “I—um—got distracted?”

Idia’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast his chair rolled backwards. "Distracted?! You forgot about your nightly walks with the dragon fae, and now we’re sitting in a power outage caused by his emotional spiral?!”

In the faint glow of Idia’s flame-lit hair, you saw Ortho zip into the room, looking far too calm given the circumstances. “I detected a sudden shift in weather patterns around campus. It seems like the storm has caused a widespread blackout. Should I assume it’s related to Malleus Draconia’s emotional state?”

"YES!" Idia practically screeched, pointing at you in betrayal. "They ditched Malleus for gaming, and now we’re all suffering the consequences! Ortho, tell them to fix it, please! I beg you!”

Ortho turned to you with his usual chipper smile. “I suggest you go to Malleus and make amends before the entire campus loses power. I’ve already calculated a 98% chance that further emotional distress will result in structural damage to the dorm.”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is why you never piss off boss-level boyfriends. It’s just common sense.”

So, that’s how you found yourself trudging through the stormy night, rain soaking your clothes as you made your way to find Malleus. The lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling ominously as you approached the usual meeting spot for your nightly walks.

And there he was—standing alone, looking very much like the picture of heartbreak. His tall figure was framed by the pouring rain, his expression a perfect blend of hurt and brooding. The storm seemed to swirl around him, almost as if it were a physical manifestation of his emotions.

“Malleus,” you called out, rushing toward him, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain. “I’m so sorry!”

He turned slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did not answer my calls.”

“I know, I know! I got caught up in a game with Idia, and I didn’t check my phone, and—well, now we have a blackout.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You left me waiting, and the storm came.”

You winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget about our walk. I love spending time with you—I swear.”

Malleus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.”

“Burden?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, the rain pouring down between you. “Malleus, you’re not a burden. I love our walks. I love spending time with you. I just… lost track of time. That’s all.”

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the ground. Then, to your surprise, Malleus looked away, a faint hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Do you… truly mean that?”

Without thinking, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I do. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, and slowly—so slowly—the storm began to quiet. The rain lessened, the wind died down, and the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the campus lifted. He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if looking for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he finally let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile.

“You always manage to calm me,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You smiled back, feeling warmth spread through your chest despite the cold rain. “I guess I’m just good at soothing dragons.”

Malleus raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

The rain had stopped entirely by now, leaving only a light mist in the air. You let out a relieved sigh, brushing some stray raindrops off Malleus’s cheek before standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’ll never forget our walks again,” you whispered against his lips, earning a quiet hum of approval from him.

“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. “Now, shall we take that walk?”

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. The world felt calmer now, the storm gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Malleus’s mood had lifted entirely, and as the two of you strolled through the now-quiet campus, you couldn’t help but feel content.

And, of course, Idia and Ortho’s screens flickered back to life, much to their relief.

Instance 7: Dessert Disaster

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were about to partake in a picnic with none other than Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Everything was perfect. The blanket was laid out beneath a sprawling tree, food arranged carefully across it—courtesy of Malleus himself, who had spent hours in the kitchen the night before, preparing what he considered to be the pièce de résistance: a pie.

Not just any pie. No, this was a Malleus Draconia-crafted masterpiece. The filling was made from rare berries he’d harvested himself, the crust baked to a perfect golden brown. You could practically smell the love (and maybe a little lightning) that had gone into it.

Malleus, with a glint of pride in his eyes, carefully handed you a slice. "I hope it meets your expectations, my love."

You eagerly took a bite, eyes widening as the flavors exploded on your tongue. It was amazing. No, better than amazing—it was downright phenomenal. How did he even manage to bake something this good? A prince of darkness and a master chef? This was unfair.

"This slaps," you declared, totally unaware of the impending doom those words were about to unleash.

The moment the words left your mouth, you noticed a visible shift in Malleus’s expression. The proud smile he’d worn just seconds ago faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. His green eyes darkened, clouds suddenly appearing overhead. You could feel the electricity in the air as the temperature dropped.

"I see," Malleus murmured, voice tight. "So… you dislike it."

Wait. What?

You blinked, realization dawning far too slowly. Oh no.

Before you could correct him, Malleus was already raising his hand, a faint crackle of magic sparking between his fingers. You could practically hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as he stared down at the pie slice in your hand, preparing to smite the poor, innocent pastry.

"No, no, no, no—wait!" You waved your arms frantically, standing up so fast you nearly tripped over the picnic blanket.

Sebek, meanwhile, had already leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you insult Master Malleus’s baking?!" he shouted, fists clenched. "His skill is unmatched, and yet you have the audacity to call his creation—"

"Sebek." Silver’s voice, calm but firm, interrupted the impending tirade. He was still sitting, but his eyes were half-open now, watching the situation unfold with mild concern. "They didn’t mean it that way."

Lilia, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Oh, this is too good!" he cackled, practically rolling on the blanket. "I haven’t seen this much excitement at a picnic in centuries! You modern humans and your strange expressions never fail to entertain!"

You shot him a look that screamed, Please stop encouraging this.

Silver, bless his soul, finally spoke up again, this time turning his attention to you. "You might want to explain before the weather gets worse." He nodded toward the now very ominous-looking clouds gathering above Malleus.

Right. Explaining. You could do that.

You turned back to Malleus, who still looked like he was contemplating whether to zap the pie or not. You could tell his feelings were hurt—his brow was furrowed, his lips set in a tight line. And the thought of him feeling like that, all because of a misunderstanding, made your heart clench.

"Malleus," you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. "When I said ‘this slaps,’ I meant it’s really good. Like, insanely good. Amazing. Best pie I’ve ever had."

Malleus’s stormy expression faltered slightly, though the dark clouds remained. "But you said it ‘slaps.’"

"That’s modern slang," you explained, gently squeezing his hand. "It’s a compliment. I promise."

Malleus blinked, the magic at his fingertips dissipating as he processed your words. "So… you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely. You knocked it out of the park with this pie." You gave him your most reassuring smile. "I could eat the whole thing."

The storm clouds began to thin, sunlight peeking through once more. Malleus tilted his head, considering this new information, and slowly—very slowly—a smile returned to his face.

"It pleases me to hear that," he said, his voice softening.

Meanwhile, Sebek was still standing there, sputtering indignantly. "W-Well, if that’s what they meant, then… of course Master Malleus’s pie is the best! I knew that all along!"

Lilia, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand at Sebek. "Oh, calm down, boy. No harm done. Besides, now we know modern slang! What other fascinating phrases do you have, I wonder?"

Silver sighed, finally sitting up properly. "Maybe let’s avoid any more slang for today."

With the situation calming down, you took the opportunity to lean in closer to Malleus, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "I’m really sorry for the confusion," you murmured. "You’re an amazing baker, and your pie is delicious. I meant that, okay?"

Malleus’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the affection, and he gave a small nod. "I believe you."

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you pressed another kiss to his lips, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his hand gently squeezed yours in return. The last of the clouds above you finally cleared, leaving the sky blue and bright once more. The storm was over, and everything was at peace again.

"Shall we enjoy the rest of our picnic, then?" Malleus asked, his voice much lighter now.

You nodded enthusiastically, sitting back down beside him. "Absolutely. And just so we’re clear—your food? Total banger."

Malleus raised a brow, clearly still unfamiliar with the term but now much more accepting of your strange modern ways. "I see. I shall take that as a compliment."

Sebek, still recovering from his earlier outrage, grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t care. Lilia was still snickering, Silver was finally getting comfortable again, and Malleus was happy. Everything was right in the world.

And hey, now you knew—if you ever wanted to spice things up at a picnic, all it took was a little modern slang.

Instance 8: Destruction of NRC (Well, almost)

Crowley’s “magnanimous nature” was, quite frankly, killing you. Whether it was sorting mountains of paperwork, being sent on endless errands, or handling Grim’s regular chaos, you were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached, your eyes had dark circles deeper than any pit, and you were pretty sure you were on your third day of functioning on nothing but caffeine and sheer spite.

Grim, bless his fiery little heart, watched you from his perch on your bed, tail flicking in irritation as you barely managed to drag yourself into Ramshackle after another long, thankless day.

“Ugh, henchhuman! You look like death warmed over,” Grim sniffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “How long do you plan on letting that featherbrained Crowley walk all over you?”

You groaned, flopping face-first into your pillow. “As long as it takes to survive this semester, Grim. No one else is going to deal with his nonsense. Not like I have a choice.”

Grim was silent for a moment, watching you with uncharacteristic concern. Then, in a low mumble, he said, “Well, I’ve had enough. You’re my henchhuman, and I won’t let him destroy you.”

You thought Grim was just being dramatic. But when you woke up the next morning to the sound of distant thunder rumbling ominously across the sky, you had a very, very bad feeling.

By the time you made it to NRC, the situation was in full swing. You arrived just in time to witness Crowley practically on his knees, looking like a man who had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale—barely.

The sky above NRC was pitch black, clouds swirling and crackling with magic as the wind howled through the campus. A storm of epic proportions had descended, and it wasn’t just any storm. This was a Malleus Draconia-grade storm. The kind that didn’t just bring rain or wind—it brought devastation, and everyone was cowering indoors, peeking through windows, afraid to go outside.

Crowley spotted you immediately, rushing over with his cape flapping dramatically behind him as he stumbled, nearly slipping in the mud.

“Please,” he cried, hands clutching your shoulders as if you were his last lifeline. “Please, you must calm him down! I beg of you, prefect, do something!”

You raised a brow, half-expecting some pitiful excuse, but the Headmaster, in all his avian glory, had gone straight to the begging stage. “What did you do this time?” you sighed, knowing it had to be his fault.

“I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! Well, perhaps I’ve… been a little harsh on you, but that’s no reason for him to destroy the entire campus!” Crowley wailed, looking pitiful as a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance.

“I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you an actual wage! I’ll give you a budget to renovate Ramshackle, and I’ll personally sponsor your vacation! Just please—stop him before there’s nothing left of Night Raven College!”

You blinked. Did… did you just get a salary offer? And a vacation? And a renovation budget? This was new.

Before you could process the sheer absurdity of the situation, Professor Crewel passed by with his coat dramatically billowing in the wind. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “about time that birdbrain faced some consequences for his incompetence.”

Professor Trein, walking with his trusty feline Lucius, shook his head gravely. “At this point, the Headmaster deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Do you not see the storm?!” Crowley shrieked, pointing to the lightning that was now dangerously close to striking the bell tower.

Both professors exchanged a look before continuing on their way, Crewel muttering something about how this was Crowley’s mess to fix.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction seeing the Headmaster squirm. But at the same time, NRC was at risk of being blown off the map if you didn’t act soon. And judging by the way Grim was laughing maniacally in the corner, proudly declaring how he “fixed” your problems, this was going to be on you to clean up.

With a sigh, you gave Crowley a nod. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But if you go back on any of those promises—”

“I won’t!” Crowley promised, hands clasped as if in prayer. “I swear on the very foundation of this school, you will be compensated!”

You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel to head toward Diasomnia. The storm seemed to know you were coming, the wind parting just enough to allow you passage. The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the thunder seemed to quiet, though lightning still flashed ominously in the distance.

And there, standing at the center of it all, was Malleus. His expression was dark, eyes glowing faintly as he stared up at the storm he’d summoned. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even with his composed stance, you could sense the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

You approached carefully, calling out softly, “Malleus?”

His head turned slightly at the sound of your voice, though he didn’t fully look at you. “Ah, my love. I see you’ve arrived.”

You moved closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Grim told you what’s been going on, didn’t he?”

“I cannot stand to see you work yourself to exhaustion for that foolish crow,” Malleus muttered, still staring at the storm. “He takes advantage of your kindness. It is unforgivable.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was genuinely upset—for you. But, you also couldn’t let NRC be reduced to rubble, and you needed to calm him down before it got worse.

With a soft chuckle, you stepped in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay. I appreciate how much you care about me, but you don’t have to destroy the school over this.”

Malleus’s eyes finally met yours, the storm above softening ever so slightly. “But you’re suffering.”

“I was,” you admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But not anymore. Crowley’s going to make it up to me—he promised me a wage, a renovation budget for Ramshackle, and a vacation.”

That seemed to catch his attention, the storm clouds above beginning to dissipate. “A vacation?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning up to brush another kiss against his cheek. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me.”

Malleus blinked, his earlier frustration melting into a look of surprise—and then, a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. The storm overhead faded into nothing, the sky returning to its usual clear blue.

“I would be honored,” he said softly, pulling you closer to him. “A vacation, just the two of us. That sounds… delightful.”

You grinned, pressing a final kiss to his lips, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, the storm was over. NRC was safe, and more importantly, you had managed to calm your dragon—and score a well-deserved vacation in the process.

As for Crowley? Well, you’d make sure to enjoy every moment of watching him squirm while you cashed in those promises.

Masterlist

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 7

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Azriel has some realisations, and Cilla has a meltdown

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel should have known that it was coming. He should have…he should have expected some kind of fallout. 

The fact that he didn’t make Azriel a fucking idiot. 

But it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had been so…happy that it had gone…well enough, that Cassian hadn’t actually killed him, that Cilla was willing to go along with meeting Cassian, that Azriel hadn’t even thought about the price Cilla would need to pay for it. 

By the time he was ready for bed, she had already buried herself under the covers, curled into a little ball. She didn’t turn towards him as he laid down next to her…didn’t move when he shut off the faelights with a wave. 

Didn’t say anything. 

She always turned towards him. Even when she had been sick with a fever, his mate had turned towards him. But she hadn’t done so now. 

He watched the little ball under the covers, unmoving unless one counted her breath…shaking with something…

His brows furrowed. This wasn’t…This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked quietly, hand hovering over her form, unsure if she could stomach his touch at the moment. “Cilla, is something wrong?” he asked her carefully, wanting to gauge how she was feeling. 

“Wrong?” she repeated, her voice near tonelessly, wings trembling and then wrapping around her form like a cocoon…shadows coming to join them, swathing her in darkness. 

Azriel wondered absentmindedly how often he himself had laid like that, when sometimes everything around him just felt like too much, too much, too quickly. 

"Talk to me. What is going on in that Head of yours, sweetheart?” he asked her, hand settling on her shoulder, feeling her take another shuddery breath. 

She seemed to have some sort of mental fight with herself until she admitted what was really bothering her. 

He waited her out. He would always wait her out. 

“You didn’t talk to me,” Cilla finally whispered.  “You didn’t talk to me. You…You knew who my father was. And you didn’t tell me.” Her voice was broken, splintering around the edges. “Why.” It was as much a question as it was a demand and Azriel closed his eyes, mentally cursing himself out. 

“Because I needed to wrap my mind around it myself,” Azriel finally answered honestly. It was a weak reasoning, he knew that. But he had needed to… “Because I needed to know if he knew before I told you. Because if he knew what was happening to my mate for years and did nothing…then he wasn’t the male I knew. And he was nobody I wanted anywhere near you.”

He had needed to know if Cassian was somebody he needed to protect Cilla from or somebody that he could trust to act in her best interests. And it had been selfish as well. Putting Cilla in front of a fait accompli as he had…telling Cassian before he had told her…giving her no time to back out and refuse…that had been selfish. He recognised that. 

He had acted selfishly. And she had caught onto it, had felt hurt because of his actions.  

“Sweetheart,” he said with a sigh. “I thought it went well today?” he asked her and Cilla seemed to shudder.  

“I don’t know what he wants from me,” she whispered, the sound nearly heartbreaking. 

Of course, she didn’t. She never had anybody who wanted to spend time with her just because…didn’t know what friendship meant or what it felt like to be part of a family. It was all just…

The only steady companion she had ever known had been her shadows. Which at least had kept her from going completely feral but probably hadn’t helped with any of that. 

“You heard Cassian,” Azriel said quietly.  “He only wants to get to know you.” And probably take care of his daughter when he never had the opportunity for that before. Probably wanted to teach her how to wield a dagger to defend herself and get to know the girl he didn’t know. 

That’s what Cassian would want. But Cilla didn’t even seem to understand the concept of that. 

“And what do you want from me?” Cilla asked, her voice shaking. He could just stare at her back. 

What he wanted from her?

“I just want you to be happy, Sweetheart.” That was the truth. That was all Azriel wanted from her. If it involved him, that would make him happier than anything else…but if it didn’t…he still wanted Cilla to be happy. 

“What have I done wrong?” she asked him and he just…every question from her was like a stab with a knife straight into her heart.

“What?” he brought hoarsely. What did she mean?

“What have I done wrong?” Cilla repeated, still not turning towards him.  “You don’t touch me anymore.”

“Of course, I do,” he disagreed, the hand that laid over his shoulder gently squeezing, marking that particular statement. Of course, he touched her. 

“Not like that. Not since that first night,” Cilla said, her voice harsher than before. And then he realised what she meant, closing his eyes. “Was it that horrible?” she asked him, and he could nearly hear how Cilla held back her tears at that question. 

