#CIL Cut Off

[formulaforza]

—if walls could talk

some things are meant to be secret (we'd fall from grace) pairing: charles leclerc x female reader warnings: 18+ minors dni. loadsss of google translated french. language, friends talking about sex, nsfw warnings under the cut :) love, mackie... 6.3k words! sometimes the only person who can help you out is a good friend. happy almost thanksgiving to all my american followers :) thankful for each and every one of you. mwah mwah mwah.

18+ because: fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, aftercare, mentions of hookups/faking it

You’re the last one to walk through the door of Charles’ apartment. Everyone else has been long comfortable, leaving imprints on the comfortable couch, footprints in the freshly-vacuumed rug, empty wine bottles and half-empty glasses on the coffee table. 

There’s always something so cold about his apartment—always empty, always dusty, filled with the remnants of his boyhood and the promise of his adult life. It has all the makings of a home, but it still feels like a house—like a museum instead of a secondhand shop. Always, except on days like tonight, when it’s filled with warm laughter and the smell of half a dozen different meals and the quiet hum of his favorite playlist. On days like today, it feels like a home. 

Nobody in the living room hears you open the door or slip off your shoes—they’re too preoccupied in their busy, lively conversation about a road closure on the way to the airport in Nice that adds twenty minutes on to the drive. You move in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen, to set your crowd offering—blue cheese stuffed shrimp—on the counter and get a wine glass from the cabinet to fill. He’s in the kitchen when you turn the corner, carefully examining the platter of Italian meatballs he’s got cooking in the oven. 

Charles looks up as soon as you set the heavy plate down on the counter. “Hé!” Hey, he greets, closing the oven door and pulling off his blue mittens to properly kiss both of your cheeks, a single arm wrapping around your middle to pull you into a quick hug. “Quand es-tu arrivé?” When did you get here?

“Tout à l'heure,” Just now, you reply, roll up the sleeves of your shirt because his kitchen is so small, and heats up so quickly when the oven is on. “Désolé, je suis en tard,” Sorry I’m late.

“T'es pas en tard,” You’re not late, he interjects, dragging a tortilla chip through someone’s dip and popping it into his mouth. With his other hand, he’s reaching into the cabinet above his head, pulling down a wine glass and handing it to you. 

“Je suis très en tard,” I am so late, you smile, take the empty wine glass with a thank you and follow suit with your own chip in the fame dip. “Je reviens directement du travail. Les crevettes sont restées dans le réfrigérateur du bureau tout l'après-midi,” I came straight from work. The shrimp sat in the office fridge all afternoon, you explain, and he scowls, raises his brows at you and at the shrimp. You chuckle, nod.  “N'en mangez pas,” Don’t eat it. 

His eyes are stuck on your cheek, which forces your hand to investigate what he might be staring at. “Quoi?” What? You ask, fingers coming up with nothing but an embarrassed heat. 

“Rien, juste... tu as un cil,” Nothing, just… you have an eyelash, he lets a sharp exhale leave through his nose, “je l'enlèverai,” I’ll get it, and then he does. Carefully, with the pad of his middle finger, he picks the eyelash from your cheek. You don’t look at him while he does it, but you are watching when he transfers it to his thumb and drops it onto the platter of shrimp with a quick flick. “Oh, non,” he feigns concern, grabs the platter from the counter, “Allons juste…” Let’s just… he laughs and holds the plate over the trash can and drops the shrimp into the plastic bag with a thump. 

“Bon appel,” good call, you laugh. 

He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up.

They go through phases, the two of them. She doesn’t like your friend group very much, and Charles doesn’t seem like he likes her all that much, but they come and go like seasons. Together one month, broken up the next week. He usually tells you, but even when he doesn’t, you usually know. He’s always touchier with you when she’s out of the picture. Not that you mind it, but. He is. 

It’s all a little more comfortable, like you’re both a little less aware of the fact that you’re the only girl in the group who isn’t spoken for, or that you’re both atrociously the other’s type.

“Regarde qui j'ai trouvé,” Look who I found, Charles announces, and you’re met with a spattering of greetings, plopping down onto the couch, slotting between Marta and an empty space that is quickly occupied by Charles. 

You both fight over the corner seat, who gets to take up more of it. He loves to sprawl out and you love to curl up. When it’s all settled, he’s spread out like he likes, and you’re curled up into the space he leaves, half leant against him with your knees pulled to your chest, sleeves pulled over your hands because it’s hot in the kitchen, but only in the kitchen. 

“J'ai entendu dire que vous avez tous les deux eu un week-end assez mouvementé,” I heard you both had quite the eventful weekend, Marta teases. She’s the only other person besides the man next to you—as far as you know—that knows about what went down last Friday night. It takes even you a moment to remember, having already relegated the mortifying details to the bottom of your soul. When you do recall, your cheeks burn with the sudden blow flow and you giggle, curl into Charles a little further than you probably should.

“Quoi?” What, Joris asks, “ce qui s'est passé?” What happened?

“Rien ne s'est passé,” Nothing happened, Charles tries to protect you from re-living the evening, but it’s no use. Now that your friends have a sniff of a story, they won’t stop until it’s told in complete, painstaking detail. So, you begin:

“J'étais en train de garder un chat le week-end dernier pour mon collègue, n'est-ce pas?” I was cat sitting for my coworker last weekend, right?

— —

You were indeed cat-sitting for a coworker last weekend. It was an orange cat whose name you never really learned, much less remembered, and you were on day three of five of cat-sitting. It’s important for the rest of the story, for later. It is. 

Anyway, you were cat-sitting on a Friday night, but that wasn’t going to stop you from going out. Your sister had invited you, something about a club and her boyfriend’s friends visiting from London. Only if I can claim a brit, you’d joked. You’d joked, right up until coming face-to-face with the twenty-something, five-foot something-but-still-taller-than-you, perfect brown hair and perfect green eyed British man that had come along for the visit. You weren’t joking after meeting him. 

Once the two of you were finally drunk enough to lose any sense of what’s good for you, you were squeezing into the back of a taxi and stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex, the cute boy and his little kisses and touchy hands slowing the whole process down. 

We all know what a drunken Friday night hookup looks like, so. There’s no need to explore the logistics of it with someone who’s name you’ve since forgotten, who you hope is back home in London never to return. Because where the story really gets good, is after the uneventful hookup, when Mr. Brit really needed to get back to his fiends and had you walking him to your apartment door in just a towel because he didn’t have the patience to wait for you to put on some fucking clothes. 

— —

“Bon sang,” damn, Hugo laughs from the other end of the sofa, “tu es vraiment si mauvais en sexe?” Are you really that bad at sex? 

“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck you, you scoff. “Je suis incroyable en matière de sexe,” I’m amazing at sex.

“Je peux trouver quelqu'un pour vous donner des cours, si besoin,” I can find someone to give you lessons, if you need. 

You pause, blink twice, and then continue your story. “De toute façon,” Anyways.

— —

As you open the door to let him out, the cat you’ve been cat-sitting—see. It did come back to be important—darts out of the door. 

“Grab him!” You’d yelled, and the guy actually looked back at you before replying. 

“I’m allergic.”

You scoffed, hurrying past him and down the stairs after the cat. You manage to corral it in the corner of the stairwell, pick it up and return to your apartment, just in time to watch the door shut behind you. You look at the door, at the guy you’d just fucked, at the cat in your hands, and then back at the door. “That is not good,” you say.

The guy laughs. “Just open it.”

Oh, brilliant. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “It’s locked.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

By the grace of God and all things good in this world, the guy had a fully-charged phone. Unfortunately for you, of the three people with a spare key to your apartment, there was only one number you had memorized: Charles. 

You text him before you call him. It’s me, please don’t send me to voicemail, and then he did send you to voicemail twice before calling the number back. 

“Bonjour?”

“‘Bonjour?’ Mon cul!” ‘Hello?’ My ass! You greeted, the cat snarling and wiggling against your grip. You were so far beyond being in the mood for pleasantries. You just really, really wanted some fucking pants. “J'ai besoin que tu viennes ouvrir ma porte. Genre, il y a dix minutes,” I need you to come unlock my door. Like, ten minutes ago. 

“Et avec qui ai-je le plaisir de discuter?” And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with? You swear if you could, you’d punch him through the phone. You can’t, so you settle for hanging up. 

It’s at this time that Mr. Brit properly excuses himself from the evening of fun, because now that he knows you won’t stand outside your apartment in nothing but a towel for the rest of time, his conscience is clean. 

You and Charles live a sixteen minute walk from each other, and he definitely chose to walk rather than literally any other form of faster transportation. Maybe you should have disclosed your current state over the phone, but that probably would have made him walk slower. 

When he finally does trudge up the stairs, he stops three steps short of your landing at the sight of you, towel and cat and literally nothing more. “Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé, putain?” What the fuck happened to you? He laughs, and then finishes his walk up the stairs, holding your key out to you tauntingly. 

“Connard,” Asshole, you mutter, snatching the key away from him with your free hand and forcing it into the lock. “J'avais un gars chez moi,” I had a guy over, you add, forcing the door open with your hip. 

“Où à?” Where? He asks, following you into the apartment.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, où?” What do you mean, where? You laugh, gesture around the apartment. “Ici,” here. 

Charles frowns, scowls even. “Et il t'a laissé dehors?” And he left you out there?

You nod, gather up your clothes from the floor before they can exist there long enough to be perceived. “Tu n'es pas obligé de rester, je vais bien,” You don’t have to stay, I’m fine, you tell him, half-usher him back out the door he came through. “Je sais que ta copine va probablement me tuer,” I know your girlfriend is probably going to kill me next time she sees me.

— —

“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ne t'a pas tué,” I can’t believe she didn’t kill you, Ricky chuckles, looking to Charles. 

You find solace in the bottom of your wine glass, an excuse to fill the silence that follows Ricky’s comment. “En fait, nous avons rompu,” we actually broke up, Charles says, and the room falls into the same silence it always does everytime they break up. It’s not that you guys don’t like her, so much as… well. Yeah, it is that you don’t like her. But she didn’t like you guys first, so it really shouldn’t matter much that none of you like her. 