“What?  No,” he assured her immediately, blurting out the words. “Gods, Cilla. That’s not…” He didn’t have the right words for this, didn’t know how he should explain this to her, without hurting her even more…without… “Sweetheart,” he said helplessly. 

Cilla turned around, shaking off his hand, dark eyes mustering him in the dark room, the expression on her face shuttering. 

“Then what?” she demanded, sharper than she had ever talked to him before. “is it some kind of treat that I only get when I behave like you want me to?” she spat out and he swallowed. 

“Cilla,” he whispered, his voice breaking. 

“Do I need to earn your affection?” she asked him. “What do I need to do?” 

“No, Gods, no,” Azriel forced out, the words sticking in the back of his throat. 

He had managed to fuck that up spectacularly, hadn’t he? 

Yes, you have, his shadows agreed. 

“Then what do you want from me? What am I doing wrong?” Cilla demanded, her voice splintering. “What am I doing WRONG?!” The way her voice rose at the end, so loud in this quiet house, the way her chest heaved, the tears glinted in her eyes and then fell over her cheeks…

Somebody strangled him with his guilt. 

This would have never needed to happen. But he had been stupid. So fucking stupid. He should have known better. 

But he hadn’t. He had wanted to fix things for her and overcorrected so sharply, that she was the only one hurt and it had ended in a mess. 

“You have done nothing wrong, Sweetheart,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice gently, not to let her hear the chaos that he was currently feeling. He held out his hands for her but she stayed distant, just watching him…her eyes tearful, her lower lip wobbling. 

She was crying because of him. Having an ash bolt shot through his chest hurt less than this. 

Fix this, his shadows demanded sharply. We don’t like to see her crying. This is your fault. 

It was his fault. “Fuck, Sweetheart, I am so sorry,” he apologised fiercely. “I really fucked up. It’s not some kind of treat. I just…I didn’t…I was so wrapped up with finally meeting you, finally meeting my mate, that I didn't think about the consequences of my own actions, Cilla,” Azriel hurried to explain. “You are still so young…you have an excuse why you don’t think it through, but I don’t. I should have seen your shadows and I should have realised what they meant..and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.” 

“Advantage,” she repeated like she wasn’t quite sure what the word even meant.  

“You didn’t really know what you agreed to the first time we had sex, sweetheart. You were…desperate and half ill and I should have treated you, my mate, better than that,” Azriel explained quietly. He should…They should have had an actual conversation, they should have gotten to know each other before he even laid a finger on her like that but instead, he had been…so overcome…so impulsive that he had just. 

 “I am not a child,” Cilla bit out sharply. “I have been on my own for 2 years, and I managed to survive. I can decide if I want to be with you or not!” 

“Of course, you can. Cilla,”  he agreed. She wasn’t a child. Even if she was painfully naive in some ways, she was very much not that in others. Treating her like a child when she had spent 2 years working herself to the bone to make sure that she could survive didn’t seem fair…not when she had also spent 18 years locked in that attic with only her shadows for company. 

“I…I thought that taking sex out of the equation until…until you had settled into the mating bond and…this life was the better choice,” he admitted with a grimace. Put it on ice until she was sure that she knew what she really agreed to. But clearly she…

“You thought,” Cilla repeated flatly, her voice icy. “YOU thought. Did you notice that it’s always YOU thought about something? It’s never something WE thought about. It’s not something that WE DECIDED! That we even TALKED about! YOU just decided and I…I am expected to go along with it because you are older and know BETTER?!” She lost her temper. 

Quite frankly…he deserved worse. 

Worse than Cilla ranting, and raising her voice at him, worse than her screaming, her hands turned into fists…worse than her dissolving into tears as she scrambled to the end of the mattress, the shadows coming to blanket her. 

Great job, Master, their voice dripped with contempt. You better fix it or we’ll take her somewhere else. 

He didn’t think for one moment that that threat was idle. 

They were serious about that. 

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, even as he could see her trembling. 

“You are alright. It’s alright,” he promised her softly. “I am sorry.”

She stared at him like she didn’t believe him…Like she expected him to get angry at her for shouting at him. 

He wasn’t. 

It had clearly all boiled all over for her. And even as he wished that she didn’t need to feel the need to shout to be heard…he understood it. 

He’d rather her shout and scream at him than to shut down and just accept if he mistreated her. 

“I am so sorry,” he apologised again. “Cilla, you are right. I should have talked to you. I should have given you more time. I should not have just put you in front of the choices that I made because I thought that it would be the easiest way. I should have told you that I knew who your father was when I figured it out. I should have given you more time to wrap your head around that idea and not expect you to be alright with meeting him the same day, the same evening,” he continued. “And I should have talked to you about my worries about sex as well and not just…not just pulled away from you intimately, making you think that you did something wrong or that I don’t want you.”

He should have done none of that. 

“I am so sorry, sweetheart.” 

She trembled, staring at him, like…wide-eyed, terrified and…like she couldn’t quite believe it. 

“You aren’t angry?” she asked him, her voice shaking. 

“At you? No,” Azriel answered honestly. “At myself, very much so, Sweetheart. I’ll spend the next few months begging for your forgiveness, Cilla,” he promised her.

The last thing he had expected was for her to pounce at him, once again, clearly unused to physical comfort and still searching it out…still clinging onto him desperately. 

“I am sorry. For screaming,” Cilla apologised, her voice shaking, breathing the words against his chest, as he pressed a kiss against her hair, and he wiped away her tears with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“That’s okay. You were upset at me. You were right to be upset at me. And I want you to be able to tell me anything. I won’t ever hurt you in response,” he promised her. “I am sorry, sweetheart,” Azriel apologised once again. 

She didn’t say anything, just burrowed tighter to him, breathing in his scent, her heartbeat calming down slightly. 

Better. She was doing better. 

He would have deserved it if she kept being angry at him…if she wanted nothing to do with him after that outburst, but instead she seemed to search him out for comfort, clinging on to him, as he brushed kisses over her head and rubbed her back…still feeling every single vertebra of her spine. 

Too thin. Still too thin. So easily breakable, even when he knew that she had gone through things that would have driven a weaker person insane…even when he knew how strong she really was…so strong and so easily breakable by him. 

He couldn’t fuck up like this again. 

Not again. 

He couldn’t stand to see her tears, see the trembling off his body because of him…smell the bitter scent of tears and fear that was not slowly returned to the sweetness of fire and vanilla. 

He needed…They needed to figure out something else…a way forward that Cilla could be comfortable with…that wouldn’t be Azriel pushing her into something that she didn’t really want and only went along with to make him happy. 

“Did you…did you really want to get to know Cassian or did you only go along with it, because you didn’t want to upset me?” he asked her carefully, trying to keep any sort of judgement out of her voice. he wasn’t quite sure how he should tell Cassian it if she changed her mind, but he would deal with it if Cilla really wasn’t…interested. 

“He’s important to you,” she sidestepped his question, her voice hesitant. 

It was an answer in itself, wasn’t it? Azriel closed his eyes, cursing himself out. 

“He is, but so are you,” he assured her quietly. “Cilla…what if we…what if we take it slower?” he proposed quietly. “You can just…get to know him. And then you can still decide if you want to have…some sort of relationship with him?” he suggested. 

“I…I want more time,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Alright.” Azriel could work with that. “You’ll get that,” he promised her. “We’ll take it slow…maybe invite Cassian and Nesta to lunch and I will be your buffer, how about that?” he suggested. Stop Cassian from coming on too strong…giving Cilla the option to get away if she needed it. 

She shrugged, her body still trembling. It wasn't a no, but it also wasn't an outright yes. 

“And we’ll try a flying lesson tomorrow maybe,” he suggested, hoping that maybe that would…that would cheer her up in a way...Give her a feeling of freedom of control. 

“Really?” Cilla asked him, hesitantly. 

“Really,” he promised her. “But now, sleep, Sweetheart,” he said softly, pressing another kiss against her hair and she hummed her agreement. 

Crisis averted. For the moment. 

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | June 3rd-23th 2024 ~ Fics

Sorry for skipping a two weeks! I had a work thing the weekend before before last and work is a bit busy at the moment so I couldn't get to it during the week. Hope you enjoy!

Complete

Take the Lead by Inell/ @inell (Getting Together, Post-S7 | 1,3K | Teen): Buck and Eddie finally have a conversation that they’ve needed to have for months, if not years.

take me out and take me home by bellabrady (Getting Together | 1,7K | Not Rated): Maddie has been texting him, asking him if he’s asked Buck yet and reassuring him that he’ll say yes, although after a few days, it seems her patience started to run out and the reassurance kind of turned into bullying. So he’s going to do it. He’s going to ask Buck out on a date, today. Partially because he wants to finally be with Buck and this will hopefully be the start of that and partially because he’s getting tired of Maddie texting him that he’s a coward — Or: Buck and Eddie finally go on a date.

thanks, babe! by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Getting Together | 1,8K | Teen): Eddie accidentally calls Buck babe and refuses to have a meltdown over it. It was just his subconscious betraying him because they were surrounded by couples, right? Right?!

hit the jackpot by coupe_de_foudre/ @panevanbuckley (Canon Divergent, 1x09: Trapped | 2K | General): “I’m your husband.” “You’re my husband? Holy shit!”

baby don't you know? (you're my golden hour) by ipretendtobesane/ @useramor (Post-S6 | Getting Together | 2K | General): Eddie will give him this: Chimney does wait months after Buck’s out of his coma and back by his side to bring it up. “How come you and Buck haven’t told anyone you’re together?”

I wish I could help by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Post-7x05: You Don't Know Me, PWP | 2K | Explicit): Eddie is so pent up he can barely focus on his job – and Buck is all too happy to help. That’s just what friends do.

the 'i' in ikea stands for 'i love you' by ipretendtobesane/ / @useramor (Getting Together, Didn't Know They Were Dating | 2,8K | Teen): buck has some life changing realizations in the curtain section of ikea. mainly, he's really, really in love with his best friend.

Chance Encounter by Inell / @inell (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Divorced Eddie/Shannon, S4 | 3K | Teen): When Eddie and Buck go to the Hollywood Farmer’s Market, Eddie doesn’t expect to run into his ex-wife for the first time since moving to LA two years ago.

(for every question why) you were my because by thatbuddie (talktothesky) (Post-S7, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): “Being boyfriends and being friends is really different,” Buck says. “But if you’re so okay being friends with him,” Eddie explains, “It means there wasn’t anything he did wrong while being your boyfriend. So I don’t understand why you broke up with him.” “I didn’t break up with him because he did anything wrong.” Eddie opens his arms wide and then lets them drop down to hit the side of his thighs. “But then what happened? I just don’t understand. What happened?” “You! That’s what happened: You!” (or, Buck breaks up with Tommy but won’t talk about it, and Eddie just needs to know why.)

of bake sales and overdue realizations by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Getting Together | 4,8K | Teen): Eddie doesn’t notice it until it becomes a thing that happens even when it’s just him and Buck, without Chris anywhere near them - but even then, he doesn’t find it strange, or give it much thought. Buck is the one who starts ending their phone calls with a quick ‘love you’ but it doesn't take long before Eddie does the same, often beating him to it.

one single static frame by signetsealed/ @gayeddieagenda (Post-S7, Pre-Buddie | 5K | General): Chris is gone and Buck and Eddie are called on for babysitting duty. Eddie has feelings about it.

some version of you that I might not have (but I did not lose) by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Coma Dream, Pre-Buddie | 5K | Teen): Either Eddie is dreaming and can't wake up, or he's losing his mind. He's not sure which one is more likely.

Baby Got Buck by bgonemydear, Chash/ @ponyregrets (Pre-canon to S7 | 5K | Mature): Five times Buck checked out a guy's ass before he figured out he was bi, and one time someone checked out his after.

sounding like the rest of my life by coupe_de_foudre/ @panevanbuckley (Canon Divergent, Getting Together | 6K | General): or, Eddie does a Ravi and swaps shifts for a bit, only everyone on B Shift is convinced that he and Buck are married. they might not be as wrong as Eddie initially thought.

buried deep, our love comes home by lookforanewangle (Post-3x15: Eddie Begins | 7K | Teen): “You care for him.” “Of course I do,” Buck says, gaze back on Eddie against his will. He squeezes Eddie’s hand again. “He’s my best friend.” “That’s not what I meant.” “I—I don’t—Bobby, it-it’s not like that—” or: After a traumatic few days, Buck and Eddie get their shit together.

i told my future by reading your lips by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (2x06: Dosed, Time Travel | 7K | Teen): In 2018, on their way to a call at a child beauty pageant, and feeling a little strange, Buck and Eddie are suddenly thrown into a fast-paced look at some key moments from their future. And, what they see? Well it can only lead to one logical conclusion.

oh, come when you're called by lesbianrobin/ @lesbianrobin (Post-S7 | 8K | Teen): Chris wants his dad. He wants his bed. But he can't have those yet, and he and Dad never really text because if Dad’s not working they’re usually together or one of them is too busy to text, so texting Dad feels weird, but Buck… He can text Buck.

🔥 Saints into the Sea by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-7x05: You Don't Know Me, Coming Out, Jealous Eddie | 8K | Teen): There's an itch between his shoulder blades when Buck talks about Tommy, when Buck asks Eddie if he wants to join the two of them for a drink after work, when Buck smiles at a text message and Eddie knows it's from Tommy. His stomach had been twisted in knots for half of Maddie and Chim's wedding, watching the two of them. There's only one awful, inevitable conclusion: Eddie isn't actually as comfortable with Buck's coming out as he thought he was. Which is, frankly, unacceptable.

If You Want It, You Can Have It by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Post-S7, Halloween, Identity Porn | 9K | Mature): Buck just wants to enjoy a Halloween night out with the 118, drinking and dancing and making fun of Ravi's costume, all the while trying to handle his newfound feelings for Eddie. He thinks he's being smart, trying to get over his best friend, or at the very least, keep his secret under wraps. He ends up doing the exact opposite. It ends up yielding great results.

🔥 We're at an Impasse Here; Maybe We Should Compromise by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-S7 | 9K | Teen): "You cannot murder anyone," says Maddie. "Also, if you were going to murder your captain, it would be very stupid to write murder down as your top idea for how to deal with him." "It's on a dry erase board!" Chim protests. So far, all he's written on the board is Ways to Deal with Capt Gerrasshole, and then 1. Murder? below it. "And I put a question mark. So even if I didn't erase it, the jury would never convict. A question mark introduces reasonable doubt."

friends don't mean nothing to me (it's us) by Kwills91/ @kwills91 (Pre-S2, Canon Divergent | 15K | Teen): Buck and Eddie meet before he joins the 118, and it just might be the balm he needs to get over Abby. But when Eddie starts working at the station, Buck doesn't understand why Hen and Chim keep looking at them that way, or why Bobby seems to think they're dating.

🔥 when the longer days of sun appear, they'll be rising like an answered prayer by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-S7, Fake Relationship | 18K | Explicit): Eddie is generally worried when Tommy and Buck break up because Tommy's ex moved back to town, and even more worried when that leaves Buck without a date to a wedding. So, of course, Eddie's going to help him out with all of that.

🔥 like a bird stealing bread out from under your nose by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Fix-It | 21K | Mature): If you’d asked Eddie back in May what rock bottom looked like, it was his son leaving him. That felt like it; everything ruined so entirely that there was no way to ruin it further. There’s always more to lose.

🔥 some things fall when they're meant to fall by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post S7E5 | 25K | Teen): Eddie’s gaze drop to Buck’s lips—pink, like his birthmark. Eddie wants to taste those lips, and he wants it with a fierceness so sudden it shocks him. “I’m, uh,” Buck stammers. “Last night. When you saw me and Tommy…we—we were on a date.” Everything inside Eddie goes still. If his heart is a kite, then this is the moment it plummets back to earth. or, Buck tells Eddie some news. Eddie has a realization and breaks up with his girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order.

🔥 that magic feeling by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (S7 Fix-It | 42K | Explicit): An alternate ending to season 7, in which Eddie doesn't completely blow his life up, and he and Buck realise they're in love.

🔥 ripples all the way down by iriswests/ @fcntasmas (Getting Together, S4 | 52K | Mature): With some coercion, Buck allows Maddie to set him up on a date. Surprisingly, the date goes well — and it keeps his mind off the unnamable feelings he’s been studiously ignoring for his best friend. Until Christopher’s science report on gentoo penguins — no, seriously — sets off a series of events that has him somehow spending more time at the Diazes’ side, and he feels like he’s going just a little bit insane trying to juggle a burgeoning relationship, his jealousy over Eddie’s own new relationship with Ana, and his inability to move on from the place that’s been his for three years in the Diazes’ lives. Oh, and Eddie keeps looking at him like he has something to say — except he never says it. This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles. -- or; christopher partakes in some parent trapping

🔥 stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong by Daffi_990_ao3/ @daffi-990 (Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting | 85K | Not Rated): Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other. As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight. Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?

WIP

🔥 Steal My Sunshine by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Altered Memories | 7/9 | 24K | Mature): Memories hazy and unreliable, Eddie Diaz wakes up every morning in a house at the end of a cul de sac, goes to his office job at a petroleum engineering company, and comes home to his wife and son. But something is missing, and the more Eddie begins to put the pieces together, the stranger the predicament he finds himself in. 

🔥 If You Can Make the Music by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, | 1/5 | 2K | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise. (Part 3 of Coma-Verse)

The Smutty Ones by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 55/? | 22K | Explicit): A collection of smutty Buddie drabbles.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 129/? | 405K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 33/? | 21K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

Chapter 33. 19. "If we get caught kissing we're dead but let's risk it." 

🔥 Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Not A Firefighter Eddie, Sugar Baby Buck | 4/22 | 18K | Explicit): When Eddie Diaz stumbles his way into money, he finds himself one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles - to his dismay. He needs a way to get people off his back without confessing his messy marital situation, and Shannon's still not answering his calls, so he caves to a friend's suggestion: hire someone to pretend to be his partner. Enter Evan "Buck" Buckley: sugar baby, fire fighter, and the man about to turn Eddie's world upside down.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 13/19 | 67K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

Re-Read

the secrets we keep (the ones that spill out) by sparegarbage/ @babybucks (Getting Together | 4K | General): Or: Buck and Eddie comfort each other with cuddles, hugs, and kisses (platonically—or so they think).

Tear me to pieces and make me feel whole by justhockey (Getting Together | 2K | Not Rated): And that’s when it clicks. In the pasta aisle of the grocery store, at 10am on a Saturday morning. Buck is frowning as he tries to decide what to get - and Eddie is in love with him.

[lethby]

What's wrong with lesson 16 (everything)

A list by yours truly, who is about to collapse if she doesn't vent about it (TW: opinion lmao)

⍣ ೋ The time-travel shit

LITERALLY WHY

It creates so many problems and plot holes that could easily be avoided for no reason.

We leave everyone behind and it's never even addressed?? THEY'RE WAITING FOR US???

Barbatos, supposedly the one that cares about balance and timelines, just goes "well you're stuck here and I literally erased the other MC, good ending :D"

He told her "don't run into anyone" and she decides FIRST THING to head where all the noise is coming from, not trying to hide at all

⍣ ೋ No consequences whatsoever

It's awesome to know no one cared about MC dying

Sure, she's "alive" now, but everyone moved on so quickly??? Even Mammon, who was in the verge of a meltdown.

And it's all because we're Lilith's descendant how convenient

Even Belphie, our murderer who has hated humans for MILLENNIA, had a major switch up at this

Also, the brothers begin to completely disregard MC by treating her like Lilith

Look I understand, it's your dead sister and you miss her, BUT MC IS NOT HER. SHE IS HER OWN GODDAMN PERSON

But the worst part is... MC IS SO DAMN CHILL ABOUT IT

Even if she technically isn't the one who died, you'd expect some kind of uneasiness coming from her, SPECIALLY AROUND BELPHIE

Words can't express how much I hate it

⍣ ೋ Solution

I'm gonna make the devs a favor and fix their game

REVIVAL

MC JUST REVIVES FOR WHATEVER REASON (Lilith's will, the last remnants of her powers, Barbatos' precautions...)

Now you don't have to worry about too many plot holes, focusing on just one timeline

Also this allows her to remember her death, making her trauma more intense and veridical

I know it sounds crazy but if they could pull off lesson 16, they can pull this off

Make the brothers indecisive

They got their little brother back, but at what cost?

Everything is fine now, right? But it's not. MC is not "fine"

Make them conflicted between taking MC's side and comforting her but also welcoming Belphie and make up

MAKE MC UNCOMFORTABLE

I can't stress enough how important this part is

Give her TIME to evolve, develop as a character, and understand her feelings

She wouldn't want to be around Belphie, at all

She might not even wanna be around the others, seeing as they treat her like nothing happened

Make her upset, confused, feel like she doesn't belong, ANYTHING

MAKE HER GO THROUGH THE STAGES OF GRIEF

In fact, if you want to make her relationship with Belphie nourish, you can do that too by not just hey lol I killed you but I'm good now

Make her have nightmares

That's it

Make Belphie notice the dark circles under her eyes and the way she avoids him, then discover she has nightmares

The "now" Belphie could feel guilty

He might try to comfort her, only for her to shy away in response

Seeing as his apologies don't work this early into the trauma, he could enter her dreams and chase those nightmares away, every night, sacrificing his own sleep

THAT is a dynamic I want to see, personally

This could have been done with or without the time-travel, btw

In the time-travel, though, I was also missing some grieving from MC

Remember when I said to make the brothers conflicted? Make MC suffer more too

She wants to go back to her time, her universe, her family. They're waiting for her

But she also doesn't want to leave behind these demons, which have just found peace and happiness after a long time

Here's the catch, No matter what she chooses, she's forced to live her life regretting whatever decision she makes, since she can't make everyone happy and one side must suffer inevitably

An MC going through a heavy trauma and eventually (and slowly) overcoming it would just click with so many players

⍣ ೋ Conclusion

To me, the game didn't fully explore the feelings that going through that experience would bring for everyone, even if the idea itself was interesting. No, more like it didn't WANT to. Making MC go through all that would mean a lot of character development for a big amount of characters and little romance, which is what the game is about.

However, if you can't make that sacrifice, don't settle your game in a world rich in lore. And honestly, with all the explanations and back stories, I don't think obey me! is lacking on that. More so that, even if they were fully capable, they didn't want to go through all the trouble. Remember we're coming from an already fucked up scenario that took a lot of chapters.

Finally, this is just my opinion based on my experience. Of course, you don't have to agree with me in any way.

I have to say, that was relaxing lmaoo

Anyways, since I really like this idea and I've seen several people do it, I'm gonna make my own fanfic exploring how I think lesson 16 would have turned out realistically, hope you stay tuned!

Lethby ༊*·˚

[louisisalarrie]

ALRIGHT SO I was reminded of this today by a lovely mutual when we were discussing the crazy times of early larry. This… well… this was a great time to be in the fandom. It was chaos. I’ll link the original post I found of this back on my blog from 2013 as well, but I want to add my commentary throughout this post just to explain to all you newer larries what the HELL happened here (and that original post is missing one VERY important picture…)

So… if you think we are excellent detectives now, back then we were constantly finding things because there were so many things happening. The boys and their mothers used Twitter as a place to openly chat and talk shit and Jay and Anne were always tweeting each other about larry and everything… but, these tweets were still in the public eye. It just was a different time, and larrry content was still high on Twitter.

However, there were many more platforms available that the boys could use without being directly in the fandom’s eye. This included Pinterest / Blogspot.

Now, we only ever found Harry’s, and we searched for the other boys ones but couldn’t find anything and I doubt they had them. It was very on brand for Harry to have a Pinterest, so, let’s have a little look, shall we?

I screenshotted the first picture below today. This is Harry’s blogger account. This is still up, although the account hasn’t been active since 2013.

The below photo is from the original post about this whole Pinterest thing. We all clicked on it. It was verified and I saw it with my own eyes. It’s not photoshopped

So anyway, let’s start with his blog before we jump into Pinterest. His blog is adorable! There are more articles than just the one below (screenshot taken today, the link to this blog is here)

So anyway, back in the day, he really didn’t receive many comments or anything. It was a pretty quiet little blog, that sadly, didn’t last that long.

So let’s have a squiz at his Pinterest, shall we?

It was lovely to find his Pinterest. Seeing all the things that he liked, that sparked joy for him… it was truly lovely and such a cool way to connect to our boy. Obviously, by the follower count, it was a little more well known when this screenshot above was taken. However… the earlier screenshots from his Pinterest were a… a time to be alive. When we first found it, we went through his boards, and some photos he’d uploaded and pinned. Have a look…

And so… we were all kind of like okay. Wow. What if this is really him? But…. There’s nothing proving it’s him. And then, we got this photo (which I never see floating around anymore, and we hadn’t seen it prior to this). AHEM WHAT IS THIS SIR THIS WAS TRULY WILD

We lost our minds. There was so much stuff on his profile, a picture of a curly haired kid in suspenders, a lot of pride and larry and Louis stuff in a folder called “be happy”, but alas, the mobile app will only let me post 10 pics. But, there was also this little cheeky dig at you know who, which I loooooove

And oh!!! Remember louis’ black tie 21st that Harry threw??? THIS was one of his boards before Louis had turned 21. There was no way a fan guessed he’d be having a black tie 21st.

BUT everything Louis related, whether it be his 21st or that chihuahua or the photo of them together, got deleted soon after we found it. Obviously we freaked out, tumblr had a meltdown, we had some pretty solid larry evidence on our hands. But the old stuff and anything related to Louis or Harry’s sexuality, got deleted and Harry continued to use it for a little while after. Then, the whole acct was deleted. Which… interesting… why would you bother deleting the whole acct? There wasn’t just larry stuff, there was a heap of things that Harry shared and pinned and loved and it was really cool. Would have been a nice little archive. But the larry evidence was too strong. So it got deleted and we only have screenshots, unfortunately.

But, I can assure you, we all clicked on that Pinterest link and we all saw it with our own eyes. It was verified. It was him. This was real. I scrolled through all of those photos. We also found a tumblr very similar, under the same username, but it disappeared around the same time too.

However, the blog didn’t have anything larry on it, so it’s still up. But yeah. There you have it. Some more larry lore that I forgot about until today. Hehe. Original post with some more commentary from my tumblr in 2013 here

[suugarbabe]

You are SO amazing love, never let anyone tell you any different. I WILL fight them 😤

Tysm for considering wolfstar!daughter, i think youd enjoy the current fics that are currently out for it. Most of them are x fred or george and it just reminds me of you everytime.

Sorry, this is probs going to be long 😬

For the prompt though, i imagine they came about reader when remus found her on a full moon as a toddler werewolf, abandond in the forest (last yr hogwarts or graduated doesnt matter, whatever you decide) and when Sirius finally finds Remus the next morning he's shocked, confused, and then melts. Big, tall, broard Remus has this small bundle of cuteness wrapped in his sweater trying to cuddle into him.

Whether youd like to continue on from there or do reader growing up or a time skip is up to you. Same as if James dies or not, whatever your brilliant mind decides 🧡 but if it helps this is how i see the family dynamic:

I think Sirius would be the overprotective kind of dad, never failing with that wonderful sense of dramatics!

While Remus is the calm voice of reason that talks himself down when he feels like he might be going a little overboard.

Of course we're Uncle Reggies little star, he will be mean to another child if they hurt you. He and James are constantly arguing over who's the better uncle.

James is the uncle that gives you alcohol illegally and doesnt adhere to a curfew.

So skip to hogwarts in some of the last years (im a ravenclaw so i always imagine reader as a ravenclaw but anyhouse would be fun to explore) and reader makes it official with Theo or Enzo. Harry's a tattle tale and tells his dad who then brags to Reggie, who the apparats him self the Sirius' to demand answers because "who was this vile thing that dared touch his star?? Boyfriend?!?! Fucking over his dead body!!" Fully expecting Sirius to agree with him. But he doesnt, he just sighs because at least they made it til 6th/7th yr before boys started, he'll give the poor boy a chance first. And then Remus bursts in and has a full meltdown. Thats his little wolf; his baby. She can have a boyfriend. A BOYFRIEND!?! He might puke. No this isnt allowed. Boys are gross. And nasty. And theyre going to hurt her. But not before he hurts them!! He's going to put the fear of godric into this boy! RIGHT NOW!! Wheres his wand? He needs to go to Hogwarts.

Its so unexpected that both Black brothers are frozen. Until Remus starts searching for his wand and Sirius has to calm him down while Regulus goads him on. And through all of it, reader and Enzo/Theo were standing at the door to 'meet the parents'.

And then however you want it to go from there love! So sorry that was soo long and rambely. Of couese no pressure to write it and take whatever creative liberties youd like!!

Thank you love x

The group had made an agreement that the girls would all get a flat together, as would the boys. So naturally Sirius, James and Remus planned and found one for themselves that was 'absolutely perfect' as Sirius put it since it back right up to a large patch of woods; 'Perfect for you, Moony'.

In the moment Remus had rolled his eyes, but truly he was thankful. By the last full moon of school, Remus had managed to transform back to himself without completely passing out. After the fourth full moon in the flat, Remus was able to still decently function after his transformations.

What neither Sirius nor James expected happened and they didn't know how to react initially. Sirius and James had lost sight of Remus toward the end of the night, now both transformed back to themselves looking for him.

When Sirius found him, he didn't expect the scene he walked upon. Remus shoulders were hunched over, and at first Sirius thought he was crying. But the closer he got, he realized it was not Remus making those noises, but...a child?

"Moony...what the bloody hell is that," Sirius voice was cautious, he was still convinced he might be hallucinating.

Remus turned around slowly, "She's like me, Pads. She...she was a tiny little wolf, I swear it." Sirius was skeptical, but the way Remus was looking down at you, every doubt was melting away. The way your tiny hands gripped on to Remus's sweater.

When Sirius got close enough, you reached out for him, and he was done for. When James caught up with the pair he had the same initial reaction. But like Sirius, one look at you and he was also convinced.

It had taken the girls no time to swoon after you, and the boys were forever grateful. While Remus declared himself your father (Sirius demanding his was Dad number 2). James became your fun uncle (funcle as he called himself, Lily rolling her eyes each time).

To say it had taken a village was not just a cliché, but reality. Sirius was every over protective father, having a flair for the dramatics any time anything happened, good or bad. Remus was more calm, essentially the voice of reason when Sirius was talking circles. You eventually became the perfect mix of the two, which they both loved.

When you got your Hogwarts letter Sirius threw a party, Remus thinking it was a little over the top but Sirius insisted, "Our little star got her letter, we're celebrating Moony." Regulus had brought you off to the side, insisting you owl him if anyone is mean to you, he'll come and fix it, "Even if it's another little twat kid, you let me know, okay Star?"

After fourth year, James let you try his beer for the first time. Sirius lost his mind, Remus reminded Sirius how much worse he was at your age and that if James was letting her try it that it was a better situation than he used to get in to.

What you didn't expect was the commotion that ensued during Christmas holiday seventh year. It was tradition for you and your dads to throw a party on Christmas Eve. You were putting the final touches on the Christmas biscuits you usually made when a loud pop sounded in the living room.

"SIRIUS GET YOUR ARSE IN HERE NOW!" The voice of Regulus rang throughout your house and you instantly froze. Sirius sauntered in, not bothered by his younger brothers tone, "Seriously, with the shouting Reg, what is it now?"

Regulus looked over Sirius shoulder at you in the kitchen before turning back to his brother, "How could you let her, huh? How could you let her do this, with a Slytherin no less? My little star? Who is this vile snake you've let touch our little girl, a boyfriend, Sirius, really?"

You held your breath, fully expecting your dad to lose it, go full on dramatics, but instead he just pinched the bridge of his nose, "Honestly, Reg, calm down. I'm surprised it took us till seventh year for her to finally decide to get a boyfriend, don't get me wrong, I'm thankful," he turned pointing at you, "but I trust her, Reg. And you should too. She's not like us. Really though, darling, a Slytherin?"

Sirius turned to face you and all you could muster was a shrug of your shoulders before your father burst in. "WHAT did I just hear? My wolf has a WHAT? With a WHO? Darling are you mad, who is this boy? A boyfriend? Oh my Godric, I think I'm going to be sick. Who is he, star? Who, tell me now. I'm getting my wand. Sirius, my wand now."

Remus held out his hand expectantly, but nothing happened. Both Regulus and Sirius stood frozen, mouths agape at Remus's reaction before a sly smirk crawled its way onto Sirius's features, "Oh my my, Moony, this is a sight."

At that moment the Potter's all appeared, the air obviously thick with tension. James looked between his friends, "Oi, what did we miss?"

When you saw Harry you were instantly enraged, your inherant traits from Sirius coming in to play, "You little fucking rat, you weasel, you knew I was going to tell them over break, how could you tell Reggie before I could tell my parents, I'll hex you Potter, I swear it!"

You started after Harry, only for James's strong arms to lift you up by the waist and hold you tight, "Woah there, mini Sirius, calm down. I think this might be my fault. Harry told me out of concern and I might have boasted about your feats to Reggie."

You went slump in your Uncle's grasp, "Uncle Jamie...how could you." You were pouting as he sat you down, giving you a tight hug, "I'm sorry, star, I was just so dang proud of you."

You looked over at your parents, Sirius now rubbing Remus's back who was pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a knock on the door, causing everyone's attention to switch towards the distrubance.

Walking towards the door, you looked back with your hand on the handle, "Be nice." The marauders and Harry held up their hands in defense, Regulus crossed his, "No promises."

When you opened the door, Enzo stood there, cheeks slightly pink. "Erm, are you sure it's okay for me to be here?" You laughed slightly out of embarrassment, "How much did you hear exactly?"

"Enough to know I'm more afraid of Professor Lupin than Sirius," he whispered as he followed you through the door.

"Dad, Father, this is Enzo. My boyfriend," You gestured toward Enzo who gave a shy wave.