“Je suis désolé, mec,” I’m sorry, mate, Joris offers, and then everyone follows suit with half-hearted apologies they don’t mean. 

“C'est bien, vraiment,” It’s fine, really, he offers to the group. “Elle était gentille, mais elle ne l'était tout simplement pas…” she was nice, but she wasn’t… he hesitates. You take another sip of your wine. Your friends listen to him intently.  “Je ne veux pas être méchante,” I don’t want to be mean.

“Soyez méchant,” Be mean, Marta giggles. 

He laughs nervously, fidgets with his fingers, watches his rings spin. “Elle n'était pas très bonne. Elle ne pouvait pas... Je ne l'ai jamais fait, tu sais,” She wasn’t very good. She couldn’t… I didn’t ever, you know, he trails off, gesturing wildly into the space around him, anything to avoid having to say the words the entire room has picked up on. 

You roll up your sleeves, hot again. Burning. 

The teasing that follows from the guys is relentless, gets to a point where you and Marta step in, begging them to stop kicking a dead horse while Charles is in the bathroom. They do ease up, and the night continues far, far away from horrible hookup stories and mortifying relationship admissions. 

You were the last to arrive, which means you’ll be the last to leave, make sure that the whole place has been cleaned up, returned to its stiff and dusty places in the apartment before you head home for the night. 

“Juste pour que tu le saches,” just so you know, you comment, scraping the last of the left behind chip-dip into a tupperware container while he gathers up the now-stale crackers from the charcuterie board. “Je ne te crois absolument pas,” I totally don’t believe you.

He meets your eyes, confused. “Tu ne me crois pas à propos de quoi?” Don’t believe me about what?

“A propos de ne pas…” about not… you look away, direct your attention to the lid of the container. Anything but looking him in the eyes while talking about each other’s sex lives. “Tu sais. Il est impossible que vous n’ayez pas joui depuis cinq mois.” You know. There’s no way you haven’t gotten off in five months. 

You see him shake his head in your peripheral, distract himself with the task at hand the same way you had. This isn’t something the two of you talk about, and you talk about pretty much everything. Sex, though. It’s always been off-limits, especially in a situation like this, just the two of you together. “Non,” nope, he mutters. “Je souhaite,” I wish.

You roll your eyes. “Charles, regarde tes mains,” look at your hands, you say, and he does, all full of crumbs and salt and grease. “Voilà, voici la solution à ton problème. Tu peux le résoudre dès que je partirai,” there’s the solution to your problem. You can fix the issue as soon as I leave tonight.

He rolls his eyes right back, “idiote,” idiot, he says, shoves your shoulder with one of his hands and you laugh. “Je ne peux pas. C’est… je ne sais pas, c’est irrespectueux,” I can’t. It feels… I don’t know, it feels disrespectful.

You laugh, curl in on yourself at his comment because it feels so completely ridiculous. He’s a good guy, you know. You know, or you wouldn't be such good friends in the first place. You know, but that's a crazy concept even for a good guy. “Manque de respect envers ton ex-petite-amie si tu te branles après un séparer?” Disrespectful to your EX-girlfriend if you jerk off after you’ve broken up?

“Bien. Quand tu le dis comme ça,” well. When you say it like that.

“Ouis,” yeah, you chuckle, hoisting yourself up onto the counter you’d just cleared. The granite is cool even through the denim of your jeans. “Quand je dis ça comme ça, tu es un imbécile,” when I say it like that, you dumbass. 

“Pourtant,” Still though, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He always looks particularly boyish when he gets even the tiniest bit frustrated with you. “Tu ne comprendrais pas. Ça n'est pas pareil.” You wouldn’t get it. It’s not the same. 

Wouldn’t I? You pick at your cuticles, don’t know how to skate around the admission that you’re finishing about as often as he is—that Mr. Brit, who he’d missed by no more than ten minutes last weekend, was not exactly giving you a very eventful evening when he decided he was done for the night. 

"Je ne vois pas comment tu pourrais,” I don’t see how you could.

You nod, wish you lived in his little naive world where you always finish. “La moitié des gars de ce putain de pays ne savent pas comment faire jouir une fille. Et apparemment, les gars de Londres non plus.” Half the guys in this fucking country don’t know how to get a girl off. And apparently, neither do the guys in London.

“Vraiment?” Really?

You nod. “Je ne peux pas te dire combien de fois j'ai simulé parce que j'en avais marre que quelqu'un attaque ma lèvre gauche avec sa langue,” I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve faked it because I was tired of someone assaulting my left lip with their tongue. 

“Fuck,” He laughs. “​​Ce n'est tout simplement pas bien,” that’s just not right.

“Non, ça ne l'est pas,” no it is not.

“Tu devrais vraiment obtenir de l'aide pour ça,” you should really get some help with that.

“Et toi aussie. Je mourrais avant de laisser tes conneries arriver.” So should you, you offer. I’d die before I let that shit happen. And you would, you really would. You can’t think of something worse than dating someone for months and knowing you’ve never gotten them off once. And she knows, she has to know, because there’s no way for him to fake it. She has to know. 

There’s a pause, and you realize that somewhere on the other side of the apartment the music has stopped playing. The speaker must have died—or the phone playing through it. You realize that Charles is close, now. Really close. Has he been this close the entire time you’ve been cleaning up, close. “Le feriez?” you would?

“Cent pour cent. Une bonne petite amie le ferait—en fait,” a hundred percent. A good girlfriend would—actually, you stop yourself, scowl a bit at the idea of it all. “Une bonne petite amie n’aurait jamais ce problème en premier lieu, mais ce n’est pas la question,” a good girlfriend would never have that problem in the first place but, that’s besides the point. He smiles, the threat of a laugh, and takes a step closer, firmly between your legs, now. You put your hands on either of his shoulders, give them a firm, friendly squeeze. “Une bonne petite amie t'aurait aidé,” a good girlfriend would have helped you, you assure him, but it doesn’t sound as friendly as your gesture was. 

His hand falls to your knee, thumb moving over the fabric of your jeans there ever so softly. It sends a chill up your spine, makes you shiver. “Un bon ami pourrait m'aider,” a good friend could help me, he says, hardly above a whisper—like he thinks saying it quieter is going to make it have any less suggestion. 

You nod, gulp, your fingers intertwining behind his neck. “Un bon ami pourrait vous aider,” a good friend could help you.

“Ouis,” yeah. You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, that your noses might as well slot against each other. That you might as well be kissing, even if you aren’t. You’re sure your eyes cross when they meet his. 

“Dommage que tu n'en ai pas,” shame you don’t have any of those, you tease, smile pulling on your lips, hands falling from over his shoulders to move down his chest, to feel every reaction of his muscles as you trail over his abs softly, toy with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?” It is, isn’t it? His hand moves up your leg, and you instinctively move towards the touch, move yourself closer to the edge of the counter. He moves up, up your thigh, to your hip, threatening to go further. He doesn’t, though. He stalls there, searching your eyes for the permission to be there in the first place. 

And then, just like that, he kisses you. 

It starts soft, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. It’s a gentle collision, tender and hesitant and exploring whatever new waters you’d just sat yourselves in. His lips are so soft against yours, so careful, so sweet, and then his tongue is slipping through your lips, settling into the kiss now that he knows you’re going to kiss back. And you do, you kiss back, until it’s all hurried and messy, noses bumping against each other, teeth scraping each other’s lips. Until you’re hazy and dizzy and have to pull apart for air. 

“Peut être,” maybe, you chuckle into his mouth, kiss him again quickly. “Peut-être que tu devrais accepter l'offre de Hugo de trouver un tuteur,” maybe you should take Hugo up on his offer to find a tutor, you joke, and his smile is sweet against your lips. 

“Peut être,” maybe…  he says, fiddles with the buttons of your jeans hurriedly, like they’re going to seal shut if he doesn’t undo the button that very moment, and then he unzips the zipper, “ou peut-être,” or maybe… 

You kiss him again. Your core aches, the knot in the pit of your stomach pulling itself tighter and tiger with each millimeter further he moves. “Tu pourrais juste,” you could just. 

“Je pourrais juste,” I could just, and he dips a hand into your pants. 

You sigh, react instantly to his touch and his lips are on your again. Your hips move against his hand like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched—which, this whole thing feels so charged that it might as well be. Charles’ hand moves in flat circles over your clit, pushing farther, deeper, slipping a single finger inside of you. 

You hiss at the movement, kiss him harder when your breath is back, pull him hard against your lips by the back of his neck. “Putain, tu es tellement mouillé,” Fuck, you’re so wet, he says. 

You nod, talk into his mouth, “Je sais, je sais,” I know, I know.

You reach between your bodies to palm him, find him already hard in his jeans, taking in a sharp breath when you touch him there. His other hand grabs at your tits, pushing and pulling and squeezing over your shirt before finally slipping under, haphazardly pushing your bra out of the way and palming them, kissing mumbled profanities into the skin on your neck. 

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine—he ruts against the counter when you do, smirks against your lips and hums whatever noise he’s attempting to swallow. 

You sigh when he pulls his hand out from your jeans, but he’s quick to get them off of you, pulling them and your underwear off as soon as you raise yourself up off the counter. It’s cold, so cold, but his hands are equally warm, burn against your body as he explores every inch of available skin. 

You work away at his jeans, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as the angle allows you to. His cock springs out of the elastic waistband and the only thing you can think is how pretty it looks, all swollen and twitching and wet with precum. It looks painful, almost, how hard he is. But so, so pretty. “C'est tellement chaud,” this is so hot, you say. 

“Tu es tellement belle,” you’re so hot, he replies. 

You’re expecting for it to all boil over, then, for him to sink into you, fill you up with his perfect pretty dick, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself to your cunt and looks at you with nauseating eye contact. “Dis moi quoi faire,” tell me what to do, he says. 

“Quoi que ce soit. Faire n'importe quoi,” Anything. Do anything, you beg. 