Remus placed his hand on his own chest, "Oh thank god it's Berkshire. I was really worried, star dear. Really worried. Thought maybe it was going to be the Nott boy."

This caused both you and Enzo to laugh, Enzo speaking up finally, "Merlin, no, sir. Nott's afraid of Y/n actually. So you've done a good job."

"Don't start kissing ass just yet, Berkshire," Regulus stuck a finger out at the boy.

"Uncle Reggie. Behave," you scolded him like a child, he looked down at the floor like one, too.

Sirius stepped forward, extending his hand, "So sorry, my boy. I'm Sirius, Y/n's father. You've met Moony, erm, Professor Lupin, her dad. He's sorry for anything you may have heard through the door."

Enzo grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly, "It's alright, sir. It's a pleasure to meet the men who've raised such a strong woman." Enzo smiled at you affectionately, causing you to blush in front of your family.

"Look at that, Moons. Our little star is growing up," Sirius wiped a faked fear, while Remus was holding back real ones.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose like your dad had done earlier, "Alright, who's hungry, hmm? Shall we eat?" You led Enzo towards the large table. Everyone followed suit, both Regulus and Remus grumbling slightly.

As you sat down, Enzo gave your thigh a squeeze. He leaned over and whispered in your ear, "Star, huh? That's cute." You side-eyed him, giving him a slight glare, "You tell anyone, you're a dead man."

Enzo grinned to himself, "It'd be an honor to die by your hands, love."

Across the table, Sirius gave Remus's thigh a squeeze, "She's growing up, Moons. Our little star." Remus nodded, pouring himself some brandy, "That she is, Pads. Our little wolf is a woman now." Sirius scoffed, "She still needs us though right?" Remus nodded, smiling, "We'll always be there for her."

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

24. Level Up

Note: A prelude to the actual meat of the arc

Masterlist here

The anticipation for Aespa’s world tour was electric. Fans around the globe were buzzing with excitement, and each passing day brought the tour closer to reality. For Y/n, this meant endless planning, logistics, and coordination. After their successful comeback with Supernova, everything was moving fast. But this time, Y/n felt more prepared. He was no longer the nervous rookie manager who fumbled schedules during the Drama era. Sure, the pressure was still there, but now, there was something different about his approach.

He glanced at his laptop screen, dozens of tabs open with spreadsheets, calendars, and tour notes. His mind raced as he juggled rehearsals, soundchecks, interviews, and media appearances. There was still so much to do, but Y/n had learned from his past mistakes. This time, he was determined to avoid the fallout he’d experienced with Karina. That argument, followed by his short leave of absence, had been a wake-up call. He couldn’t afford to let things spiral like that again.

But just as he was about to close the last tab, something caught his eye.

“Wait, what the…?”

His eyes widened. He had accidentally double-booked their all-important soundcheck with a media appearance on the same day. A wave of deja vu hit him hard, and he couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. This was "exactly" the kind of stuff he’d made back during "Drama" and “Supernova”—and it had led to some serious fallout with Karina.

"Hah, sike. Too easy"

But instead of panicking this time, Y/n smirked to himself, already thinking of a solution. He knew how to handle it. He had this under control now. Still, it was fun to mess with the girls a little.

Feigning panic, Y/n rushed into the living room where Aespa was relaxing after a long day of rehearsals. He made sure to put on his most worried face, eyes wide and hands in the air.

“Uh, guys… I might have fcked it up,” he announced dramatically, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling up inside.

Karina, who was curled up on the couch, glanced up, her brow furrowing. “What now, Y/n? Did we lose a venue or something?”

Winter, lounging beside her, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what happened? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

"Yeah, you."

"Aish, this guy-"

Y/n paced back and forth, doing his best to keep the act going. “Ok, but I may have, uh... accidentally double-booked our soundcheck and media appearance on the same day.”

“Again?” Giselle piped up from the other side of the room, half-joking but slightly concerned. “Like you did during "Drama"?”

"…Maybe?"

Ningning gasped, holding a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Are we going to relive that disaster?”

For a moment, the room was tense. The girls exchanged glances, unsure if this was going to lead to another meltdown like the last time. But just as the panic started to set in, Y/n burst out laughing.

"You guys seriously should've seen yourself!" Y/n coughed. "Man, wished I recorded this whole thing!"

"Wait, so that means…" Ningning held her breath.

“I’m just messing with you,” he admitted through his laughter, holding up his hands. “Yeah, I double-booked, but I already deal with it.”

The girls stared at him, stunned. Karina blinked, completely thrown off. “You… you what?”

Y/n grinned, finally dropping the act. “It was a quick fix. I rescheduled the soundcheck earlier in the day, and the media event will be in the afternoon. Easy.”

Winter threw her hoodie at him. “Seriously, Y/n? You made us think the world was ending!”

He dodged the hoodie with a laugh, still reveling in their reactions. “What can I say? I couldn’t resist. It’s just... the deja vu, you know?”

Karina narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “You really had us for a second there.”

Ningning groaned, shaking her head. “And here I thought we’d have to take over as managers. You’re lucky you’ve learned to handle this stuff.”

“I mean, can you imagine Minjeong running the tour?” Y/n teased, raising an eyebrow at her. "Snack time for the whole concert and no song."

Winter rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I’d be a great manager, thank you very much. Probably better than you.”

Y/n snorted, grinning. “Sure, crybaby. Whatever you say.”

As the girls laughed and teased each other, the tension from earlier faded. Y/n leaned back against the wall, watching them bicker playfully. This was what he loved about working with them—the chaos, the camaraderie. Yeah, the job was stressful, and yeah, he still made mistakes, but now he knew how to handle them without everything blowing up. He wasn’t the rookie manager anymore.

Giselle gave him a playful shove. “Next time, maybe don’t give us all a heart attack.”

Y/n grinned. “Boohoo. Cry me a river.”

“Honestly,” Karina said, shaking her head but smiling. “I’m proud of you, though. You didn’t freak out this time.”

“Yeah, you’re actually handling things like a pro,” Winter added, her teasing tone softening.

Y/n smiled, feeling a warmth in their words. “Thanks, guys. I’m just trying to avoid another fallout like last time.”

Ningning gave him a thumbs up. “Well, you’re doing a good job. Just keep it up, and we might actually survive this tour.”

Y/n laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. They still had a long way to go before the tour kicked off, but for the first time in a while, he felt confident. The hiccup had been small, easily fixed, and no disaster had followed. He knew there would be more challenges ahead, but now, he also knew they could face them together.

As the teasing died down, Y/n returned to his laptop, sending off the final confirmations for the schedule. He glanced around the room, watching the girls joke with each other, and felt a sense of pride. Things had come a long way since the Drama days, and so had he.

Still, the playful chaos of Aespa was something he’d never want to change.

Winter broke the silence, smirking at him. “But seriously, idiot… no more acting like the world is ending.”

Y/n chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll save that for when it actually happens.”

-

With the world tour rehearsals in full swing, it was time for Aespa’s final music show performance of the "Armaggedon" comeback. The entire team was feeling the pressure, but Y/n was calm, collected, and—most importantly—determined not to mess things up this time.

The last time they had a major show like this, Y/n had bungled backstage logistics, almost causing a nightmare with another group’s schedule. He still remembered the awkward encounter with Le Sserafim in the waiting room, where he accidentally swapped their rooms with Aespa's.

But not today.

This time, Y/n moved through the backstage area with confidence. He had already triple-checked the schedule, confirmed the setlist, and ensured Aespa’s dressing room was fully stocked with their favorite snacks. Everything was going smoothly. He wasn’t the same rookie manager anymore.

“Y/n, we’re heading to wardrobe,” Karina called, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He looked up from his clipboard, giving her a thumbs-up. “Got it. I’ll make sure everything’s ready when you guys are done.”

As Aespa headed off, Y/n glanced down at the small takeout bag in his hand. He had a little mission of his own to take care of before the show started. Inside the bag was some fried rice that Yunjin of Le Sserafim joked about during his first days. Today was the day for her delivery to arrive.

Heading down the hall, he spotted Le Sserafim’s waiting room and knocked lightly on the door. When it opened, Yunjin stood there, looking surprised but pleased to see him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/n, the room-swapper,” she teased, crossing her arms with a grin. “What brings you here?”

Y/n chuckled, holding up the takeout bag. “Delivery for Yunjin? Huhhh?”

Yunjin’s eyes widened as she reached for the bag. “Wait actually? Bro, I thought I would never get my order delivered.”

“Hey, I always follow with the joke,” Y/n replied with a smirk. “It’s just… taken a while. But here’s to not messing up anymore.”

Yunjin laughed, taking the bag from him. “Well, I appreciate it. You’ve come a long way, you know. I remember when you were running around here like a headless chicken. Kept hearing Winter yelling idiot every time that it's kinda sad.”

Y/n smiled, feeling the truth of her words. “Yeah, well, I'm no longer that idiot… mostly.”

“Well, you’ve definitely got the manager game down now,” Yunjin said. “Thanks for the rice, by the way. And good luck today and for the world tour as well—though you guys don’t really need it. I’m betting on a win for Aespa.”

Y/n nodded, his heart swelling a little with pride. “Thanks, Yunjin. Good luck to you guys, too. I’ll see you around.”

With that, he left Le Sserafim’s waiting room and made his way back to Aespa, feeling good about how things were going. There was something satisfying about righting past mistakes—both big and small—and moving forward with confidence.

As he returned to Aespa’s waiting room, the girls were just finishing up their hair and makeup. Ningning spotted him first, giving him a wave. “Y/n-oppa! Did you deliver the fried rice?”

“Mission accomplished,” Y/n replied, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wow, look at you, handling everything without a hitch,” Giselle teased, a playful grin on her face. “Who are you, and what did you do with the old Y/n?”

Y/n rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Still here, but not that often.”

Winter glanced at him, an amused expression on her face. “You sure? You still looked pretty panicked earlier when we teased you about the schedule.”

“Oh, that was just for show,” Y/n shot back, earning a few laughs. “I had it under control.”

The energy in the room was light, and everyone seemed relaxed despite the looming performance. But when it came time to head to the stage, the focus returned, and Aespa prepared for what would be their last Armageddon performance.

As the show progressed, the tension built. Y/n watched from the sidelines, clipboard in hand, managing every small detail without breaking a sweat. The girls were giving it their all, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride watching them dominate the stage. When the performance ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and Y/n knew they had nailed it.

But the biggest (obvious) surprise of the night came during the awards segment.

The host’s voice echoed through the venue. “And the winner for today’s music show is… Aespa with Armageddon!”

The girls’ jaws dropped in unison, and they exchanged shocked looks before breaking into excited cheers. Y/n felt a wave of joy wash over him as he watched them rush to the stage to accept the trophy. This was the culmination of all their hard work, and the victory felt even sweeter knowing they had overcome so much to get here.

As Aespa gave their acceptance speech, Y/n stood in the shadows, beaming with pride. The girls thanked their fans, the staff, and each other, but when Karina spoke up, she made sure to throw a special shout-out.

“And, of course, we want to thank our manager, Y/n, for always keeping us on track—even when things get crazy!” Karina said, flashing a smile in his direction.

"Oh my god, why are they mentioning me…"

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t have imagined standing here a few years ago, especially not after all the chaos during the "Drama" era. But now, here they were—trophy in hand and stronger than ever.

As the night drew to a close, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. He’d made it through the day without messing up, delivered on his promises, and Aespa had secured another win. It was a far cry from the days when he’d struggled to keep up, and now, he felt like he truly belonged.

Walking backstage with the girls, still riding the high of their victory, Y/n glanced at them, feeling grateful to be part of their journey. Things weren’t always easy, but moments like these made it all worth it.

“Well,” Y/n said, unable to resist one last tease. “I guess I didn’t mess up after all.”

Giselle elbowed him playfully. “Don’t get too cocky, bro. There’s still the world tour.”

Y/n grinned. “Bet.”

-

At the dorm, the atmosphere was a blend of excitement and calm, the perfect balance after a long day of rehearsals and celebrating their win. With the world tour concert kicking off tomorrow, the girls were looking forward to a quiet evening, but Y/n had one last treat in store for them.

“Alright, gather ’round,” Y/n called from the kitchen, waving a ladle like a conductor in front of an orchestra. The rich aroma of his signature cheesy ramen wafted through the air, filling the dorm with warmth.

Ningning poked her head around the corner, her eyes lighting up as she caught a whiff of the meal. “Are you serious? Cheesy ramen?! You’re really trying to spoil us before the tour, huh?”

Y/n grinned, stirring the pot. “Consider it a good luck charm, Ning. Besides, I know you guys are going to be too nervous and busy to eat anything decent tomorrow.”

Karina entered the kitchen, followed by Giselle and Winter, all of them eyeing the bubbling pot with a mix of hunger and anticipation.

“Didn’t you say last time that you’d never cook again after getting haunted by the ramen god?” Winter teased, leaning against the counter.

What she said was true, actually. After the dramatic ramen mess, Y/n ordered take out for the girls instead.

Y/n shot her a mock glare. “Ya, that was one time. And besides, I’ve perfected this ramen. No more getting haunted tonight.”

The girls laughed, settling around the small dining table as Y/n served each of them a steaming bowl of cheesy ramen. The rich, creamy broth mixed with the perfectly cooked noodles was an instant hit, and soon, the only sounds in the room were the slurps of noodles and the occasional hum of approval.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Giselle said between bites, pointing her chopsticks at Y/n. “This might be your best ramen yet.”

“I second that,” Karina added, nodding in agreement. “Please open a ramen shop after you finished managing.”

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head. “Ehhh… I'll just do managing, thanks. Cooking for you guys is tiring enough.”

As the dinner carried on, the mood was light, filled with laughter and warmth. The girls had already devoured their bowls of cheesy ramen, leaving them lounging comfortably at the table.

The conversation began to drift, as it always did, toward their solo songs for the tour, a favorite topic of the group these days.

“So, Y/n,” Karina said slyly, leaning forward with a grin that instantly put him on alert. “Now that you’ve seen heard all of our solo songs in full multiple time… Who’s your favorite?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/n groaned internally. After that whole chapter about the girls bickering about Y/n's choice for solo songs, they were still adamant to see who came out on top.

“Ah, come on,” Giselle chimed in, tapping her chopsticks against her empty bowl. “You know we need the finale. Spill it. Who’s the best?”

Ningning leaned in as well, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m guessing it’s me, right? I mean, I did hear you humming my song in the kitchen yesterday.”

“Y/n humming?” Karina gasped dramatically, placing her hand over her chest. “That’s huge!”

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head as he wiped down the table. “You guys are annoying, you know that?”

“Oh, we know,” Giselle replied with a smirk. “But it’s time to face the music, literally.”

As the girls all leaned in closer, Y/n sighed. He was cornered. There was no way out of this one. He glanced over at Winter, who was sitting quietly, pretending not to care but clearly on edge. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Y/n finally said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “If I had to choose…”

All eyes were on him. The room seemed to grow silent in anticipation.

“…Minjeong's solo is still my favorite.”

The room erupted in chaos.

Karina gasped dramatically, falling back against her chair. “Winter?! STILL!??” she exclaimed, half teasing, half genuinely shocked. “You traitor!”

Ningning clutched her chest in mock pain. “How could you do this to us, Y/n? After all we’ve been through!”

Giselle, however, grinned knowingly. “I knew it. I could tell from the way you looked all starstruck during her rehearsals.”

Winter, meanwhile, turned a shade of pink that could rival her stage outfit. She glanced at Y/n, clearly flustered but trying to play it cool.

“Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded, flashing her a genuine smile. “Yeah, really. Your song’s got this energy… it just hits different.”

Winter’s expression shifted from embarrassment to pure joy, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “Thanks, Y/n,” she mumbled, but her shy smile said more than words could.

Before she could say anything else, Karina leaned across the table, nudging Winter with a smirk. “Of course because Minjeong is Y/n's favourite.”

Giselle clapped her hands together. “Better watch out, Winter. That means you’ve got to live up to his expectations.”

Ningning wasn’t letting this go easily either. “But Y/n, you were humming my song! What happened to that? You can’t just flip-flop like this!”

Y/n laughed, raising his hands in defense. “What can I say? Her song grew on me from back then.”

“You’re just saying that because she’s sitting right here!” Karina teased, though she was smiling.

“Technically, you are all sitting right here.” Y/n retorted.

Winter shot Karina a playful glare, clearly still basking in the praise. “Hey, don’t be jealous.”

“Oh, I’m jealous all right,” Karina retorted, crossing her arms but grinning all the same. "My song was his favourite until you lured him away."

"Blehh, what are you gonna do about it?" Winter teased.

“Just wait. My solo’s going to be the crowd favorite during the tour.”

“Sure, sure,” Y/n said with a laugh, already sensing the playful rivalry brewing. “But you’ll all kill it, and you know it.”

“Still doesn’t mean we’re letting you off the hook!” Ningning declared, shaking her head as if in mock disappointment. “This isn’t over, Y/n. You’ll see. I’ll win you over eventually.”