He does, he does—licks a long stripe through your folds, forces your head to the sky and a sweet moan from your lips. He holds your legs apart with a hand on the inside of each thigh—strong, warm, big—and fucks you with his tongue. It’s messy and natural, but every move is intentional, working towards the goal of getting you off before he even fucks you. And he will, he will, because he listens so well. 

Every direction, even the jumbled, incoherent moans that leave your mouth, even the little twitches of your legs or the way your hips move against his mouth—it's all an instruction for him. What to do. What to continue doing exactly like he’s doing. “Juste comme ça. N'arrêtez pas,” just like that. Don’t stop, you chant, and he doesn’t stop. He holds his pace, and then you’re coming in his mouth, fingers slipping on the countertop in search of some kind of grip, some kind of stability as you writhe against him.

 When you’ve come down, come back to reality and the cold countertop and his warm hands, he’s kissing you again, cock hard and twitching between your bodies. You take him in your hand and he winces, groans when you start to stroke him, to spread the precum around his tip with your thumb. “Ça fait du bien,” feels good, he mutters. 

“Laisse-moi t'aider,” Let me help you, you insist. He doesn’t need much convincing. None at all, really. 

“Est-tu toujours... sur le?” Are you still… on the, he asks, tapping your arm. 

“Mon implant? Ouais, ouais,”My implant? Yeah. yeah. 

He kisses you again, licks into your mouth in a way that feels half-illegal, like all the rules of the universe have been broken. “Tu veux que j'utilise un préservatif?” Do you want me to use a condom?

You shake your head against his lips, shrug somewhere in the distance, far away from where your mouth is on his. “Je m'en fiche, je suis propre,” I don’t care, I’m clean.

“Moi aussi,” Me too. 

"D'accord, d'accord. Putain," Okay, okay. Fuck, and then he's slapping the head of his cock against your pussy, making you quiver with every touch. He drags it over your clit, through your folds, and then he’s sinking into you. His fingers bruise into your hips as he ruts into you, you reaching down to circle you clit while he fucks you full of him. "Putain, Dieu," Fuck, God, he moans. 

“Oui c'est bien?” Yeah, it's good? You ask. 

“C'est tellement bon, putain, c'est tellement bon, tu es si sexy,” It’s so good, fuck—it’s so good, you’re so hot. You don’t know if its his words, or that the seal’s properly broken now, but right as his dick slips out of a particularly measured thrust, you’re coming around the air, shoving a finger back inside to ease the ache of emptiness, pulling it back out and guiding his cock back in. He fucks you so good. So hard. So deep, just the sounds of each others groans, of heavy sighs and skin slapping filling the room, bouncing off the walls. “Je suis près,” I’m close, he tells you. “Je suis si proche, putain. Je vais,” I’m so close, fuck. I’m gonna, he repeats, fucking into you hard. Hard, burying himself in your cunt longer and longer each time. 

“Fais-le,” Do it, you say, “laisse-moi l'avoir, je le veux,” let me have it, I want it. And then he’s coming. Hard. Bottomed out in you, groaning against your neck, and filling you up with him. Fuck, he breathes. You can’t make a distinction between a sigh versus a laugh. “Ça va?”Are you okay? He asks. 

Your breath is heavy, heart thumping in your chest, in your ears, in your toes. “Je suis,”  I’m, you laugh. “Ouais, je suis plus que… je vais bien,” Yeah, I’m more than… I’m okay, you finally sputter out into his patient eyes. You think that’s the reason you stutter—the eye contact. “Es-tu?” Are you?

“Ouais,” Yeah, he says, running a hand through his hair, nodding.  “Oui. Très bien.” Yes. Very okay.

“Bien,” Good, you nod, and then, with all the vulnerability in the world: “Étais-je bien?” Was I alright?

He smiles, moves his hand to brush your flyaways from your forehead, to stop them before they can get in your face. “Tu étais…” You were… he laughs, and there’s no mistaking it now. When he does it, you’re reminded just how full of him you still are, of the ache you’ll feel when he finally pulls out. “Je ne pense pas que quiconque puisse avoir un problème avec toi,” I don’t think anyone could have any issue with you. 

“Oh,”, you chuckle, eyes locking onto the clock hung on the kitchen wall. You can hear the second hand clicking around the same way you can hear your own pulse. “Bon alors,” Good then.

“Et moi?” And me? He asks, and pulls out slowly before you can begin to answer. There’s a silence in the room, just the clock and your heart and your breathing, his eyes glued to your cunt like he’s admiring his handy work. “C'étaient…” Those were…

“Tous deux très réels,” Both very real, you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, catching his eyes when he leans over the sink, wetting a paper towel and ringing it out. “Je ne suis pas doué pour faire semblant,” I’m not that good at faking it. 

“Bon,” Nice.

“Je ne pense pas que nous soyons le problème, alors,” I don’t think we’re the problem, then, you chuckle, eyes snapping back to the clock, mind to the feel of the counter under your fingertips. You can’t think about anything more, of any other feeling or sense of taste or smell you’re experiencing or it will be too much. 

“Non je ne pense pas,” No, I don’t think so, he continues, and starts to clean you up, warm hands on your legs again while he runs the cool paper towel through your folds. You recoil at the cold, a shiver running up your entire body and his eyes jump to yours—”Désolé,” Sorry, he mumbles. 

“C'est bon,” It’s okay, you squeak, and it sounds like you’re about an inch tall. Utter mortification will do that to you, something this fucking awkward making you incredibly aware of everything happening in the room around you, of every touch of his warm hands on your skin. A lot of things are different now. Everything is different. 

“Je, euh. Putain,” I, uh. Fuck, you resort back to what you know best, to the only thing you can think about that doesn’t spiral back to the feeling of him finishing inside you. “Je n'arrive pas à croire que je doive nettoyer à nouveau ce comptoir,” I can't believe I have to clean this counter off again. 

He laughs again, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. It sits on top of everything else like a billboard, screaming about what it had been used for. The lid on the trash can doesn’t close like it’s supposed to. “C'est à ça que tu penses en ce moment?” That’s what you’re thinking about right now?

“Ouais,” Yeah.

“Tu es tellement bizarre, putain,” You’re so fucking weird, he says, adjusting himself, tucking back into his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up to make himself proper again. You have to hop off the counter to do the same, collecting and correcting your things as fast as you can because you can feel his eyes on your figure while you dress, and it feels too intimate. 

“Je ne suis pas bizarre,” I am not weird, you quip, buttoning your jeans and pulling up the zipper, carefully fixing your shirt, your bra, smoothing all of your clothes out over your skin. 

“Tu es. Tu es tellement bizarre.” You are. You’re so weird. 

“Peu importe,” Whatever, you mumble, quickly closing the lid to the trash can. 

The night has run its course by now, and then some. You spend fifteen minutes silently moving around each other in the kitchen, the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the downstairs lobby. You spend at least ten of them cleaning off the counter, which doesn’t feel so cold anymore, at least not where you were sitting. 

“Tu peux rester, tu sais…” You can stay, y’know… he finally breaks the silence. “Si tu veux.”  If you want.

“D’accord,” Okay, you nod. “Je ne… je ne sais pas si c’est une bonne idée.” I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

“C'est vrai, ouais,” Right, yeah, he says, and the place threatens to fall back into negative decibel levels. “Je t'entends, tout ce que tu veux.” I hear you, whatever you want. 

“Désolée,” Sorry, you choke.

“Ne le soit pas, vraiment,” Don’t be, really, he assures, but you still are, still feel like you're stepping on a little baby bug that’s on its way home to its family. It’s not that you don’t want to stay, it’s more that you… you don’t trust yourself to stay, and you don’t trust him not to turn this into a messy rebound thing. If you slept in his bed tonight and got a text next weekend that he’d gotten back together with his girlfriend, you’d feel like a piece of shit. It’s bad enough that when they do inevitably reconnect, you’re already never going to be able to look her in the eyes again. 

“Tu m'enverras un texto quand tu rentreras à la maison?” You’ll text me when you get home? He asks, standing opposite you in his doorway. 

“Bien sûr,” Of course, you nod, fidgeting with the keys on your lanyard. “Nous n’avons pas simplement ruiné notre amitié, n’est-ce pas?” We didn’t just ruin our friendship, did we?

“Non,” he answers, without leaving space for a hesitation, to really wonder about your question. 

You smile at your keys, bite back a chuckle at just how quick he’d responded to you, about how sure he seemed. “Parce que tu es une de mes personnes préférées, tu sais,” Because you’re one of my favorite people, y’know.

“Tu es ma personne préférée,” You’re my favorite person.

You swallow, and when you look up from your keys, he’s staring right back at you. The comfort in the silence is palpable, and it makes you shy, pushes a nervous laugh from your lips. Charles just nods, certain in his choice of words. It makes you even more sheepish. 

You’re completely aware that he doesn’t look at everyone like this, that he never looked at her like this. “Que s'est-il passé entre toi et elle cette fois, d'ailleurs?” What happened with you and her this time, anyway?

He sighs. “Tu veux vraiment savoir?” You really want to know?

“Ouais,” Yeah, you nod. “Je fais,” I do.

“Je euh,” I uh, his fingers fidget with each other, pulling on the joints and twisting his rings. He doesn’t look at you when he tells you, watches the metal spin around his finger. “Je suis rentré de chez toi le week-end dernier et elle attendait dehors que je la laisse entrer. J'ai complètement oublié qu'elle venait après le travail.” I came home from your place last weekend and she was waiting outside for me to let her in. I totally forgot she was coming over after work. You regret asking as soon as he starts explaining. It’s not your business, and you could have gone your whole life without knowing that you were the catalyst for it. “On s'est disputé, elle m'a dit de choisir qui était le plus important,” We got into a fight, she told me to choose who was more important, he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like he was being asked to flip a coin, asked what color the sky was. “Je te choisi,” I chose you.

“Charles,” your head falls to the side defeatedly. You wish he never told you this, even though you asked. You wish he knew better, that you knew better.

“Je sais,” I know, he nods, and it sounds like he feels genuinely bad about the truth.  “Je suis désolé,” I’m sorry. 

“Je devrais y aller,” I should go.