As they continue to bicker, the mood turned somber as it dawned on them that the concert started tomorrow. There was a mixture of excitement and nerves in the air, but Y/n could tell the girls were more than ready. They’d worked hard, and now, it was time to show the world what they were made of.

“So, how’s everyone feeling about tomorrow?” Y/n asked, leaning back in his chair and glancing around the table.

Karina was the first to speak. “Honestly? I’m a little nervous. It’s not our first tour, but the scale is huge. But I think we’re ready. We’ve put in the work.”

Ningning chimed in, her voice filled with excitement. “I can’t wait! I’ve been practicing my solo song every night. I’m going to blow everyone and you away.”

"Pff. You're not letting me the hook again…"Y/n sighed.

“Same,” Giselle added with a grin. “Though I might pass out from exhaustion halfway through.”

Winter, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’m just excited to see the fans’ reactions. This tour is going to be so fun, I can feel it.”

Y/n watched them all, feeling a sense of pride wash over him. He had been there through every step of their journey, from the stressful rehearsals to the emotional wins. And now, they were about to embark on something even bigger—a world tour that would cement their place in history.

“Girls,” Y/n said, his voice softer now, “no matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve already proven yourselves. MYs love you, and this tour is going to be amazing because of all the hard work you’ve put in. I’ve seen it firsthand. You’ve grown so much.”

The girls smiled, the tension easing from their shoulders at his words. It was true—they had grown, and so had he. The struggles of the past seemed so distant now, replaced by a newfound confidence in their abilities.

"…well, for a year, since I started managing you from Drama, so I don't know-"

"Stop ruining the mood, oppa!!" Ningning groaned, earning a laugh from the manager.

“Well, if you’re saying it, we’ll take your word for it,” Karina said with a wink, raising her bowl as if to toast. “To our world tour!”

The others quickly followed suit, raising their bowls and clinking them together in a playful, noodle-filled cheer.

“To the world tour!” they echoed, laughter filling the room.

As they finished their meal, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm settle over him. He was ready—ready for the tour, ready to support the girls, and ready to face whatever challenges came next. After all, if he could survive the chaos of the past few months, he could handle anything.

Before heading to bed, the girls lingered for a while longer, sharing stories and jokes, their bond stronger than ever. And as Y/n cleaned up the kitchen, he felt a warmth in his chest, knowing that, no matter what, they were in this together.

Tomorrow was the start of something incredible. But tonight? Tonight was just for them, a quiet moment before diving to the Synk Road.

[animeyanderelover]

Can I also request the marly guys (zeke, reiner,colt and porco) with an escaping s/o please? If it's to many people you don't have to write for colt or zeke. Thank you

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, obsessive behavior, delusional mindset, manipulation, threats, blackmailing

Tags: @shumidehiro

Escaping s/o

Zeke Yeager

🚬​He's probably been aware of your silly plans for a while now but has never spoken up about it as he instead chooses to wait and see how it turns out. Whilst you are making your own plans though, Zeke is gearing up to counter them as he does his own work. Two can play the game after all and if you are conjuring up schemes behind his back, he will return the favor. After all the Titan Shifter is fairly confident that he will win this as he has the intelligence and the influence. The moment you finally put your plan in motion, Zeke is already prepared for everything and the whole thing ends soon in your undeniable defeat. He visits you later as you were put under custody until he arrives and it is then that he explains to you that he has been aware of your plot for a while now. He could have stopped you obviously as soon as he had his suspicions but he thought that it would perhaps be better to let you see and feel that you would do better to stop such shenanigans in the future as you stand no chance against him. The next time you come up with such a hoax, he won't amuse you any longer. This is the first and last time he played such a game with you.

Reiner Braun

🟤​Even if Reiner were to discover hints of your plans, he would most likely refuse to believe them. This guy is quite dependent on his darling after all the trauma and pain he had to endure and he is quite desperate for them to love him too which is why he is extremely overbearing. The first stage is just denial when he finds out that you have actually ran away from him as he instead tries to come up with excuses for what you have done all because he doesn't want to accept the truth. You couldn't! You would never do that! The moment the truth comes crashing down though, Reiner has a meltdown and starts bawling his eyes out. He is a mess and it needs the likes of Pieck and Porco to shake him out of his misery. He isn't far away from transforming into his Titan and chase after you but luckily he is stopped by his comrades as well as the last bit of consciousness that there are people important to him living here. Some more amicable soldiers of Marley agree to help him and he himself joins them, though he looks only seconds away from another meltdown. He's going to scream, cry and beg for them to never do this again as he locks them away in his house from that day on, his trust broken.

Porco Galliard

🌫️​Porco should technically not be surprised if you should attempt to escape from him. After all it is no secret to him that he has forced you into an engagement as well as marriage without even considering your wishes in it. Yet when it actually happens, there is still the disappointed anger as he can't help but think that even if he did all of that, it ultimately enabled you a better life. His anger only heightens the longer you are gone as he even snaps at Marley soldiers despite knowing how his kind is viewed by them. He doesn't fully trust them either so he goes on a separate pursuit to go after you and the moment you are found, you will not be spared of his ire. He's pissed as he yells at you, insult after insult leaving his lips as he calls you an ungrateful thing and points out how he has done nothing but better the situation for you and your family alike. Briefly he considers threatening you to take all the privileges away for you and your family but that would only be really possible through divorce and he would never consider that. He either locks you away like Reiner does or actually goes the extra step and asks the Marley soldiers to imprison you for a while so that you realize how good you have it with him.

Colt Grice

◻️Oh, the poor lad would be absolutely heartbroken. After all he has done nothing but protect and dote on them. Sure, he has done some things he is not too overly proud of such as also pushing you into an engagement but he shares similar motives to Porco as he wants to ensure your protection as soon as he becomes the next Titan Shifter. He is in denial and honestly, he remains stuck in disbelief even as he goes after you until you are caught and he sees you again. The spiteful and frustrated look you give him is finally enough to smash reality right against his chest. Why...? Why would you do this to him? His mind is racing, although all thoughts scatter before he can even properly form them as he tries to dig up something that he can say to you as he stares at you but no words ever leave his lips in that moment. His trust has been smashed and is left in pieces and he doesn't know what to do around you for a while as he has to stomach the realisation that the relationship is perhaps more threatened than he ever would have wanted to think. He would probably find himself turning to your family who, given the opportunities he gives you and them, would most likely shame you for your attempt.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 5 - The Final Curtain

Summary: It's been four weeks. Elvis' residency is coming to a close, but not without a bang. Ann-Margret and Priscilla are in attendance, and Valerie's gotta face some hard truths... and a hard question. Hilarity ensues thanks to Dean Martin and Tom Jones' hijinx.

The phone rang at precisely 7:13 AM, yanking me from dreams where Elvis' hands were finally doing more than just hovering near my skin. I fumbled for the receiver, still half-lost in phantom touches and promises.

"Valerie? Thank Christ." Joe's voice crackled with barely contained panic. "We got a situation."

I sat up, instantly alert. In Vegas, a "situation" could mean anything from Elvis deciding to redecorate his suite at 3 AM to the Colonel having another one of his nuclear meltdowns over seat assignments.

"What kind of situation?"

"Frank's coming."

"Frank who?"

"What do you mean 'Frank who'?" Joe's voice climbed an octave. "Sinatra! Chairman of the Board! Ol' Blue Eyes! He just called to say he's coming to E's last show."

My sleep-addled brain took a moment to process this. I winced, remembering my horrendous audition. "Isn't that... good?"

"Good?" Joe laughed, but it had a slightly hysterical edge. "Yeah, sure, it's good. Like having God show up to critique your prayer technique. Elvis is already doing karate in the suite. He's broken three lamps and Sonny’s about ready to sedate him."

In the background, I heard a crash followed by Elvis' voice: "Goddamn! The energy's all wrong in here! We gotta move everything southeast!"

"Not the piano again, boss," Sonny’s weary voice floated through the line. "Remember what happened last time?"

Another crash. Joe sighed. "Look, just... get up here? Maybe you can talk some sense into him before he rearranges the whole damn hotel."

"On my way." I hung up, already reaching for clothes. That's when my door buzzed.

Standing in the hallway was Tom Jones, looking distinctly un-Tom-Jones-like in a rumpled suit, holding what appeared to be...

"Is that a dove?"

"Peace offering." Tom thrust the cage at me. "For Elvis. Thought it might help smooth things over after... you know." The dove inside cooed mournfully. “He is with you, isn’t he?”

The dove tilted its head, studying me with one beady eye. Its feathers were the exact shade of Elvis's jumpsuit.

"He’s down the hall. And how do you even know my room number?” I sighed. “But Tom," I tried to keep my voice gentle. "Why would Elvis want a dove?"

"Well, peace! Unity! Plus they're very spiritual creatures." He scratched his head, causing a concerning amount of glitter to fall from his hair. "Though this one's a bit snippy. Bit me twice on the way over."

As if to demonstrate, the dove lunged at the cage bars with surprising violence. Tom yanked his hand back.

"Right." I carefully didn't take the cage. "Maybe we should focus on getting you sobered up first?"

"Not drunk!" Tom protested, swaying slightly. "Just... enthusiastic. About peace. And birds." He squinted at me. "Did you know doves mate for life?"

"Fascinating." I glanced down the hallway, where I could hear more crashes from Elvis's suite. "Look, Tom, this is very... thoughtful. But maybe—"

"Mr. Jones!" The Colonel's voice boomed down the corridor like judgment day. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

Tom straightened, attempting dignity while listing noticeably to port. "Bringing a peace offering!" He thrust the cage forward again. The dove made a sound suspiciously like a war cry.

The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "A bird. You brought a bird. To Elvis Presley. On the day all the stars will be here."

"It's a dove!" Tom insisted. "Very spiritual!"

The Colonel's mustache bristled with indignation. "Get that feathered menace out of here before—"

But it was too late. The dove, apparently having picked the lock with its beak (which I wouldn't have believed possible if I hadn't seen it), burst from its cage like a feathered missile. It shot past the Colonel's head, leaving him spinning like a top, and disappeared down the corridor toward the service elevator where Lamar was just stepping in.

"Oh hell," Tom muttered.

The elevator doors closed on Lamar's startled face, the dove now apparently his traveling companion.

"Well." I looked at Tom. "That's one way to make an entrance."

Before anyone could respond, another crash echoed from Elvis's suite, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a karate yell.

The Colonel's face went from red to purple. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go prevent my boy from rearranging furniture according to mystic energy patterns. Again." He jabbed a finger at Tom. "You. Sober up. And find that bird before it decides to redecorate someone important."

As the Colonel stormed off, Tom slumped against the wall. "Thought the dove would be romantic. You know, symbolic." He looked at me hopefully. "Elvis likes symbols, right? All that spiritual stuff?"

"Sure," I patted his arm. "But maybe next time try flowers. Less likely to assault Lamar in an elevator."

That's when the fire alarm went off.

Welcome to Elvis's last day in Vegas. It wasn't even 8 AM.

*

By early evening, the International's lobby had been transformed into what looked like a military operation. Hotel security had cordoned off the main area with velvet ropes and potted palms, creating an exclusive island in the midst of the usual Vegas chaos. Outside the barriers, tourists pressed their faces against the brass posts, cameras flashing, while inside, some of the biggest names in entertainment moved in their own separate universe.

Four weeks ago, I'd been on the other side of those ropes, just another face in the crowd. Now here I was, watching Dean Martin hold court at the bar while Sammy Davis Jr. sat in deep conversation with his people at a corner table. The Colonel moved between groups like a conductor, orchestrating conversations and photo opportunities with practiced precision.

I couldn't help but remember my failed audition for Sinatra's people earlier in the month - how I'd bombed so spectacularly they'd stopped me halfway through. Back then, I'd thought that was the end of my Vegas story. Funny how life works sometimes.

And then Frank himself arrived.

He didn't make a grand entrance - Frank didn't need to. He simply appeared, flanked by two men in sharp suits, and the energy in our privileged little bubble shifted like someone had flipped a switch. Conversations quieted. Heads turned. Even the slot machines beyond the barrier seemed to ding more softly.

I watched from my spot near the elevator as he crossed the lobby, his shoes clicking against marble with metronomic precision. He moved like a man who had never doubted his right to be anywhere.

"Evening," he said as he passed, those famous blue eyes finding mine. His voice was cool, professional. "Better luck with Elvis than with 'My Funny Valentine,' I take it?"

First, I couldn’t believe he knew who I was. Second, the casual mention of my disaster of an audition made my cheeks burn. But before I could respond, the Colonel materialized at Frank's side, all false charm and calculated deference. "Mr. Sinatra, what an honor. Elvis will be down shortly—"

"I'm sure he will." Frank's attention had already moved on, dismissing me as easily as he'd noticed me. "Tell me, Tom, what's this I hear about a loose bird in the hotel?"

From his spot at the bar, Tom Jones made a sound suspiciously like a whimper.

I leaned against one of the marble pillars, taking in the surreal scene. Through the velvet ropes, I could see regular people - people like I'd been just weeks ago - straining for a glimpse of these legends. Now here I was, on the inside, existing in this rarefied air that still didn't quite feel real.

The Colonel's voice cut through my thoughts: "Everyone, please, if you'll begin making your way to the showroom. Elvis will meet us there directly."

As the celebrities began to migrate toward the elevator banks, I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach. Tonight was Elvis's final show. After this, everything would change. Memphis waited like a promise - or maybe a threat - on the horizon.

"Quite a view from this side of the ropes, isn't it?"

I turned to find Sammy Davis Jr. beside me, his smile knowing. "Different than looking in from the outside."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Only to someone who remembers what it feels like." He gestured at the slowly dispersing crowd of legends. "All this? It's smoke and mirrors, baby. Every single one of them puts their pants on one leg at a time - even Frank." He winked. "Well, maybe not Frank. Pretty sure he has someone for that."

I laughed, grateful for the moment of normalcy in this decidedly abnormal evening. But as we moved toward the elevators with the others, I couldn't help wondering: how long could I keep straddling these two worlds? How long before I had to choose between being on the inside looking out, or the outside looking in?

The answer, though I didn't know it yet, would come sooner than I thought.

*

The backstage area of the International's showroom had its own hierarchy, as complex and unspoken as any royal court. I'd learned its rules over the past weeks, knew my place in its careful choreography. Tonight, though, everything felt different. The usual pre-show chaos had an edge to it, like a guitar string wound too tight.

"No, no, NO!" The Colonel's voice boomed from the direction of the dressing room. "Those photographers go in the front row, not the back. And where's the seating chart? We need to—" He broke off as he spotted me. "Ah, Miss Pedretti. A word?"

My stomach dropped. The Colonel never wanted "a word" unless something was about to change, and never in my favor.

He drew me aside, mouth twitching with what might have been sympathy. "Slight adjustment to tonight's arrangements. We'll need Elvis's usual booth for some special guests. I'm sure you understand."

I understood, all right. "Of course, Mr. Colonel, sir." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Where would you like me to—"

"Joe will show you to a table. Good view, just... more discrete." He patted my arm, already turning away. "Better for everyone this way."

Better for everyone. Right. I watched him bustle off, barking orders about sight lines and photo angles. In the mirror-lined hallway, my reflection looked small and uncertain, like a girl playing dress-up in someone else's life.

"Don't let him get to you." Mary Lacker of all people appeared at my elbow, his face sympathetic. He was one of the quieter members of the Elvis crew, and I thought he didn’t like me. "Politics, you know? Gotta keep up appearances."

"Sure." I managed a smile that felt like plastic. "Appearances."

Joe, too, materialized. He squeezed my arm. "Look, I know it's not ideal, but—" He stopped, eyes fixing on something over my shoulder. "Well, hell."

I turned to follow his gaze. Down the corridor, a small commotion was building. Security guards appeared from nowhere, earpieces crackling with urgent whispers. The Colonel bent the corner like a ghost, moving faster than I'd ever seen him move.

"What's happening?"

"Change of plans," Joe muttered. "Big ones." He straightened his tie, professional mask sliding into place. "Showtime, kid."

Red appeared, looking harried. "Marty and Joe, we need you. Now." His eyes flicked to me. "You might want to make yourself scarce for a bit, Val. Things are about to get... complicated."

I should have gone. Should have found a new, more discrete table and let the machinery of Elvis world do its work. But something made me hesitate, lingering in the shadows of the hallway.

That's when I heard it. The distinctive click of expensive heels on marble, the rustle of designer fabric, the particular quality of silence that follows real star power. And underneath it all, a woman's laugh, low and knowing, like smoke given voice.

Ann-Margret was coming to Elvis's last show.

And from the urgent whispers now filling the corridor, she wasn't the only surprise guest expected tonight.

I pressed myself against the wall, suddenly very aware of my borrowed confidence. The hierarchy was shifting, and I was about to learn exactly where I stood in it.

Welcome to the real show, where the drama in the audience would rival anything happening on stage.