“Ouais…” Yeah… he hesitates, his hand lingering around his front door, refusing to close it on you. “Ouais,” yeah.

“Juste... ne le fais pas,” Just… don’t. You stop yourself—or you try to stop yourself—from speaking. It’s unsuccessful, how could it not be when he’s staring at you intently with those big green eyes, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. “Ne te remets pas avec elle S'il te plaît,”  Don’t get back with her. Please.

“Je ne vais pas,” I won’t.

You nod, even though you know he will. He always does. They always get back together. It’s nice to pretend, though, for a few days. To pretend that anything is ever going to come of what’s happened this evening. 

“Bonne nuit, Charles,” Goodnight..

“Bonne nuit.” Goodnight.

[aliypop]

There's Always Me Chapter 10

Word count: 15.676

Prompt: In October 1954, two southern heartthrobs met, and the rest is history

Warning: Time Period Language,Smut, Death,

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Note: A rewrite

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

@eapep

@iloveelvis2

NBC Studios June 17th, 1968

The atmosphere in the studio was thick with palpable tension as Steve Binder leaned in, trying his hardest to persuade Tom Parker. "Listen, Parker. It's a genius idea! Just imagine we get Elvis rehearsing with his friends, that authenticity will resonate with the audience."

Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes as he strode down the dimly lit hall toward the lobby, his footsteps echoing off the walls. "That would be ridiculous. No one wants to see that!" he shot back, his voice edged with frustration.

"It suits Elvis perfectly! It's not exactly traditional," Binder countered, his enthusiasm unwavering.

"Traditional is what Singer Sewing Machine wants," Tom insisted, his expression tight with disapproval.

Cecelia, an elegant figure holding her set of keys, approached the receptionist's desk. Tom’s skin crawled at the sound of her voice, a mix of recognition and irritation. When she finally glanced his way, her eyes rolled in annoyance.

"Ms. Valmos..." Tom began, but Cecelia cut him off.

"It's Mrs. Presley to you, Parker," she said through clenched teeth, the tension between them sizzling like static electricity. "If they want traditional, they've got the wrong guy." A self-assured shrug accompanied her words as Binder handed her the schedule for the day.

"Thanks, B," she said, scanning the call sheet. Meanwhile, Tom felt his frustration boil over; he was giving off an aura of simmering rage, like a pot about to overflow.

"No... No... No..." Tom muttered, eyes darting between the two of them. "You can't be here for rehearsals! You’ll distract my boy!"

"Actually, she has to be here," Binder smirked his confidence a stark contrast to Tom's agitation.

"She’ll be a distraction to Elvis, I swear!" Tom argued, desperation lacing his voice.

Before he could finish, Midge, the new producer, poked her head out of the office, eyes wide. "Hey, uh, Presley wants to speak to the directors," she said, her tone brisk.

Tom’s heart sank. "Tell him we’re coming," Cecelia replied, a sly smile creeping onto her face. Her white boots clicked rhythmically on the polished studio floors, matching the swift steps of Binder's Chelsea boots.

"So... who’s that?" Midge asked, her curiosity piqued as she observed the dynamic unfolding.

“Binder, Michaels, Michaels, Binder,” Cecelia introduced them with a practiced ease, her voice warm and engaging. "Midge will be our producer for the time being," she added brightly.

"Ever produced anything, kid?" Tom asked skepticism etched on his features.

"Music? A few contracts and budgets?” Midge shrugged, not backing down from the challenge.

"Works for me," Cecelia replied, her eyes sparkling with ambition as she braced herself for the project ahead, while Tom continued to stew in his uncertainty.

Walking into the rehearsal room, Midge could instantly see the problem. The team had been falling apart even more because the dream was a compromise. She could tell just how tense everyone looked. The dancers were confused, and there were Elvis elves in a corner. It felt like one big shit show of a hot mess.

"Hey, uh...Cil..." Midge whispered urgently, a hint of concern in her voice, "You've got a tough one on your hands..."

"I can handle it," Cecelia replied, her tone steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

"Can you…?"

"Already had to deal with a costume meeting." She let out a long sigh, taking a deep breath that seemed to fill the air with tension. "We're supposed to fit him in some of them today..."

"Well, there's our choreographer, but where's Elvis..." Midge groaned, scanning the room with a worried look. To her dismay, she noticed that Cecelia had already slipped away. Just then, she turned to see Elvis sitting in the dimly lit dressing room, his head cradled in his hands as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, and he desperately needed to find his calm. He reminded himself that all he had to do was sing as the Colonel had instructed him.

"Belew's looking for you for your fitting, Mr. Presley..." a voice broke through the silence, startling him. His head shot up at the familiar tone he could recognize anywhere.

"Cece..." he breathed, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

"That's second director Mrs. Presley to you," she said playfully, stepping behind him with a gentle smile. She could see the stress etched on his features; they hadn’t even begun filming, and already he looked overwhelmed.

"You're..." He realized, nodding slowly. "No wonder the Colonel's pissed." He laughed softly, reaching out to take her hand, drawing strength from her presence.

"Figured you could use the help," she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek to lighten the mood.

"Now, about these costumes..."

"I told Belew it's out of my hands on that one," she chuckled lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Why would you do that, darlin'?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Your show, your rules," she said, beginning to walk out of the dressing room, fully aware he'd follow her like a shadow.

"What about the Singer image?" he called after her.

"The Singer company wants the Elvis image, so let’s give them Elvis," Cecelia said over her shoulder, her voice laced with determination as she leaned in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. The warmth of her lips sent a surge of energy through him, igniting a spark of confidence he didn't know he needed. Deep down, he recognized that she was right; it was his show, and with the tension hanging in the air beginning to ease, he could finally seize the moment and shape it as he pleased.

"Elvis..." Tom stepped into the room, his expression darkening as he caught sight of the two. "Ah yes, just the person I wanted to see..." He shot a pointed glare at Cecelia as he brushed past her, his demeanor cold and calculating.

"If you know what's good for you, don't listen to her," he warned, his voice low and threatening.

Cecelia’s gaze flickered between the two men, sensing the shift in atmosphere. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing with defiance. "You listen here!" She held Elvis back protectively, as if he were a prized possession about to be snatched away.

"She's going to distract you with her idea—"

"Ideas that SELL, Parker! Or the ones that Elvis has. This is his show, and Singer is putting their weight behind it," she countered, her tone firm and unwavering as she stared him down.

"It was supposed to be a family-friendly Christmas special!" Tom shot back, his frustration evident.

"More like another ploy to keep me hovering in the middle of the charts," Elvis groaned, crossing his arms in irritation.

"My boy, I’d never—" Tom began, but Cecelia cut him off sharply.

"His last few movies flopped..." she interjected, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. She turned to Tom with a fiery resolve. "And as a result, those last few records were flops too."

"What would you know about showbiz?" Tom scoffed, disbelief etched across his face.

Cecelia stood her ground, unflinching. "I may not have your experience, but perhaps the custom pink Mustang parked outside from Valmos Sounds might be a hint." She raised an eyebrow, challenging him to dismiss the reality of their situation any longer. "Or the fact that Elvis's talent deserves more than what you've been feeding him." The air crackled with unspoken truths as they faced off, each unwilling to back down.was touring with Elvis before your penguin-looking ass came along! OR-" Tom laughed at her in a mocking tone, making her nearly launch at him, "Yes, and remind me, who's been playing mother goose recently?" Elvis held her back in his arms, almost wanting to take a piece of him for himself. Tom walked off laughing as Cecelia was heated. They'd had bumped heads in the past, but this was worse than before.

"Baby, look at me." Elvis held her close,

"Yes..."

"Whatever I say goes, I'm gonna show him the real Elvis."

"I was wondering when my husband would finally show up." She joked, getting on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair a little.

"Why, you little!"

"Catch me if you can!" she teased, running out of the dressing room and towards rehearsals. Midge was proud that she could handle the chaos surrounding herself.

June 20th

"Has anyone seen Presley?" Midge called out as she made her way through the bustling studio, her voice cutting through the hum of activity.

"Which one? There's two of 'em," replied one of the busy production assistants, glancing over a clipboard with a raised eyebrow.

"The one whose show it is..." Midge replied, rolling her eyes dramatically, "Ugh, Hollyweird people." Elvis, the king of rock and roll, had been in the recording booth earlier that day, and the air was thick with anticipation as they approached the much-anticipated first day of production—the countdown to making history.

"Hey, have you seen Elvis?" Midge pressed, her urgency rising.

"No, but I got my ticket!" came the enthusiastic response.

Just then, Cecelia turned to see Rosa, and without hesitation, she rushed forward to embrace her tightly.

"You know there's like two guys outside giving away tickets to anyone, right?" Midge interjected, both she and Cecelia sharing a groan, their frustration evident.

"Well, make yourself comfortable and—"

"We'll just set up over here," Midge interrupted, motioning towards a cleared space.

"Is that Scotty...?" Rosa whispered, her excitement bubbling over.

"Rosa... Stop, you love Jerry," Cecelia teased with a gentle sigh, shaking her head. "Rosa..."

"You go find Presley. I'll handle Rosa. Tell him it's almost time to film," Midge instructed, her tone turning serious.

"Tell Binder he's on his way," Cecelia replied, already walking towards Elvis’s dressing room.

Inside the room, Elvis heard a soft knock on the door, and he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of anticipation pressing down on him. It had been seven long years since he last performed, and the nerves coursing through him were palpable. He glanced in the mirror, struggling to reconcile the image staring back at him. There was the nineteen year old version of himself, bright-eyed and trembling with excitement at the thought of stepping onto any stage. But there were also heavy memories: the frightened twenty-three-year-old in a foreign land, grappling with the grief of losing his mother, and the twenty- six year old man, joyously cradling his twin babies at home, kissing his wife his unwavering support who had been by his side through every tumultuous moment.

As he prepared to face the audience once more, those memories resonated within him, igniting both his fear and determination. Tonight, he would take that stage again.

"El... you okay?" Cecelia asked, opening the door.

"Just nervous." Cecelia took his hands as she kissed each finger and ring.

"I know you are,"

"What if I-I blow it," he sighed, "I go out there an I stutter or some crap like that."

"Then we'll roll for another take." Cecelia grinned,

"If I forget a word?"

"Then we'll roll another take." she shrugged,

"What if I embarrass myself?"

"Honey, this is your world. We're all living in it." She giggled, "If you mess up we'll roll another take,"

"Well, you're my world, and I enjoy living in you." he kissed her cheeks, then her nose and her lips,

"El!"

"What, it didn't sound right or something?"

"You know what you said!" She laughed, "Now go get dressed, will you."

"Alright, fine."  

When Elvis walked out, he was covered head to toe in leather. She'd, of course, seen the sketches of the suit by Bill, but to see it in person infront of her was making her feel things.

"Kinda tight, huh..."

"In all the right places..." she mumbled,

"I heard that," he smirked, looking back at her as she blushed a bright red on her tawny-colored skin. Elvis was most certainly back. And she'd remind him in all the right ways that he never left.

"Five minutes left until the first taping!" Midge’s voice boomed, cutting through the chatter of the buzzing studio.

"Thank you, five!" Cecelia responded with a bright smile, her hands deftly adjusting the fabric of her black and white mod mini dress. The bold patterns hugged her curves, a perfect balance of style and sass that captivated everyone around her. Elvis stood nearby, momentarily mesmerized by the way the dress accentuated her figure. There was something undeniably alluring about her silhouette, especially after becoming a mother. He admired how her body had transformed, an enhancement he appreciated deeply, even if she sometimes struggled with her self-image. But to Elvis, that didn’t seem to matter; he loved her fiercely, every part of her.

"El, you're shaking again," Cecelia said gently, noticing the tremor in his hands as she took them in her own, her touch warm and reassuring.

"Just nerves, baby," he admitted, leaning down to place a tender kiss on her forehead, hoping it would ease his own anxiety.

"If you start feeling jittery out there, just look for me in the booth beside Binder," she encouraged, her smile radiating confidence that he desperately needed. "And if for some reason you can't spot me, remember the twins and Lisa will be in the audience, cheering you on," she added, her eyes sparkling with affection and support.

Elvis nodded, though deep inside, he felt a whirlpool of doubt and fear. This was not just another performance; it would be the first time his children would witness him on stage. The thought sent a wave of terror rushing through him, evoking questions about whether he could live up to their expectations. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, the weight of the moment pressing down on him even as he sought reassurance in Cecelia’s unwavering gaze.

"Hey, Presley's, it's time!" Midge poked her head in as Elvis took Cecelia's hand and kissed it.

"Wish me luck," Elvis said,

"You don't need it." She winked, mumbling a prayer for him.

The first show hadn't gone as smoothly as everyone had hoped, and Cecelia could see it in the way Elvis moved. He radiated charisma, effortlessly exchanging playful banter with Scotty and the crew, but beneath the surface, there was a subtle urgency to his actions. The anticipation of being back on stage, performing for a roaring crowd, sent tingling waves of adrenaline through him. Cecelia couldn’t help but be captivated by the sight of him his body glistening with sweat, every dance move pulsating with raw energy. The soft grunts and groans escaping his lips were music to her ears; he was undeniably relishing the moment. Yet, an unsettling thought crossed her mind.

“Wait a minute…” Cecelia murmured under her breath. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination playing tricks, or if the friction from Elvis's tight suit was starting to take its toll. The look on his face was unmistakable, and those familiar sounds resonated in her mind, conjuring memories of long-ago performances. She decided to put that thought aside, focusing instead on her plan to meet him in his dressing room for the second filming prep.

“Hey, C, we’ll need to add mats for the next show,” B called from a distance, snapping her back to attention.

“Got it, B,” she replied with a nod.

“And we’ll have to get him out of that suit,” he continued, a knowing expression flashing across his face.

“Understood, B,” Cecelia sighed, her mind racing with the logistics.

“Oh, and remember, there’s a meeting about the dancers tomorrow.”

“Got it, B.” She stood, determination in her stride.

“Mind checking on our star?”

“Not at all.” With that, Cecelia made her way towards Elvis’s dressing room. As she passed Rosa, engaged in an animated conversation with Scotty a man perpetually chasing the elusive warmth of her affection. Cecelia felt a twinge of sympathy for Jerry. But her mission was clear, and her focus remained unbroken.

Approaching Elvis’s dressing room, she inhaled deeply, steeling herself before knocking on the door.

“Mr. Presley, are you decent?” she called out, altering her accent in a playful attempt to tease him.

“Depends, who’s asking?” came the smooth reply.

“Ms. Dubios,” she continued, relishing the chance to channel her past movie roles.

“Ah…” he chuckled, instantly recognizing her voice. The door swung open, revealing him with a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the room. He pulled her in for a warm kiss, leaving her momentarily breathless.

“You fooled me there, honey,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“How’d you know it was me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow in playful challenge. She loved that little quirk of his, the way his brow danced with amusement.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” she surrendered, leaning in for another kiss. “God, you’re so sweaty…”

“I was gonna warn ya,” he laughed, his voice a soothing balm amid the flurry of activity surrounding them.pulling her into the room. Cecelia blushed, sitting on the couch, watching him get undressed and out of the black suit.

"I usually charge for a show, you know." he chuckled, watching his wife roll her eyes.

"Well then, I owe you quite a bit of money for the times you've undressed in front of me, huh?" handing him his engraved robe. "Yes, you do." He smirked, responding to his wife as she laughed,

""Speaking of shows, our second performance kicks off at 8 PM," she said, her voice tinged with urgency as he gently kissed her hand, accepting the robe from her. "That gives me just enough time to take a beautiful director out to lunch..."

"I wish I could join you," she sighed, the weight of her responsibilities evident in her tone. "I need to ensure we get an accurate headcount of audience members for the show, finalize the schedule for tomorrow, and then I have to stick around to wrap up any last-minute paperwork."

Elvis, sensing the stress that laced her words, pulled her into a warm embrace and pressed a kiss to her lips, reminiscent of the romantic gestures he often performed in his films. He could feel the tension radiating from her, but he also understood that every late night and early morning was a testament to her love for him. Why she felt such devotion, he couldn’t quite grasp.

"You know, if you keep this up, you're going to work yourself to death," he said, concern furrowing his brow.

"Look who's talking," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in for another kiss.

"At the very least, let me help you with some of that workload," he suggested, trying to lighten her burden.

"And add more stress to your plate? No way!" Cecelia shook her head emphatically, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "You just stay here, look handsome, and don’t worry about me." She quickly glanced at the clock, her heart racing as she realized it was time to report back to Binder.

Though Elvis understood her commitment to her job, he couldn't shake the feeling of longing for his best friend—and for his wife.

"You could, however, take the twins out for lunch," Cecelia suggested after a moment of contemplation. Elvis nodded, appreciating her thoughtfulness. As she stepped halfway out the door, another idea struck her.

"And one more thing, sweetheart!"

"Hmm...?" he replied, curiosity piqued as he turned to her, eager to hear what else she had to say.

"Try not to cream your pants during the next show..." She smirked as he looked at her with a shocked expression,

"How'd you even-"

"Elvis... I know those grunts and moans." she pulled him by the belt of his robe, "Very... Very well... And I kinda missed them," she whispered in his ear.

"I-I-I- doubt that Cece."She kissed his neck slowly. As a groan rolled from his lips,

" Damn it, Cece, you tease..."

"Am I teasing, or am I just missing my-"

"Daddy! Elaine and Jesse shouted as Midge cleared her throat. Cecelia pulled away as Elvis blushed,

"You were amazing daddy." Elaine grinned,

"Thank you, little biscuit."

"No, you were fantastic." Jesse smiled, "I wanna be like you when I get older!"

"Thank you, trouble! Elvis ruffled his son's dark brown hair as he laughed, "Say, how would you two like to have lunch with me?" The twins cheered, taking his hands and running him out of the dressing room. Cecelia watched in pain as she saw her family leave her behind. Lately, that was how she felt. And she didn't like it, of course, it wasn't Elvis's fault, it wasn't anyone's, she was a mother and a wife now, her days as the rock and roll star were fading, and she'd soon accept it.

"Lisa needs a bottle, a request from your mother,"

"In the bag on the side pocket...."

Elaine was sitting next to her daddy in the NBC Cafe. She had seen a few of her favorite actresses pass. Elvis noticed how she'd get shy and wave while Jesse would have conversations between his burger and fries. He found it funny how they were similar to him in ways. But so much like their mother,

"So, Daddy." Jesse started, "I was thinking, since you're on TV, I could be on TV too, and I-I-I could sing!" Elaine cackled at her brother as she snorted,

"Whatcha gonna sing!" She teased,

"I'll sing one of Mommy's songs..." He stuck his tongue out as Elvis shot them both a glance that they knew. Oh, so well.

"Sorry, daddy..."

"You know. One day, you two will stop fighting and get along. Guess that'll be the day dogs and cats become friends," Elvis laughed.

"Daddy, can we watch the other show?" Jesse asked as Elvis thought about it. He did want his family in one place, but he also knew they'd fall asleep. Still, he wanted them to see what all it was that he did.

"Sure."After the show, Cecelia sat alone on the dimly lit stage, the weight of anxiety pressing against her chest like a heavy blanket. She felt as though she were submerged in a turbulent ocean of stress, struggling to keep her head above water. In that quiet moment, she realized that she not only understood Binder's stress; she also deeply empathized with everything her mother had endured through the years.

"You will make sure he sings 'Here Comes Santa Claus,' correct?" Parker's voice sliced through her thoughts, and she grimaced at the sound. There was something about that man’s tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

"It’s his show, Parker," she replied, her voice steady but tinged with annoyance.

"But you are his wife... Aren't you afraid that the… the money will run dry and you'll be a nobody from North Carolina again?" His words dripped with doubt and concern.

Cecelia continued flipping through the stack of paperwork on her lap, refusing to let his words penetrate her resolve. "Nope," she said defiantly. "I was someone before Elvis, and I'll remain someone with him. Now, what do you really want?"