*

Ann-Margret breezed into the backstage area like a warm wind off the desert, all red hair and easy grace. She moved differently than the other stars I'd met. There were no calculated gestures or practiced poses, just natural vitality that made everyone else look slightly artificial in comparison.

The Colonel appeared instantly, mustache twitching with barely contained anxiety. "Miss Olsson, what an unexpected pleasure—"

"Oh, stop fussing, Parker." She waved him off with the casual confidence of someone used to getting her way. “It’s Mrs. Smith now, anyway. You know that.” 

Her eyes swept the corridor, taking in everything, missing nothing. When they landed on me, something in her expression shifted. Recognition, maybe, though not of my face.

She paused mid-stride, studying me with sudden interest. I couldn't read her expression, but something about the way she tilted her head reminded me of a card player spotting a tell.

"Well," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then, louder: "You're not what I expected to find backstage at an Elvis show."

Before the Colonel could intervene, she'd crossed to where I stood. Up close, her face was more interesting than beautiful - mobile and expressive, with laugh lines that suggested she used her smile often and meant it.

"I'm Ann-Margret," she said, as if I couldn't possibly know. "And you are?"

"Valerie," I managed, trying not to sound as starstruck as I felt.

"Valerie." She tested the name, her eyes never leaving my face. "Not the usual..." She gestured vaguely at the corridor where various showgirls and admirers lingered. Then, surprising me: "Join me for a drink later? After all this circus is done?"

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Miss Ols–Smith, about the seating arrangements—"

"Oh, any front booth will be fine," she said firmly, turning that megawatt smile his way. Then, lower, just to me: "Some things you don't have to give up." She squeezed my hand once, a gesture that felt like both welcome and warning.

She moved off down the corridor, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and something earthier - motorcycle leather, maybe. The Colonel hurried after her, still fretting about sight lines and photo ops.

A commotion erupted near the main entrance. Ann-Margret paused, her posture changing subtly. Something in the air shifted, like the pressure drop before a storm.

Priscilla Presley had arrived.

I retreated to a shadowy alcove near the stage door, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. Through the gaps between passing bodies, I caught glimpses of her arrival.

Priscilla Presley moved like a queen, each step precisely measured. No wasted motion, no nervous gestures. She wore a white dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, her dark hair swept up in a style that somehow managed to look both elegant and effortless. But it was her face that stopped conversations mid-sentence, turned heads, made the air itself feel different.

God, she was beautiful. Not in the obvious way of showgirls or movie stars, but in some otherworldly manner that made everyone else look slightly unfinished. Every feature seemed carved by an artist with a very particular vision in mind - those huge eyes, that perfect mouth, that jawline that could cut glass.

I touched my own face unconsciously, suddenly aware of my too-wide mouth, my strong nose, my stubbornly unruly hair. Four weeks of living in Elvis's world, and I'd managed to avoid feeling like this - like a sparrow that had wandered into a peacock's garden. But watching Priscilla glide through the corridor, accepting greetings with small, regal nods, I felt every inch the nobody.

She paused to speak with the Colonel, her voice too low to catch. Everything about her was controlled, contained. Even the way she held her cigarette seemed choreographed, the smoke curling up like a question mark. The perfect wife, the perfect picture. Elvis's living doll.

Red appeared at her elbow, murmuring something about her assigned booth - my usual spot, I realized with a twist in my gut. She nodded once, dismissing him with the practiced ease of someone used to managing staff.

From the direction of Elvis's dressing room came the faint sound of gospel music - his pre-show ritual, centering himself with the hymns of his childhood. Did he know she was here yet? Could he feel it, the way everyone else could?

"Quite something, isn't she?"

I startled. Ann-Margret had appeared beside me, her eyes on Priscilla.

"She's..." I struggled to find words that weren't tainted with jealousy or awe.

"Perfect?" Ann-Margret supplied, a hint of something sharp in her voice. "She should be. Took years of careful work to get her that way." She glanced at me. "Makes you wonder what she looked like before. When she still moved like herself."

Before I could respond, Priscilla's head turned our way. I shrank further into the shadows, but her eyes found Ann-Margret anyway. Something passed between the two women - some private communication in a language I couldn't read. Then Priscilla's gaze swept past our hiding spot, cool and assessing, like winter sunlight.

I held my breath until she moved on, following the Colonel toward the showroom. Only then did I realize I'd been gripping Ann-Margret's arm.

"Sorry," I muttered, releasing her.

"Don't be." She rubbed her arm, but she was smiling. "First time I saw her, I hid behind a potted palm. Least you picked a better spot."

Through the stage door, Elvis's voice rose in the chorus of "How Great Thou Art." The sound wrapped around us like smoke, like memory, like all the things we couldn't say.

Somewhere in the showroom, Priscilla was taking her seat in the booth where I'd watched every show for the past three weeks. Soon, Elvis would emerge from his dressing room, would see her sitting there, would have to navigate this minefield of past and present while hundreds - thousands - watched.

And I would be... where, exactly?

The answer to that question suddenly seemed very important indeed.

I ended up with three choices, each worse than the last.

The Colonel's "discrete" table was tucked in an alcove near stage right - the kind of spot reserved for Elvis's backup singers or lesser opening acts. From there I'd be able to see everything: Elvis commanding the stage, Priscilla in my old booth directly center, Ann-Margret holding court stage left. But sitting there felt like accepting defeat, like being officially relegated to the category of "someone who didn't matter anymore."

Then there was the empty seat at Ann-Margret's table. She'd made the offer casually as she'd passed me again: "Plenty of room where I'm sitting, sugar." It was tempting - a sort of subtle rebellion, aligning myself with the woman who'd chosen her own path over Elvis's version of perfect. But even I knew that would be playing with fire. The last thing I needed was to give the Colonel more ammunition.

The third option had come from Sammy Davis Jr., of all people. "Got a spare chair in the wings," he'd said, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Best view in the house - see everything, everyone sees you, but you're not really part of the show. Know what I mean?"

I did know what he meant. The wings were typically reserved for performers and close friends - people who belonged backstage but needed to watch the show. It was a sort of liminal space, neither fully public nor completely private. From there, I could observe without being obvious about it, stay close to Elvis without making a statement about it.

The crowd was filling in now, their excited chatter rising like steam. In the center booth, Priscilla sat like a photograph waiting to be taken, everything about her arranged just so. Stage left, Ann-Margret lounged with the easy confidence of someone who had nothing to prove. A man who I assume to be her husband sat next to her. They held hands. And somewhere behind me, Elvis was getting ready for his final show in Vegas, probably unaware of the careful choreography being executed in his name.

I had about ten minutes to decide where I belonged in this tableau.

Less than two months ago, I'd been a struggling singer slinging pancakes by day and working the bar circuit by night. I also taught music lessons in my free evenings. Now I was caught in some complex dance between Elvis Presley's past, present, and possible future. The thought almost made me laugh - would've, if my throat wasn't so tight.

The house lights began to dim.

Time to choose.

I found my spot in the wings just as the house lights went down. Sammy was right - you could see everything from here. The angle transformed the showroom into something like a diorama, every table its own small drama waiting to unfold.

"Coffee?" Jerry appeared beside me with two cups, looking grateful to have someone to hide with. "Got a feeling we're gonna want to be alert for this show."

From this vantage point, I could see the subtle shift in Priscilla's posture as the opening acts began - the almost imperceptible straightening of her spine, like armor sliding into place. She sat alone in the booth, a subtle but clear statement. No Memphis friends, no handlers, just her and whatever she'd come to prove.

Ann-Margret, by contrast, had drawn a small court to her table. She threw her head back laughing at something Dean Martin said, the sound carrying even over the warm-up act. But I caught how her eyes kept drifting to that center booth, something almost like sympathy in her expression.

The air changed as Elvis's entrance neared. You could feel it in the crowd, that electric anticipation. Behind me, I heard the familiar sounds of his pre-show routine: the soft murmur of prayer, the rustle of gabardine and silk, the quiet clicks of rings being put on like armor.

"Quite a crowd tonight," his voice came low near my ear. I hadn't heard him approach - he could move like a cat when he wanted to. His hand found the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. "You okay back here?"

"Are you?" I kept my voice equally quiet, not turning. From the corner of my eye, I could see him looking out at the audience, taking in the scene I'd been studying.

He was silent for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "ain't this a fine mess."

That startled a laugh out of me. "That's one way to put it."

His hand pressed slightly firmer against my back, and I knew he'd spotted them - both of them. The wife he'd shaped into perfection, and the woman who'd refused to be shaped at all. The air felt suddenly thick with unspoken things.

"Elvis," Red's voice came from behind us, "two minutes."

Elvis's hand slid from my back, but he leaned close first, his breath warm against my ear. "Watch me tonight, okay? Just... watch me."

Then he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and what felt like a thousand questions.

The opening bars of "Blue Suede Shoes" began to thunder through the showroom. Elvis's signature entrance music, chosen because the crowd loved it.

From my spot in the wings, I could see everything:

Priscilla, perfect and still as a painting, her face giving away nothing.

Ann-Margret, leaning forward slightly in her chair, a small smile playing at her lips like she knew something no one else did.

And Elvis, about to walk out into what might be the most complicated audience of his career.

The music built towards Elvis’ cue. In the half-dark beside me, Jerry whistled low.

"Well," he murmured, "this ought to be interesting."

That, I thought, was putting it mildly.

Elvis hit the stage like a force of nature, all controlled power and dangerous grace. The screams were deafening, but from my spot in the wings, I caught the subtle tells most people missed - the extra beat before his signature smile, the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Well, well, well." His voice rolled through the room like distant thunder. "Looks like we got ourselves a party tonight."

The audience lost their minds, but I watched his eyes do that careful sweep of the room. They landed first on Priscilla, just for a moment - enough to acknowledge but not linger. Her face remained perfectly composed, though her fingers tightened slightly on her champagne glass.

Then Ann-Margret, who raised her glass in a small salute that somehow managed to be both warm and slightly wicked. The ghost of a real smile touched Elvis's lips before the showman's mask slipped back into place.

He didn't look at me. He didn't need to.

The band struck up "I Got A Woman" and Elvis was off, moving like lightning trapped in human form. But something was different tonight. There was an edge to his performance, a barely contained wildness. When he hit the line "She's there to love me both day and night," it came out almost like a challenge.

"He's showing off," Jerry murmured beside me. "Haven't seen him like this since Ann-Margret used to come watch him film."

When he launched into "Polk Salad Annie," it was with barely controlled violence. His karate moves were sharper, his hip thrusts more deliberate. It wasn't just performance anymore - it was exorcism.

"Jesus," Jerry breathed. "He's really going for it tonight."

He was. Every song felt like a statement, every move loaded with meaning. The audience ate it up, oblivious to the deeper currents moving through the room. They couldn't see what I saw - the way Priscilla's knuckles had gone white around her glass, the knowing look in Ann-Margret's eyes, the slight tremor in Elvis's hands that had nothing to do with withdrawal.

I watched Elvis prowl the stage like a caged panther, all that raw energy focused into something almost dangerous. Later when he went into "Suspicious Minds," the irony wasn't lost on anyone. His voice took on that rough, hungry quality that made the air feel electric.

"We're caught in a trap..."

In the center booth, Priscilla's perfect composure cracked just slightly. Something flickered across her face - memory maybe, or recognition. For just a moment, she looked impossibly young.

"I can't walk out..."

Ann-Margret was no longer smiling. She sat very still, watching Elvis with the focus of someone reading between lines.

"Because I love you too much, baby..."

Elvis dropped to his knees at the edge of the stage, pouring his heart into the microphone like it was confession. Sweat made his skin gleam under the lights, and that ever-present tremor in his hands was more visible now. 

During "Can't Help Falling in Love," he finally looked toward the wings. Found me standing there in the shadows. His voice softened on the bridge, became something more intimate.

"Take my hand, take my whole life too..."

Priscilla's followed his gaze. For a moment, our eyes met across the darkness. Something passed between us - understanding maybe, or recognition. Then she looked away, her face once again a perfect mask.

The show built toward its climax, Elvis burning brighter with each song. He was magnificent and terrible, powerful and vulnerable, real and artificial all at once. Everything that made him Elvis Presley was on that stage, raw and exposed.

But watching him perform for this particular audience - his wife, his former flame, and whatever I was becoming to him - I realized something. Elvis wasn't just singing tonight.

He was choosing.

Or trying to.

The real question was: what exactly was he choosing between?

The last notes hung in the air like smoke. Elvis stood center stage, breathing hard, his chest slick with sweat. For a moment, the mask slipped completely. He looked lost, almost surprised to find himself there under the lights.

Then the thunder of applause crashed over him and the showman snapped back into place. He threw his arms wide, accepting the adoration like a benediction. His scarves were gone, given to screaming fans. His rings caught the spotlight as he took his final bow.

"Thank you very much. Thank you very much indeed." His voice was rough, spent. "You've been a beautiful audience. Until we meet again..."

He backed toward the wings, still playing to the crowd. But as soon as he crossed into the shadows where I stood, something changed. The tremors were worse now - he'd pushed himself too hard, gone on too long. His breath came in short gasps.

"Joe," he called softly, urgently. "Need my..."

But it was Red who appeared, pressing something into Elvis's palm. The pills disappeared so quickly I almost missed it. Almost.

"Boss," Red's voice was careful. "Mrs. Presley would like a word. She's heading to your dressing room."

Elvis's jaw tightened. His eyes found mine in the darkness. "Give me five minutes. Need to..." He gestured vaguely at his sweat-soaked state.

"And Miss Ann-Margret?"

"Christ." The word came out like a prayer. "Tell her... tell her I'll see her at the party."

Red nodded and disappeared. Elvis stood very still for a moment, like he was gathering strength. Then, surprisingly, he laughed. 

"Some mess, huh?" He touched my cheek briefly, his fingers still trembling slightly. "You okay?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He studied my face for a moment longer, then straightened his shoulders. 

I decided to change the subject. “Elvis, your show was amazing.” And it was true. It really was. 

"Well," he said softly, "time to face the music."

He moved off toward his dressing room where Priscilla waited. I watched him go, noting how he seemed to grow with each step, rebuilding his armor as he went. By the time he turned the corner, he was Elvis Presley again.

"Come on," Jerry touched my elbow. "Let's get you somewhere less complicated for a bit."

But as I let him lead me away from the wings, I caught one last glimpse of the room: Priscilla's empty booth, the champagne glass still sitting there like a question mark. Ann-Margret rising from her table, red hair catching the light like fire. And somewhere down that corridor, Elvis preparing to navigate between past and present while his pills kicked in.

The night wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

*

The International's penthouse suite had been transformed into a living map of 1969's star system. The gathering would have been remarkable enough on its own - Dean Martin, Tina Turner, Johnny Cash, Harry Belafonte, Petula Clark - any one of them could have filled a Vegas showroom by themselves. But they were all here for one man. Only Elvis Presley could pull stars into his orbit like this, could make legends act like fans.

He was the sun around which all these other stars revolved, and everyone knew it. Even Frank, the Chairman himself, had shown up to pay tribute. In Vegas, that meant something.

"Look at this crowd," Jerry murmured, appearing at my elbow with a fresh drink. "The Colonel's about to burst a blood vessel trying to keep track of all the egos in here. And Tom Jones is still apologizing to everyone about that damn dove."

Sure enough, Tom was making his way through the room, slightly rumpled and profusely apologetic, explaining to anyone who'd listen about his "peace offering gone wrong." The bird in question had apparently taken up residence somewhere in the hotel's ventilation system, occasionally making its presence known through well-timed coos during quiet moments.

"Watch this," Jerry murmured as Nancy Sinatra headed for the powder room at the same moment Priscilla stood up. "Three, two, one..."

The Colonel materialized like a mustachioed guardian angel, somehow managing to redirect Nancy's path without seeming to. Crisis averted, at least for now.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Hoo boy." Lamar's eyes lit up with gossip. "Let’s just say those two hate each other..." He whistled low. "Priscilla found out. How could she not? Every magazine in the country was running pictures of ‘em looking cozy on set."

"The kicker," Jerry cut in, "was Nancy showing up to a movie premiere wearing the exact same dress as Priscilla. Custom-made, mind you. Cost a fortune."

"No accident either," Lamar added. "Nancy knew exactly what she was doing. And Priscilla..." He shook his head admiringly. "Didn't even blink. Just smiled for the cameras and made sure she was photographed from better angles."

Tina Turner commanded attention near the piano, her presence electric even in repose. I was absolutely starstruck. Her laugh carried over the crowd as she worked with Elvis on some new dance moves, showing him how to make his famous hip swivel even more dangerous. "No, baby, it's all in the knees," she called out, demonstrating with characteristic fire. "You're thinking too much!"

Ike hovered nearby, his attention sharp whenever anyone got too close to Tina, though she seemed oblivious to his watchfulness.

"Ain't that something," Jerry muttered. "Tina's been teaching Elvis all week. Driving Ike crazy, but what's he gonna say? It's Elvis."