"I need him to listen to me..." Parker's voice lowered, filled with urgency.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, but good luck!" she laughed, tried to ease the tension, but his seriousness cut through her humor.

"You need to listen. He has a reputation to uphold—" Parker insisted, his eyes wide with the weight of his conviction.

"Elvis Aaron Presley has a reputation that you almost managed to tarnish," she shot back, rising from her seat. She felt a fire igniting within her, fueled by years of frustration.

"I— I don’t know what you mean..." he stammered, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor.

"Maybe I should spell it out for you: 1958," she grumbled, her voice laced with bitterness as memories flooded her mind. "The year his world turned upside down." Her heart ached as she recalled that harrowing time the cutting of his hair, the order to enlist, and the shattering loss of his beloved mother. "My sugarplum was never the same after that," she said, her eyes misting with unshed tears.

"But he was an all-American boy who looked—" Parker began, but Cecelia cut him off.

"He was a crying, sobbing mess who couldn't get his mama back!" Her voice broke with emotion. In that moment, the complexities of their lives intertwined, revealing the deeper struggles they faced beyond the façade of fame and success. H-He was different after the service, lost even. Elvis wouldn't barely eat. He didn't feel like singing anymore-"

"Because he wanted to play the role of Cecelia!" Tom chuckled, a hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Because he was barely clinging to life anymore!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling as tears welled up. "You weren't there, trying to gently wean him off his pills between takes. Or during the sleepless nights when the haunting memories became too overwhelming to bear! So instead of taking uppers, he had to rely on downers!" Cecelia shouted, her frustration palpable.

"You didn't witness the terror of his nightmares! Those nights filled with the cries of restless children and... and," she faltered, emotion gripping her throat as she attempted to turn away, but the colonel pressed on, his voice cutting through the tension.

"But I was there, comforting him like a father... and like a mother... in ways you could never truly grasp." Tom's smile was soft, but edged with an undercurrent of challenge.

"Then you must understand that, for once in his tumultuous life, he wants to reclaim his choices and do things his way again." Her gaze locked onto his, fierce and searching.

"But Singer..."

"It's either his way or Singer can take the fucking highway! GOD DAMNIT!" she screamed as she ran out of the soundstage, " I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" Cecelia shouted as she trailed off into the hallways.

Cecelia and Elvis had been through hell and back together, but there was nothing she wouldn't do for him, and he felt the same for her. She just wanted to see him smile again and love what he did again. Cecelia looked at her reflection as she saw the nineteen -year-old girl with her guitar in hand and her skin-tight dress on,

"Even when I'm married and have kids, I doubt I'll stop being me..."

How did that bright-eyed girl manage to slip away from the life she once knew? As she glanced back, she saw the young woman of twenty-three, her heart aching for the moment. The woman was cradling her fiancé, whose face was buried in her shoulder, his body racked with sobs. In that fragile moment, tears streamed down her own cheeks as she clung to him, filled with a deep fear that she might never see him again. Yet even in her sorrow, she remained unapologetically herself—bold, daring, and fiercely proud.

Now, at thirty-three, she couldn't help but question when she'd lost that fearless spirit. When did she trade in her vivacious confidence for doubt? If only she could find a way to craft her own comeback, to reclaim the essence of who she used to be.

“Hey, C! You’re more than welcome to stay the night,” Steve called out, breaking her reverie.

“I think I’ll stick around for a bit,” she replied, the familiar strains of music echoing from the locker room, pulling her toward its warm embrace. “But I’ll definitely see you all tomorrow for the big Bordello Scene, right?”

“You got it, C,” he smiled, the light in his eyes a reminder of the camaraderie that once felt unshakeable.

Looking through the window, she could see Elvis playing his guitar with Scotty, Elaine, and Jesse, who was sleeping while his Memphis Mafia was sitting around listening. It was like Cecelia was back in 1954 on the road again, hoping from hotel to motel, playing guitar together.

"Hey, E the Mrs.'s is at the door!" Lamar pointed out,

Elvis looked over as he saw her warm smile. Cecelia waved as he ushered for her to come in and join them. She shook her head no until he gave her his infamous pout. Cecelia walked in. She rolled her eyes,

"Glad you could make it, Mrs. Carolina." Jerry joked,

"Figured I needed the break..." Cecelia sat next to Elvis as she kissed his cheek. Elvis could see her tear-stained cheeks, but he'd ask her about that later,

"You gone play us something?"Red asked

"Oh, I couldn't. Besides, my Gretsch is at the house and-" Scotty gave her his guitar as Rosa puffed out her cheeks.

"Well, if you insist..." She laughed, "Uh, you remember the chords to Hey Good Lookin?" she asked,

"Last I remember, you re-recorded that song." Elvis poked fun as he started the song.

Laughter filled that room at 3 in the morning, and she couldn't be happier to see her Elvis back in action. It made her proud of the sacrifices she made to keep him happy.

"Hey E, we'll take the kids home for ya," Red said as Elvis nodded. Everyone could tell he was worried about Cecelia. She wasn't her usual self, no matter how hard she tried to hide it."So what's this about? I've been hearing whispers about you and the colonel..."  

"It's nothing," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.  

"I could hear you screaming," he said, concern etched on his brow. "You don’t raise your voice unless something deeply troubles you."  

She shrugged, a hint of defiance in her posture. "I just wanted to stand up for you."  

"Doll, you really don’t have to," he said gently, searching her eyes.  

"No, I do." She took his face in her hands, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "Look, I don’t want to see you wearing yourself so thin," she continued, her tone softening. "You don’t have to be Elvis Presley all the time." A bittersweet smile played on her lips as tears began to pool in the blue depths of his expressive eyes.  

"Cecelia..." he breathed, momentarily lost for words, the weight of her love wrapping around him like a warm embrace.  

"I just love you too much..." she murmured against his chest, her voice trembling, "I love you so much that it hurts to see you unhappy..." He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat steadying his own.  

"I love you too, more than words can express," he whispered, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head. "I know you worry about me, just as I worry about you," he said, inhaling deeply to gather his thoughts. "But baby, you can't stretch yourself so thin either, not for me or anyone else." A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension. "You do so much for the kids and so much for me. I need you to take a moment for yourself, love." He spoke as if it were a necessity, his eyes holding her gaze with earnest intensity. "You don’t have to be Cecelia Presley around me. Just be the Cece I fell in love with and remember."  

She smiled lightly, the corners of her lips lifting as hope shimmered in her eyes. "I guess we just have to stop and smell the roses together..."  

Elvis leaned in, affectionately kissing the tip of her nose. "Guess so," he replied softly, a smile breaking across his face.  

"How about I take you out to dinner?"  

"C'mon, Elvis, it's three in the morning, and I've got a meeting in the morning…"

"Shit, it's dinner somewhere, ain't it," Elvis said as she remembered what he had said to her,

"Throw in a strawberry Milkshake, and I'll love you forever."

"So you mean I didn't have to buy you a ring?" she began to laugh as he smiled, "There's my beautiful girl."

The two were sitting in the diner, binge-eating on the most greasy foods they could find. They hadn't uttered a sentence towards one another, but they both knew that the other appreciated the time they were sharing together,

"You know, the other day. I was out where they shot Rebel without a cause where Jimmy Dean was, and I wondered..."

"Wondered what Star Shine," Cecelia asked

"How he had such an impact with such a short life." He sighed. Cecelia didn't have much of an answer, but she took his hands, "Because he did what he loved." She smiled at him, "You know I was thinking about doing music again, but..." Cecelia stopped in her tracks,

"Is it something you love..."

"Yeah..." Cecelia smiled

"Then what's stoppin you, honey?" Elvis asked as he saw tears in her eyes. This must have been something on her mind, "Everyone is saying I'm done." She laughed, "The press, the studios, Tom..."

"I haven't said it," Elvis mentioned as she shrugged,

"Face it, I'm a mother now," She laughed as Elvis looked angry, "You're Cecelia Shanel Presley and Damnit, you're beautiful, smart, and a hell of a singer and guitar player, shit better than me even."

"You flatter me, baby." Cecelia chuckled.

NBC Studio's June 28

"Alright, that's the schedule for the day," Midge announced, a warm smile spreading across her face. The crew, buzzing with energy and anticipation, quickly dispersed, their chatter blending into a symphony of purpose as they set to work transforming the soundstage into a dazzling pink whorehouse wonderland. A flurry of pink fabrics and glittering décor filled the space, creating an atmosphere that was both whimsical and risqué.

Cecelia watched intently as the dancers, clad in their stunning pink outfits embellished with sequins and feathers, rehearsed their number for the scene. The air was thick with the rhythm of "Let Yourself Go," the lively Elvis track that had been chosen for this unforgettable moment. She recalled the magic of when Elvis recorded that song; the way his voice resonated deep within her, stirring nostalgic feelings that were hard to shake. Oh, how she longed for those spirited days filled with creativity and talent.

"Alright, girls," the choreographer called, clapping his hands to grab their attention. "Let’s try it with the music now!" Cecelia found herself instinctively following along with their movements, her body swaying in time with the beat, a habit formed from years spent in the industry. Each twirl, each kick, felt like a flashback to her own vibrant history in dance.

Once the rehearsal commenced, Cecelia slipped out of the room and made her way to her office, a sanctuary amidst the chaos. She took a deep breath, the scent of fresh paint and excitement tinged with the promise of a successful shoot filling the air. Settling at her desk, she opened the schedule, her eyes scanning the carefully planned timeline. Everything appeared to be moving smoothly, or so she thought, unaware of the challenges that lay just beyond the rehearsals.

"CECELIA, ONE OF THE DANCERS, SPRANG HER ANKLE," Midge shouted as Cecelia ran back to the set. She was only gone for five minutes. When she came back. One of the lead dancers was limping,

"Hey, This is your chance, Cece," Midge smirked,

"This is Elvis's show," Cecelia smiled,

"But you know the dance," Steve added,

"And the song," Midge smirked,

"Oh, no, no!" Cecelia laughed, "My days are..."

"Here, put this on and go see makeup and hair," Midge said, handing her a short pink two-piece dress. Cecelia nodded as she tried on the dress. Pink rhinestones were trailing down the asymmetrical skirt. And the halter top that matched, going into the hair department. She had a teased ponytail with a pump. Her makeup was bold, with her iconic lipstick, and her jewelry was pieces that a highly paid working girl like her character would earn with her money. When Cecelia looked in the mirror, she was no longer lost. She could feel a piece of herself coming back to her,

"Cece, we're ready for... woah," Steve said, trying not to blush.

"Too much?" She asked as he shook his head,

"Perfect, actually." Steve smiled, "Alright, so Elvis will be in the chair, and then he stands. You're going to seduce him by singing and dancing." He explained to her as Midge smirked. The directions were simple and easy. It was just Cecelia wondering if she deserved to be up there with those bright-eyed twenty-somethings. When Elvis came on the set, he introduced himself to the girls and realized one was missing, but he shrugged it off.

"Hey, Pres, one of the girls sprung her ankle, but we did have a replacement," Midge informed Elvis,

"Is she late?"

"No, no, she's a little uh shy, if you will," Midge smirked, "But I know you'll love her," Midge shook her head with hope as she signaled for Binder to call out,

"ALRIGHT ACTION!'

As the lively melody began to fill the air, the girls animatedly swayed and twirled, embodying the spirit of the moment. Suddenly, Elvis entered the scene, clad in a striking all-Jean outfit that made heads turn. The girls approached him, their voices rising in song as he settled into a chair, an irresistible smile spreading across his face. He felt like a kid in a candy store, surrounded by radiant energy and excitement.

Girls adorned him from every angle, their laughter intertwining with the music as they playfully touched his arm and leaned closer, lost in the magic of the night. Yet, amidst the joyous chaos, Cecelia stood off to the side, her heart racing as she tried to muster her confidence. Doubt crept in she was a mother, a wife, and she felt past her prime. This was not her world; could she really do this?

But as the moment transformed and she found herself moving forward, determination flickered in her eyes. With a graceful saunter across the set, she executed a captivating spin that brought her to rest in Elvis's lap. "Don't be afraid, just relax and take it real slow..." she sang softly, brushing her nose against his, her palm resting warmly on his thigh, while her other hand found its place on his chest. The electricity in the air was palpable as he leaned in, teasingly close to a kiss.

In a sudden burst of confidence, they both stood, and she playfully pinned him against the wall, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cool it, baby, you ain't got no place to go," she sang, her voice smooth and sultry, all while the other women eagerly followed her lead, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

Yet, throughout the swirling chaos, Elvis couldn’t tear his gaze away from Cecelia. He was utterly enthralled by her, mesmerized by the way she danced with such grace and confidence, reclaiming the spotlight. A wide smile spread across his face, reflecting all the love and admiration he felt for his wife as she showcased her vibrant spirit in that exhilarating moment.But also feel his jeans getting tight. But then Cecelia had done something he never knew she could do before. Taking him by the hand, he hand spun her as he had rehearsed with the girls, but there she was in a split,

"Kiss me nice and easy, but take your time!"She pushed herself against him as she felt him on her neck,

"Cause baby, I'm the only one here here in line." Elvis sang back to her, "All you gotta do is just," he grunted as she moaned, "Let yourself go," the outro repeated as she sat in his lap as the girls surrounded him, "You're the sexiest one you know." He whispered in her ear as she smirked,

"I know." She winked,

"CUT!" Steve smirked, "That was perfect! The raw passion, the seduction!" he laughed, "How'd you even manage to!"

""She's Cecelia Shanel Presley. She can do anything," Elvis declared proudly, cradling her effortlessly in his arms, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

"Where are they headed?" Steve inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Somewhere the Singer sewing machine can't follow," Midge replied with a knowing smirk, the corners of her lips lifting as she leaned back in her chair.

As the afternoon sun filtered through the window, Elvis turned to Cecelia, a hint of playful curiosity in his voice. "Where has all that been hiding all these years?"

They were sprawled comfortably on his plush couch, the only thing separating them from the world outside was a warm blanket that barely covered their intertwined bodies.

Cecelia sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she reflected. "I guess seven years of defining myself as just a wife and a mother tucked me away," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elvis leaned in, brushing his lips gently against her forehead, his hand resting possessively on her thigh, grounding her in that moment. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the affection and support that flowed between them., and he was still buried deep inside her loving warmth. "Well, no more hiding, baby." He kissed her passionately as she moaned, "It's your turn to shine."

"In what..."

"Don't get mad at me, Cece... But..." Elvis trailed off, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words.

"What did you do..." Cecelia asked, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"I may have told your mama it's time you get back out there on tour—new records, maybe even Vegas..." Cecelia's laughter broke the tension as she playfully swatted at him.

"What about the kids? What am I going to wear?" She arched an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye.

"Cross that bridge when you get to it, honey." He leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on her lips while she laughed, warmth spreading between them. "I would offer you Bill, but, uh, he's mine," he joked, earning an exaggerated eye roll from her.

"Elvis, can I be honest with you?" Cecelia's tone shifted, the lightness giving way to something more serious.

"Of course, honey, always," he replied, concern etched across his features.

"I haven’t felt like myself lately… I’ve felt invisible, like I’m trapped in a box and—” She let out a shaky sigh, knowing the weight of her next words. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I felt like I wanted to die, so secretly, I’ve been taking these depression pills and…” Her voice faltered as she met his gaze, searching for understanding as he wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

"And have they helped?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

"Not really," Cecelia shook her head, her heart heavy. "They made the thoughts worse."

"Why didn’t you tell me?!" Elvis exclaimed, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Because I had to be okay for you. And the kids, my mother, Dodger, the mob, your cousins, your father! My Father!" She began to breathe harder, the weight of her struggles crashing down around her.

"Cecelia, you don’t gotta be happy for all of us. If you’re hurtin’… Honey, please tell me. I can’t lose you. It would break my heart," he implored, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the pain. "Understand? You’re my best friend, my wife, my reason."

Cecelia hugged him tighter, her tears soaking into his shirt as she whispered, "I love you, Pres."

"I love you more, Val," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his warmth enveloping her in a moment of solace.

"Hey, Cece, the phone's for you." Midge's voice called from the other room.

"MIDGE, GO!" Cecelia shooed her off, desperation lacing her tone.

"Alright, I’ll tell your mother you’re too busy warming Elvis up!"

Graceland 1970

"Is Mama home yet?" Jesse called out, his voice tinged with hope as he bounded in from the sun-drenched yard, still buzzing from an afternoon of racing go-carts with his friends and his little sister, Lisa. The air was filled with the fading laughter of children, but Jesse's excitement quickly turned to impatience as he looked to his father. Elvis, having just returned from a whirlwind tour in '69, ruffled Jesse's hair playfully, trying to mask his own weariness. The twins had just turned nine, and with Lisa still a rambunctious two-year-old, the house was a constant flurry of activity and noise.

"Not yet, trouble," Elvis replied, a hint of a smile breaking through the exhaustion etched on his face. He could feel the weight of parenting pressing down on him, especially now that Elaine was grappling with night terrors and Jesse was navigating the complexities of ADHD a trait he couldn't help but assume the boy had inherited from him.

"Daddy, is Mama home?" Elaine asked, her voice small as she peeked out from her room, her big eyes filled with hope. Elvis shook his head, the creaking of the door behind him harmonizing with his frustration. He had thought that playing the role of a single parent would be manageable, but in reality, it was far more challenging than he had imagined. Guilt gnawed at him as he recalled the times when Cecelia had been the one juggling everything at home while he was off on set.

Just then, the door swung open slowly, groaning like a door to a long-forgotten sanctuary. And there she stood Cecelia. Her presence was like a breath of fresh air, carrying with her the faint aroma of Parisian nights. Her suitcases rested at her feet, and her fur coat fluttered down her shoulders as she stepped inside, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "Bonjour," she greeted warmly, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on Elvis's cheek.

As he gazed at her, a thousand unspoken worries flashed through his mind. "You didn't call much, you didn't write much," he said, his concern breaking through the surface as he took in the weariness that had settled into her eyes and the traces of her travels.

"Aw, hell, Elvis, I was singing and signin'." She glanced at him,

"Elaine couldn't sleep, and she had nightmares. Jesse's been bouncin' off the walls, and his temper!" Elvis growled as they were upstairs in their bedroom, "So I'm a bad mother for going on tour and getting back out there! Heh!." Her 5"3' frame felt small compared to Elvis. "I can't breathe without one of them askin me a question or about you or dinner!"

"Welcome to being a parent!" She got undressed as Elvis looked at her frame. She was voluptuous, and, NO, NO, Elvis was angry at his wife. But it had been a while since his hands caressed her thighs. Or her face, or even the smell of her sweet rose and lavender perfume,

"You don't up and leave!"

"Oh, like you do!" She pulled away as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. Cecelia looked up at him. She was still in her lingerie, and Elvis was biting that pouty bottom lip of his,

"I miss you. It drove me mad you weren't here." He leaned in closer as she stared deep into his eyes, "I miss you too," Cecelia stepped in to close the gap between them, scooping her in his arms. Elvis kissed her passionately as he dipped her. Her leg was in his hand. "Elvis..." She pushed him down against the bed as she slowly crawled on top of him,

"Oh, baby~" Elvis smirked,

"Yes, sexy?" Cecelia winked, kissing his neck until,

"JESSE GIVE IT BACK NOW!"

"GET OFF ME, STOP BITING ME!!!"

"LISA NO!"

"Duty calls Mrs. Pres-"

"I DON'T CARE WHO BIT WHO, BUT IF I HAVE TO COME DOWN, THEN YOU'RE BOTH GETTING SPANKINGS!" Cecelia shouted as there was peace in the valley. Elvis pulled her back to bed and he kissed her again until he heard a crash. The two raced downstairs as they saw their kids wrestling each other. Oh, what they both wouldn't give for a vacation.

"My tooth! You knocked it out, thanks Lainie!" Jesse grinned,

"You're welcome?"