Glen Campbell and Johnny Cash held court by the bar, both of them looking slightly out of place among the Vegas regulars. Their country-boy authenticity stood in sharp contrast to the Rat Pack's polished performance of casualness. Though even they kept glancing Elvis's way, drawn like moths to his flame.

In one corner, Sammy Davis Jr. and Harry Belafonte were deep in conversation, their heads bent together like conspirators. The Colonel kept casting nervous glances their way - any gathering of stars discussing business made him twitchy.

And then there was Dean Martin. He grew progressively more theatrical with each drink. "So there's Elvis, right? Standing there in nothing but a towel and his guitar, and who walks in but—"

"Dean." Frank's voice carried that special note of warning that could cut through chaos.

"What? It's a great story! The towel fell right off and—"

"Maybe we save that one for later," Sammy suggested, breaking away from his conversation to play peacekeeper.

The Memphis contingent huddled on the terrace like displaced royalty, trying not to look overwhelmed by the Hollywood crowd. Red and Sonny ran interference, making sure no undesirable elements got too close to their territory.

Petula Clark breezed through the space between groups like a diplomat, equally comfortable chatting with the Vegas showgirls or the Memphis wives. She'd just finished a run at Caesars and carried herself with the easy confidence of someone who knew how to navigate these waters.

And then there was Priscilla, holding quiet court in a corner, her beauty making even the most seasoned stars do double-takes. The camera crews the Colonel had let in kept gravitating toward her, drawn by that perfect poise.

Elvis pinballed between groups with the kind of energy that suggested his post-show pills had well and truly kicked in. One moment he was practicing Tina's dance moves in front of an amused Tom Jones, the next deep in conversation with Johnny Cash about gospel music, then vanishing only to resurface telling stories to Harry Belafonte about his movie days.

The night spun on, a kaleidoscope of fame and careful distances. Each star carried their own gravity, but they all orbited Elvis. He was the reason they were here - the King, the star of stars, the center of this glittering universe.

And somewhere in the building's ventilation system, a wayward dove continued to provide inadvertent commentary on the proceedings below.

*

I tried to watch it all with anthropological detachment. That was safer than feeling.

Elvis moved through the room like quicksilver, but I noticed how he kept circling back to Priscilla. His hand would find the small of her back as he passed. He'd lean in close to whisper something that made her smile despite herself. Once, he even kissed her temple in full view of everyone, casual and possessive.

Each gesture was perfectly calculated for the cameras, yet held a strange intimacy that made my stomach twist. They had a shorthand, these two. A language built from years of shared space and secrets.

"Rough, isn't it?"

Ann-Margret had materialized beside me, a champagne flute dangling from her fingers. Her eyes tracked Elvis as he draped his arm around Priscilla's shoulders, playing the devoted husband for a photographer.

"He's good at that," Ann-Margret continued, her voice low. "Making each woman feel like she's the only one in the room. Even when she isn't."

"I'm just observing," I said, aiming for professional detachment and probably missing by miles.

Her laugh was surprisingly earthy. "Honey, nobody in this room is 'just' anything."

Before I could respond, Elvis's voice carried across the space: "Baby?" He was looking at Priscilla but had shifted slightly, unconsciously, toward where Ann-Margret and I stood. "Remember that night in Cincinnati when we..."

He trailed off, suddenly aware he was straddling worlds. For a moment, the mask slipped. I saw him register all of us - his wife, his ex-lover, whatever I was becoming - and something like panic flickered in his eyes.

The moment passed. Elvis recovered smoothly, finishing his story about Cincinnati. But something had shifted in the air. I watched Priscilla's perfect smile tighten almost imperceptibly. Watched Ann-Margret take a slow sip of champagne. Watched Elvis's hand fall to the small of his wife’s back.

"He loves her, you know." Ann-Margret's voice was gentle now. "Always will, in his way. Just like he loved me. Just like he..." She stopped, reconsidered. "The trouble is, Elvis's heart is like Vegas itself - there's always room for one more bright light, one more chance at hitting the jackpot."

"I'm not trying to hit anything," I said.

"No." She studied me over the rim of her glass. "That's probably why you're the most dangerous one of all."

Across the room, Elvis had moved on to entertaining Johnny Cash with karate moves, but his eyes kept finding me in the crowd. Each glance felt like a match strike against dry paper.

So much for detached observation.

The dove chose that moment to make another appearance, this time directly above Dean Martin, who was mid-story about that infamous towel incident.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean yelped as white feathers drifted down. "Tom! Your bird just..."

"Actually," Tom said with dignity, "I believe it's the hotel's bird now."

And just like that, the tension dissolved into laughter. Even Priscilla cracked a genuine smile. But as the room returned to its careful choreography of fame and friendship, I caught Elvis watching me again. In his eyes I saw everything I was trying not to feel reflected back at me.

As the night wore on, I found myself fascinated by the subtle dance of fame and power playing out before me. Frank Sinatra, who'd spent the evening treating most people with casual indifference, actually stood up when Elvis approached his table. The gesture was small, easy to miss if you weren't watching for it, but in a room full of stars it spoke volumes.

Even more telling was how the others reacted to that tiny show of respect - Johnny Cash's eyebrows rising slightly, Dean Martin pausing mid-story, Petula Clark hiding a smile behind her champagne glass. In Vegas's careful hierarchy, Frank Sinatra standing for anyone was like watching the Pope bow.

"Would you look at that," Jerry murmured, appearing at my elbow. "The Chairman rising for the King."

The two men spoke quietly, heads bent together like old friends rather than rivals. When Elvis laughed at something Frank said, it was his real one - not the practiced one he used for the cameras still circulating the room.

"Never thought I'd see it," Jerry continued. "Few years back, Frank was telling anyone who'd listen that rock and roll was just noise. Now look at them."

The dynamics shifted constantly as the night progressed. When Tina Turner spoke, even the loudest voices quieted. When Harry Belafonte moved through the room, the Memphis contingent tried a little too hard to appear comfortable. And when Ann-Margret laughed, every head turned - some openly, some trying to pretend they weren't looking.

But it all came back to Elvis. He was the center everyone else arranged themselves around, like planets finding their orbit. Even Frank, for all his own gravitational pull, seemed to understand this was Elvis' night.

A burst of laughter drew my attention to where Dean had cornered Tom Jones by the bar. "Listen, you Welsh wonder - the thing about that dove of yours..."

"Oh God," Tom muttered. "Not the bird again."

*

The party spun on, each star shining in their own way, but all of them - even the brightest - caught in Elvis's light.

Dean Martin's drink seemed to fall in slow motion. One moment he was gesturing wildly, telling some story about Frank and a missing toupee, and the next his martini was arcing through the air like a crystal waterfall. It splashed across Priscilla's white designer dress with devastating precision.

The room didn't exactly go silent, but there was a subtle shift, like everyone simultaneously holding their breath. Priscilla looked down at the spreading stain, her perfect features freezing in a way that made the temperature drop ten degrees.

"Oh God," Dean stammered, suddenly soberer. "Mrs. Presley, I am so..."

"It's quite alright." Her voice could have frosted glass. But her hands - those perfectly manicured hands - shook slightly as she dabbed at the fabric with a cocktail napkin. "This is only a thousand-dollar Givenchy."

The Colonel materialized with fresh napkins and profuse apologies. Priscilla's expression remained fixed in place, a porcelain mask of composure even as her eyes betrayed barely contained fury. A photographer moved in, scenting blood, but Red intercepted him with practiced ease.

"Here, let me—" Dean started forward with more napkins, managing to trip over his own feet in the process. His fresh drink went flying.

Right onto me.

The gin was cold and the olives hit me square in the chest, but something about the sheer absurdity of it all - the tension, the fancy dress, Dean's mortified face - just struck me as hilarious. I burst out laughing.

"Well," I said, plucking an olive from my dress and popping it in my mouth, "at least it's a good vintage."

Dean's face transformed with relief. "God love you, girl." He draped his arm around my shoulders. "See? She gets it! It's just a dress, right? Just a little..." He trailed off, catching Priscilla's arctic stare.

"Just a dress," Priscilla repeated softly. The words could have cut diamonds. She turned on her perfect heel and glided toward the powder room, the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea.

I was still fishing olives out of my cleavage when I caught Elvis watching from across the room. His expression was strange - something between amusement and revelation, like he was seeing something clearly for the first time.

Then Priscilla emerged from the powder room, somehow looking even more immaculate than before, and his face smoothed back into careful neutrality. But I'd seen it - that moment of recognition, of comparison.

"Come on, honey," Dean was saying, steering me toward the bar. "Let me buy you a fresh dress worth of martinis. And maybe one for your cleavage, since it seems to have developed a taste for them."

I laughed and let him lead me away, very aware of Elvis's eyes following us. Let him look. Let him see the difference between porcelain perfection and someone who knew how to roll with life's messier moments.

Behind us, I heard the Colonel trying to soothe Priscilla's ruffled feathers. "Now, Mrs. Presley, about tonight's photos..."

A distant coo from the ventilation system seemed to punctuate the moment with avian commentary.

"Not. One. Word." Tom Jones muttered to no one in particular.

Dean was good as his word, setting me up at the bar with a fresh martini while regaling me with increasingly outrageous stories about cocktail disasters through the years. "So there's Sinatra, right, wearing what's left of the Manhattan, and Ava Gardner just looks at him and says—"

"Dean." Frank's voice carried across the room. "What did I tell you about the Ava stories?"

"Spoilsport," Dean muttered into his glass. Then, brightening: "Say, Pedretti - that's Italian, isn't it?"

"From the old country. On both sides," I confirmed. "My grandparents never let us forget it."

"Ha! I knew it!" Dean's face lit up with ethnic pride. "We Italians, we know how to handle our liquor with style. Well, except maybe Frank over there..." He raised his voice on the last part.

"I heard that, Dino," Frank called back.

"You were meant to!" Dean turned back to me with a wink. "You're alright, kid. Not everyone can take a martini to the chest with such style." He studied me over his glass. "You know something? I get it now. Why he’ been looking at—" Dean's eyes flicked meaningfully toward Elvis, then back to me. "Well. Let's just say some people wear their spirits better than others, and I don't just mean the kind you drink."

From across the room came the sound of Priscilla's carefully modulated voice: "No, Colonel, I don't think another photo will be necessary. I believe we've documented the evening sufficiently."

I glanced over to see her positioned perfectly beside Elvis, not a hair out of place despite the earlier incident. The photographer was getting shots of them with various combinations of stars - Elvis and Frank, Elvis and Priscilla with Tom Jones (who still looked vaguely haunted by the dove incident), Elvis with the Memphis contingent. A careful catalog of approved moments.

But Elvis kept finding excuses to glance my way, his eyes carrying questions I wasn't sure I could answer.

"Know what your problem is?" Dean said suddenly, surprising me with his clarity despite the late hour and numerous martinis.

"What's that?"

"You ain’t fake yet." He said it like it was both a blessing and a curse. "And that’s dangerous in Vegas. Especially around—" He gestured vaguely with his glass toward Elvis.

Before I could respond, a commotion near the piano drew everyone's attention. Tina Turner had finally had enough of Ike's hovering and was telling him exactly where he could stick his "helpful suggestions" about her performance style. Her voice carried over the crowd with characteristic power.

"Now there's a woman who knows how to handle her spirits," Dean observed sagely.

The party's energy was shifting, winding down in that way Vegas parties do - not with a bang but with a series of negotiated retreats. The Memphis crowd was already thinning out, overwhelmed by so much Hollywood. The photographers were packing up their gear. Even Frank looked like he was calculating his exit.

That's when Elvis broke away from the official proceedings and made his way to the bar. He moved differently now - the post-show pills wearing off, that manic energy settling into something more subdued.

"Dean," he nodded. "Mind if I borrow Miss Pedretti for a moment?"

Dean's eyebrows lifted, but he stood with surprising grace. "All yours, amigo. Just... try not to spill anything on her. Girl's had enough dry cleaning bills for one night."

Elvis's hand grazed the small of my waist, still damp from Dean's martini. The touch felt electric even through the wet fabric.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's find somewhere quiet before the Colonel remembers there's one more combination of stars he hasn't photographed yet."

I let him guide me toward the terrace, very aware of Priscilla's eyes following us. The night air hit my gin-soaked dress, making me shiver. Elvis shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders in one smooth motion.

Behind us, Dean's voice drifted out: "So anyway, about that damn bird..."

The terrace offered an illusion of privacy, though the glass doors did little to shield us from curious eyes. Elvis leaned against the railing, his presence slightly dulled by fatigue and fading adrenaline.

"Listen, about tonight..." he started, then stopped. Through the glass, I could see Priscilla talking with the Colonel, both of them stealing glances our way. "Cilla's staying at the hotel. For appearances." He said it carefully, like defusing a bomb. "The Colonel thinks... well, with all the press..."

"Of course." I was proud of how steady my voice sounded. Of course she was staying. She was his wife. I was just... what? The girl in the gin-soaked dress?

A burst of laughter from inside made us both turn. Through the glass, I saw Ann-Margret watching us, something like recognition in her eyes. She'd stood on a terrace once, maybe, having this same conversation. She raised her glass slightly - to me? To Elvis? To the whole damn situation? - before turning back to her husband Roger with a small shake of her head.

"It's just for show," Elvis continued, his hands fidgeting. "You know that, right? Just playing the part, like always."

Like always. I wondered how many women had heard those words on this terrace.

"Elvis." Priscilla's voice came from the doorway, perfectly modulated. "The photographers want one last shot before they go."

She didn't look at me. Didn't need to. Her presence filled the space like expensive perfume, making me acutely aware of my damp dress and smeared mascara.

"Be right there, baby." The endearment slipped out automatically, practiced. But his eyes stayed on me, pleading for understanding.

I nodded once, pulling his jacket closer around my shoulders. He moved toward Priscilla, his posture shifting into performance mode. But at the door he paused, turned back.

"Valerie—"

"Go on." I managed a smile. "Your audience awaits."

I stayed on the terrace long after they'd gone inside, watching Vegas glitter below like a jewelry box full of broken promises. The night air carried the scent of gin and Desert Flower perfume - Priscilla's signature scent, I realized. It clung to Elvis's jacket like a claim.

Inside, I could hear the final photos being orchestrated. The Colonel's voice carried through the glass: "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Presley, if you could just..."

A soft coo from above made me laugh despite everything. Even Tom's wayward dove knew a performance when it saw one.

"One for the papers!" someone called out. "Give us a kiss!"

It was the moment every photographer had been waiting for - the perfect finale to Elvis's triumphant Vegas run. The King and his Queen, wrapped in each other's arms like a fairytale ending.

I turned back toward the party just in time to see it happen. Elvis drew Priscilla close, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her face with practiced tenderness. She tilted her chin up, camera-ready, and their lips met to enthusiastic applause. The kiss lasted exactly long enough for every photographer to get their shot.

"Beautiful!" The Colonel's voice boomed. "Now that's how you end a Vegas engagement!"

The room erupted in congratulations - for the successful run, for the perfect couple, for the whole glittering fantasy. Tom Jones started singing "Love Me Tender," because of course he did. Dean Martin wiped away what might have been real tears, though that could've been the martinis talking.

Through it all, I stayed on my terrace, still wearing Elvis's jacket, clapping softly. How could I not? It was like watching a movie I'd seen before but somehow forgotten the ending to. The way Elvis's thumb stroked Priscilla's cheek. The way her fingers curled possessively into his shirt. The way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle I'd never be part of.

"Rough stuff, isn't it?"

I hadn't heard Ann-Margret join me. She stood just inside the doorway, holding two fresh drinks.

"I'm fine," I said automatically.

"Honey, nobody's fine watching the man they love kiss his wife in front of God and Frank Sinatra." She handed me one of the drinks. "Trust me on that one."

Inside, Elvis and Priscilla were making their way through the crowd, accepting congratulations like visiting royalty. His hand stayed at the small of her back, proprietary and familiar. She leaned into him exactly the right amount - not too much, not too little. They'd perfected this dance years ago.

"The thing is," Ann-Margret said softly, "he probably means it, in the moment. That's what makes it worse."

A distant coo from above sounded almost sympathetic.

Elvis's eyes found mine through the glass. Just for a moment, his perfect mask slipped. Then Priscilla said something, he laughed, and the moment was gone.

I downed my drink in one go.

Welcome to life with Elvis Presley, where even the hurt looked beautiful under Vegas lights.

*

The party began its final descent. Stars peeled away in careful order - first the Vegas regulars, then the Hollywood contingent, each exit timed to maintain proper hierarchies. Frank made a point of shaking Elvis's hand again, that small gesture speaking volumes. Dean had to be practically carried out, still trying to teach Tom Jones the "proper" way to sing "Return to Sender."

Tina and Ike left separately, which said everything about their evening.

"Come on, baby." Roger appeared at Ann-Margret's elbow. "Our car's here."

She squeezed my hand before going. "Remember what I didn't say," she murmured, and I nodded, though I wasn't sure which unspoken truth she meant. “I’d still love that drink anytime you want.”

The Memphis crowd lingered, uncertain in this glittering territory. They kept looking to Elvis for cues, but he was busy posing for endless last rounds of photos with Priscilla. The Colonel supervised every angle, every gesture, like a painter touching up his masterpiece.

"You need a ride home, Valley?" Jerry asked quietly.

Home. As if I knew where that was anymore.

"I'm on the same floor, Jerry. I think I can manage."

"That's not what I meant."

Before I could respond, Elvis's voice cut through the thinning crowd. "Nobody leave yet! I want to thank you all..." He was using his stage voice now, fatigue making him a little too loud. Priscilla touched his arm gently, adjusting his volume with practiced ease.

I took that as my cue to slip away. Let him have his moment with his people, his wife, his perfectly orchestrated life. I shrugged off his jacket, meaning to leave it with Red, but Jerry stopped me.

"Keep it," he said softly. "He'll want you to."

The walk down the hall was quiet except for the sound of my heartbeat and - incredibly - one last coo from that damn dove, somehow following me even here. Tom's peace offering had turned into the world's most persistent Greek chorus.

"Oh, shut up," I told it, and immediately felt better.

My key stuck in the lock three times before I realized I was trying to open the wrong door. Maybe Dean's martinis had hit harder than I'd thought. Or maybe it was just that everything looked different now, in the harsh fluorescent light of reality.

When I finally made it into my room, I caught my reflection in the mirror - smeared mascara, gin-stained dress, Elvis's jacket hanging off my shoulders like a question mark. Behind me, through the window, Vegas kept right on glittering, indifferent to the small dramas playing out in its showrooms and suites.

Someone had slipped a note under my door while I was at the party. The Colonel's handwriting was unmistakable: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."

I let it fall to the floor and went to wash off what was left of my makeup. In the bathroom mirror, I could still see the girl I'd been three weeks ago, before Elvis and elevators and doves with bad timing. She looked at me like she knew something I didn't.

"Don't say it," I told her, and turned off the light.

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[mikeandikeschmidt]

Mike Schmidt: Headcanons & Rant

•Was not tall enough to ride the big rides at the amusement park for most of his childhood. His mom used to tell him he wasn’t getting any taller because he didn’t eat all his food at dinner

•(Going off of one of Abby’s drawings on the wall) One time, Mike was hurrying to make breakfast and in his rush, accidentally dropped some eggs. And he had a mini-meltdown or something b/c for whatever reason, him dropping the eggs was funny enough for Abby to laugh at him and draw a picture about it

•(Going off another picture) When Abby gets sick, Mike will bring her soup in bed and it’s one of the things Abby appreciates the most. He is very nurturing with his sister, and his soft side comes out the most at times like these

•Mike doesn’t actually have anger issues. Everyone thinks he does b/c of what happened at the mall, but he’s actually very patient. (The mall was b/c of trauma, not anger) but even when Aunt Jane is screaming and slandering his name and threatening to take away Abby forever, he doesn’t let it bring him down to her level (and that is so admirable my gosh) The manager at Tire Zone was just a demanding jerk but no one listens to Mike b/c of his history

•Mike is very picky about who he dates. People would think he doesn’t get a lot of girls b/c of what happened but girls get crushes on him all the time. I mean, look at the girl at Dairy Freeze in the mall.

He is just very particular about the kind of girls he brings home. Since he’s raising his little sister, he wants to make sure he gives his heart to someone who would be a good role model for Abby, and wouldn’t mistreat her. At this time of his life, he’s not looking for a girlfriend anyway. Until my fanfics say so💀

•Mike has played Barbies before, and still will if Abby asks him to. And there are no witnesses. He has a “girl voice” he has to use or else Abby will scold him. (you know the meme)

•Mike has to drink a lot of caffeine. Coffee, soda, energy drinks. Using those pills of his often leave lasting effects throughout the rest of the day and the night shifts at Freddy’s only make things worse, so yeah. Mike needs caffeine and don’t we all? 😭

•(After Freddy’s)Before bed, Mike always has to double-check the locks on the door and the windows. It’s borderline OCD for him at this point, b/c if he doesn’t check, then he gets nagging thoughts of William coming in to attack them. Once he quits the pills, he’ll get up in the middle of the night to check the doors one more time.

•Mike still lets Abby sleep in his room when she gets scared or has a nightmare.

•When Abby does the kid thing of saying there’s a monster in her room, Mike is nervous for a half a second b/c…yeah. That’s not unusual in their lives. He’s half-worried when he checks her closet, imagining Foxy sticking his snout in the doors but is always relieved when there’s nothing there.

•Mike cannot sing to save his life. If he does, it’s when he’s in a really good mood and he’s trying to mess with Abby, b/c it’s a running joke how much she hates his singing.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Friendly life advice from our friendly neighborhood Ganondorf :)

The captain sighed a little, leaning back against the palm tree. He watched Ganondorf for a while, watched as he rocked gently in the hammock seat that had been his perch for the last few hours. His gaze trailed down to the teenager in the man's arms, and he caught sight of the remains of skin paint that had mostly washed off, some kind of mark of royalty in the ancient past.

Royalty. The kid was a king.

Link sighed again, thinking about his own circumstances.

"Something's clearly on your mind," Ganondorf commented, his voice quiet as he watched the boy, continuing to rock both of them gently.

Link crossed his arms a little defensively. He supposed he was being fairly easy to read. "I just... I need to get my life together."

Ganondorf's eyes flicked upward from the sleeping teenager to the captain. Link felt himself shrink a little under the scrutiny; no matter how calm or gentle Ganondorf was now, his gaze was as intense as ever.

"Don't give me that look," Link accused, trying to glare back.

Ganondorf didn't comment. He didn't have to. He knew his presence was enough. Link hated that.

Rolling his eyes, he admitted defeat. "It's just... he's... he's my predecessor. All the expectations that have been on me... the entire war that Cia started... it's all from past heroes. And he's my direct predecessor."

"So you assume that you're inadequate in comparison to him?" Ganondorf surmised, though the flat tone of his voice clearly indicated his opinion on the matter. "Do you not recall the state he was in when I brought him here?"

"I recall Lana having a meltdown," Link laughed before growing somber. "But yes, I... I don't understand. I just... I don't know. He's, what, eighteen? And he's a war hero, a king, rebuilding Hyrule--"

"Are you not also a war hero? A captain? Rebuilding Hyrule?"

"I'm not rebuilding," Link grumbled, looking away and glaring at nothing in particular. "I'm just existing."

"And what of it? You need your rest. You cannot accomplish anything if you don't recover."

"Everyone else has!" Link snapped, rising.

Ganondorf sighed, looking down at the teenager again. "He is an example of what happens when you don't. I will not let both of you give me a heart attack, nor will I let you hurt yourself like that."

"I need to get my life together," Link finally repeated, wilting.

"Link."

Reluctantly, the captain straightened, looking at the Gerudo. Ganondorf had stopped rocking, sitting up a little more, full attention on him now.

"You're twenty years old," Ganondorf pointed out. "I didn't start 'getting my life together' until I was forty-five. We all learn and grow at different points in our lives. Do not try to figure it all out now. Simply take one day at a time."

Link finally laughed, relaxing. "What a day, for the Hero of Hyrule to be taking life advice from someone who started... how many wars?"

"Two," Ganondorf answered dully, returning his attention to the teenager. "And you know I'm correct."

"Yeah, yeah," Link agreed casually, approaching the pair. Ganondorf moved the boy's feet a little, making space for the captain, and he slowly plopped down beside him, letting himself lean on the Gerudo a little. He didn't protest when Ganondorf's arm slid around him, pulling him closer. He just sighed again, less disconcerted, closing his eyes and feeling the warm breeze.

[aleskie-hischier]

A Huge Teddy Bear Summary: Reporters are fucking vultures. Ice to Meet You Masterlist

Word Count: 600 Warnings: Swearing (she says fuck and shit, very unladylike)

“I’m not going to answer that because you already know the answer.” 

Reporters are vultures. They’ll ask you anything—everything, really—without any concern for your feelings. They don’t care that, mere moments ago, your best friend (if you could still call her that) just screamed bloody murder at you. They don’t care. It’s not their job to care, granted, but god, Mila thinks, couldn’t one of them find some compassion in their teeny, tiny heart and not ask her about how she feels about the whole situation? Ugh. She was definitely going to hear from her mother about this. That was not a conversation she was looking forward to.

“Have the two of you spoken since the incident?”

She rolls her eyes. The incident. That’s what they were calling it now. Personally, she’d rather go with The Russian Meltdown Scandal. But maybe that’s why she isn’t a reporter. She’d be too…funny. 

She presses the button on her mic. “No.”

“Anything to add?” He’s persistent, she’ll give him that.

“No.”

The silence is almost deafening. That is, until another vulture speaks up and asks their very different, totally unrelated question. 

“Your coach had to pull you out of the situation. How do you think he feels about the whole ordeal?”

She takes a deep breath. The lights in the pressroom are almost blinding. The shutters of the camera are too loud. The rapid clacking of fingers on keyboards are pinching her last nerve. The murmurs and whispers feel so…deafening. She’d rather be anywhere else. She’d rather talk about anything else—especially when she knows the other person involved is in the next room possibly slandering her. 

She forces a smile. It’s tight and a bit grim-looking, but a smile nonetheless. At the very least, the vultures in the next room are getting their story. Maybe she should play the part here too. Really, she wonders how she’s lasted this long. If they want drama, she’ll give them drama.

“You know what,” she begins, her voice steady but sharp, “I’ve just gone through something that was absolutely fucking humiliating. The last thing I want to do right now is sit here and humor your endless, prying questions that I don’t care to answer.” She forces a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “So, if you could stop asking about what happened between me and Evgenia, that would be great.”

She exhales slowly, slumping back in her chair. The sounds are louder now—she’s given them what they wanted. Maybe she can leave. She glances at her PR manager, who, to her dismay, shakes her head and holds up four fingers. Fuck. Four more minutes.

“I’ll take one last question,” she says, her patience hanging by a thread. “Don’t make it stupid.”

A reporter clears her throat. “Um,” she begins hesitantly, “I guess, to end on a lighter note—what’s your ideal type in a man?”

Her eyes widened, a bit caught off guard. Really, just when you think you’ve heard everything they had to throw at you. But then she laughs—loud and unfiltered, definitely not the kind of laugh her mother would approve of. Still, she likes this question, and she’s not shy about it.

“Good job on that one! I like it!” she chuckles. “I think,” she pauses, considering, “I’d like someone tall, preferably. Someone who looks like they’re constantly going through the most horrendous shit ever,” she grins, this time for real. “But they also have to be a huge teddy bear. Someone who gives great hugs.” She stops again, her eyes lighting up, “Oh! And bonus points if they’re in charge of something!”

[lilithofpenandbook]

I just thought of Severus Snape's last Halloween

Halloween marks the day Lily died. Snape would have hated Halloween from then after. I can imagine him being triggered by Halloween-related decorations (but hiding it deep inside), spending the entire day in utter grief remembering that day.

However, I can also imagine the other teachers being there for him that day, in their own way. Everyone knows Snape is prone to meltdowns at Halloween, they know that he's grieving. They may not know his guilt, but they know he's grieving. And that's enough.

All of them will comfort him, in their own ways. Some through little acts of kindness, like pouring out his tea for him knowing his hands aren't too steady, or listening when he rants about dunderheaded students. Pomona Sprout will talk to him about herbology related news she's kept for this day to distract him. Fillius Flitwik will ask him about those dark literature he likes even though he himself can't stomach the dark literature Snape likes, because it's better to hear Snape talk about dark literature than leave Snape to dark thoughts. Argus Filch, while patrolling with Snape and dealing with the increased numbers of troublemaking, will go on and on about a number of gruesome and disturbing things that allegedly happened in Hogwarts while Snape can't work out if Filch is just exaggerating here, and Mrs Norris will play with Snape, attacking his robes and chasing him about without hurting him (he's the only person she can stand aside from Filch).

Some are a bit more... forthright in their approaches. Rolanda Hooch has a game of Sevvy Scowling Spotting where she'll attack him if she spots him scowling and although she is much smaller than Snape she hits hard and when dealing with that how can you think about anything else? This is along with all the thousands of pranks she pulls on him. Minerva McGonagall will tell him to get himself together and be less miserable, baiting him into a verbal battle, an outlet for his anger and a distraction. Wilhelmina Grubbyplank will outright drag him to the gardens to get to some physical labour because a young boy like him needs exercise.

And without fail, every night after the feast, Albus Dumbledore will summon Snape to his office, and Snape cries at long last. Sometimes Snape will snap and bite first, sometimes he'll be stony, but eventually he'll cry it out. Dumbledore lets him cry in silence, and sometimes answers to the self deprecation in a cheerful yet frank manner that to others seems like he's dismissing Snape considering how he's making Snape's laments to be ridiculous and dramatic. Yet it works to bring Snape back from the dark place his mind retreated to and ground him back in Hogwarts.

They'll play some game, then. Chess, or cards, or whatever other board games Dumbledore hoards. Snape chooses the game. Dumbledore makes the drinks. And they'll play for hours, starting with them playing normally, and eventually devolving into a magnificent chaos as Snape yells at Dumbledore for cheating and Dumbledore denies it while cheating in the worst, most blatant manner with the most hilarious innocent expressions and Snape can't yell because he's laughing and crying and losing his mind and then McGonagall without fail comes in to yell at them and ends up joining them game and beating Dumbledore and Snape together and they're almost sure she's cheating but don't dare accuse her of it.

And this is how every single Halloween plays out. It is both Snape's worst night and his best, because every single year without fail he feels miserable and every single year without fail his family gathers around to help him out.

Without fail.

...without fail, right?

Right?

...

Snape's last Halloween is spent with him in his room, isolating himself from the world. Wrapped in a quilted blanket made with the contributions of all the others for him. This is all he has left of them, and even it's tearing apart a little. The first time it had a tear he'd actually had a full on meltdown, and they'd comforted him, telling him it's just a blanket that can be mended, but somehow they all forgot to mend it. And he's holding to it, and it's soaked wet.

There is no kindness. No teasing. No verbal battles of wit. There's no games in the middle of the night. No laughter, no love. It's all gone.

He's the reason why it's gone. He's the one who broke it. He's the only person they can blame for that terrible, awful night at the astronomy tower.

There's a worse night than Halloween.

[drdemonprince]

I deal with impermanence by practicing radical acceptance and other DBT skills. I do have a really hard time with change and with things changing unexpectedly and outside of my control. And I used to get really mad and upset about it and try to get control back by manipulating other people or just generally being a bitch about it.

But now, I use my really great DBT skills, mostly radical acceptance but a few other distress tolerance skills like TIPP. For me, radical acceptance let's me have my anger and other emotions without trying to control what I cannot. I'm still mad about it and I still get really dysregulated, but I just tell myself that it's happened, there's nothing I can do about it, and I need to figure out how I will react to it.

As an example, I was flying from Texas to Chicago in December to spend the holiday with my best friend and their family. I purposefully bought a ticket (it was United) so that I could have my personal item and my checked bag. I paid extra for that. But once they started boarding, the gate agent said they were overbooked and they needed some people to volunteer to check their bags otherwise at a certain point, it wouldn't be voluntary. I was pretty pissed about this and dysregulated anyway (traveling is so stressful for me) and I was just really hoping I could get through before they needed to start checking bags because I already had a hell of a time packing, I didn't have my hard shell suitcase, and none of my bags had locks on them. But literally the person in front of me in line was the last person to be able to take both their bags and the gate agent asked me if I could check a bag that didn't have anything important in it (like electronics or medical equipment). I barely fit my things into my bags as is and I did have important stuff in both bags, so I told her as much. And she basically told me that either I figure it out, or I'm not getting on the plane. I was pissed and about to cry. I was so full of rage. And I was embarrassed. But I took a breath, stepped to the side, and tried to figure it out. I knew arguing would not get me what I wanted and I needed to get on that plane. So I got everything sorted, had them check my bag, and got on the plane. The kicker was that once I did get on the plane and everyone was boarded, THERE WAS TONS OF ROOM LEFT IN THE OVERHEAD BINS SO I DIDNT NEED TO CHECK MY BAG ANYWAY. (Yes I'm still really mad about this). But I practiced my breathing, told myself I had no control over the situation, controlled what I could (my own behavior) and said to myself that I'll figure it out when I get to Chicago. It was fine. I didn't lose my bag or any of my stuff. I didn't have a meltdown but my rage lasted til about half way through the flight. And the next day I went to go get bag locks at target. So radical acceptance, TIPP, and controlling what I can control is usually how I deal with it.

Speaking of DBT! Thank you so much for sharing this story with us, Anon. Traveling is ROUGH and a huge part of that is because our disability is manufactured by shitty corporations like United -- the disruption would be bad enough on its own! but then they go and reduce seat sizes, cut storage bin access, overbook flights, and just straight up lie to customers, creating all kinds of stress for those of us who just want to know what to fucking expect. Glad you were able to find a way to cope with all that bullshit! Sometimes being pissed for an hour or two but doing what you needed to do is a huge W.