"Now the tooth fairy will give me a hundred bucks!" he grinned as Elvis and Cecelia watched in confusion. The phone had then rang as Elvis went to go get it, but it was for Cecelia,

"Elvis, the designer called!" she squealed,

"Is it Bill? I got some fittings for Vegas."

"VIVA LAS VEGAS!" The twins sang as Elvis shook his head, laughing,

"No... It's Bob Mackie." She grinned, "He wants to design for me for my Vegas performance!" Elvis was pleased with the news, and he was excited to hear she'd agreed to the Vegas performances,

"Are we going, mama!" Jesse asked,

"No, you three will be with Grandpa,"

"Grandpa Vernon?" Elaine asked,

"No, my daddy." Cecelia blushed,

"But why can't we go?"

"You two have school," Elvis said, "And you gotta go to school, it's important." They groaned as Elvis laughed. He wasn't being mean, but he wasn't telling his kids that he was filming a concert movie in California, then they'd really sucker up to him and bug him about it. The month drew closer for them to go. Cecelia and Elvis were giving Alfonso a checklist for the kids, "Jesse will lie and say he doesn't have homework, but he hides it in his pockets." Elvis mentioned as Alfonso laughed, "Elaine is pretty independent, and she's usually watching a movie with her friend Estella. " Cecelia added, "And Lisa's still teething so she...ugh she bites..."

"They'll be fine, you two enjoy ya tours," He winked,

California 1970

"No, no, no, that's not flattering her waistline," Bob said as Cecelia stood in the middle like a Barbie doll. She was draped in fabrics and feathers. "What are you doing with the fringe. Who do you think we're dressing Elvis!" He shook his head as Cecelia laughed, "Mackie, you're a genius..." Cecelia grinned, "Why not dress me like a... a Lady Elvis?" She smirked as he laughed,

"Oh Cecelia, that's funny," He looked at her face as he gulped, "Oh, you're serious..." Bob then got to work as she smiled, "Recently, my husband has been in this karate kick, and so Jumpsuits are becoming his thing, but I..."

"You want flattering silhouettes and statement pieces." He smiled, "Again, you came to the right place."Bob smiled, "We've got your measurements, and we'll call you when they're ready," He kissed her cheek as she giggled, "Eat your heart out, Bill!" Cecelia said to herself as she walked out of his shop. Meanwhile, Elvis had rehearsals and was filming his documentary movie about the tour. When Cecelia walked in, Elvis was rehearsing That's Alright Mama, which to Cecelia felt as if that was their song, after all. Elvis looked over at her, his fluffy black hair bouncing with every move he made. It made her swoon still like all those years ago. "And, uh, over, here is my award-winning wife," Elvis said, gesturing to the camera to film Cecelia. Cecelia gave it a wave and a few kisses as she giggled. Walking over to her studio space, she introduced herself to everyone until she heard, "Sorry we're late!" It was Daphane and Rosa and Carlotta. The Garnets were back together. Cecelia engulfed them both in a big hug as she teared up,

"Daph, how have you been!"

"Well, made my own records, got married. Became a mother," She chuckled, "What about you, Rosa?" Daphne asked. Midge had been watching from behind. After all, she may or may not have been responsible for the reunion. Rosa smiled,

"I'm engaged."

"To whom?" They both said,

"Scotty"

"Scotty!"

"Scotty More?" Daphane asked, watching as he walked by the window.

" We have a week until our rehearsals from here to Vegas, so chop chop!"Cecelia commanded her girls. Denise and Midge smirked. That was the daughter she remembered raising her to be.

As Elvis finished up rehearsals, he went to check on Cecelia. Her guitar was in hand, and she was playing up a storm, just as he remembered her. Her hips swayed, and he was even more in love than he already was. She was doing jazz hits, her 50s hits, blues, and some of her new records, and he was impressed. The energy she could muster up was amazing. She was a true talent.

"Watching the competition." Denise joked,

"No, ma’am. Elvis blushed as Denise laughed at him, "Admiring actually," He wolf-whistled,

"Another dry spell, huh," Midge mentioned as Elvis glanced at her. Midge had her hands up in defense, "All married couples go through dry patches. Well, not me, but most." Midge smiled. Denise nudged her as Midge rolled her eyes, "Look, Pres when you two get to Vegas, sweep her off her feet, have rose petals on the bed, boom, bye-bye dry spell and, hello passion!" Elvis agreed with Midge and Denise was disgusted, after all, sex wasn't something that one talked about out in public so openly,

"Thanks, Midge,"

Las Vegas 1970

"Honey, do you like this jumpsuit?" It was white with a fringe belt and a nice V-neck window to show off the assets of his body. He had rings on his fingers. And he was in their hotel mirror posing, "Honey?" Elvis said again. As he waited for Cecelia's response, "Coming, you know. It's my opening night too!" she said, walking towards him. She was in her robe. "You look handsome Elvis," Cecelia said, as she leaned in and kissed him, her hand on his chest, the other tangled into his sideburns, "Baby..."

"Hmm..." Cecelia looked up at him from her lashes,

"Oh, God, even in a robe. You're sexy." Elvis blushed as Cecelia smirked, nibbling on his ear as she licked his neck,

"Be ready for me after the show?" She smirked, her confidence radiating as she entered the dimly lit dressing room. Cecelia’s heart pounded in her chest when she spotted Elvis, his usually charismatic demeanor replaced by a palpable tension. He stood there, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt, a look of apprehension etched across his handsome face, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Dressed in a striking white two-piece outfit that hugged her figure perfectly, complemented by a luxurious fur coat vest that draped elegantly over her shoulders, she resembled an angel sent to rescue him from his fears. With a mix of determination and tenderness, she rushed over to him and took his trembling hands in hers. The warmth of her touch seemed to seep into him, offering reassurance in that crucial moment.

Leaning in close, she had a sudden urge to connect deeply, and she kissed his knuckles softly, the gesture almost like a blessing. Closing her eyes briefly, she whispered a silent prayer for his strength, feeling the gravity of the moment envelop them both. “You’re gonna do great out there,” she assured him, her voice barely above a whisper yet infused with unwavering belief.

Elvis looked into her eyes, searching for solace and found it in her gaze. “Thanks, baby,” he replied, a hint of gratitude softening his anxiety, as he took a deep breath, drawing strength from her unwavering support.

"Of course." She smiled, walking away from him. Cecelia knew that he was watching her ass, in her white rhinestone-studded bell bottoms, Cecelia wanted to ensure he was watching her, though the next few nights unfolded in a familiar rhythm: he’d perform, she’d perform, and he’d admire her show, just as she was now captivated by his. Dressed in a sheer, ethereal gown adorned with feathers and sparkling rhinestones, she sat in the VIP section, flanked by Vernon and his wife Dee. The mere presence of Dee grated on her nerves, but tonight, she felt all eyes upon her, the whispers swirling like an intoxicating melody.

Elvis, as usual, was mesmerizing the crowd, his energy filling the room, but it wasn’t until he started handing out kisses during “Love Me Tender” that he noticed Cecelia in the back. Though jealousy was not in her nature, tonight was amusingly different. Women rushed forward, vying for a chance to kiss her husband, an amusing spectacle. When he finally reached her table, his lips brushed against hers, sweet and affectionate.

“If I don’t kiss the Misses., I’ll be sleepin’ in the house with the hound dog,” he quipped, causing a laugh to bubble from Cecelia. His gaze then wandered to her gown, a dazzling creation that echoed his flamboyant jumpsuit, though what captivated him most was how she resembled a semi-naked angel, radiant and enchanting.

As the show was nearing its grand finale, Elvis stepped back on stage, the house lights illuminating the room. “I’d like to take a look at you. I see some beautiful faces in the crowd,” he beamed, eliciting cheers from his adoring fans. He playfully acknowledged his manager, Colonel Sanders, chuckling at how the man’s presence always lightened the mood.

As he scanned the crowd, his eyes landed on his wife, “Cecelia Shanel Presley, my best friend of many years and my wife of eleven wonderful years.” He gestured towards her, his pride evident as he stood tall. “Her show is phenomenal, folks! She’s got a special midnight performance tonight, and a surprise one just for me afterward!” Cecelia felt warmth flood her cheeks at his teasing words.

“ELVIS!” She called to him, laughter intertwined with the audience’s delight.

“Why don’t you come up here?” he winked, his request playful yet sincere. Cecelia gracefully made her way to the stage, and with a gentle hand, he helped her up, his touch electric.

“That dress looks beautiful,” he said, admiring.

“It’s a Bob Mackie original,” she replied, a wide grin stretching across her face.

"Bet what's under is prettier."

"What if I said there's nothing under it." She whispered as Elvis smirked, "Meet me in our hotel room after your show, I'll be waiting,"

Cecelia performed her concert as she was drenched in sweat, there were a lot of stars who came to see her and visit her, and waiting all by his lonesome was

"El, did you like my show."

"You are amazing baby," He smiled, kissing her cheeks as she got flustered, "So amazing I wanna take you back to the room and,"

"Mr. and Mrs Presley, can I have your autograph!" A little girl asked as they both autographed a picture of hers,

"I-I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" she said as Cecelia teared up,

"With hard work and practice, you'll be better than me," giving her the necklace she was wearing, the little girl was in tears,

"That was sweet of you, Cece,"

"It was nothing, baby. She reminded me of our little pumpkin. And hopefully, they're alive.." Cecelia mumbled,

"I'm sure they're alive."Elvis chuckled,

"Baby, my daddy hasn't taken care of a kid since I was 6,"

"Well, shit..."

Graceland 1970

"Alright, kiddos, are you all snug as bugs?" Alfonso asked softly, peering into the cozy sanctuary of their room. The twins were nestled beneath their colorful blankets, their faces glimmering with anticipation. Despite the persistent tickle in his throat from a pesky cough, he brushed it off, focusing instead on the two wide-eyed children before him. With a gentle kiss on each forehead, Alfonso prepared to indulge their request.

"Could you sing us a song, Grandpa?" Jesse's bright eyes sparkled with excitement.

"What song do you want, my little stars?" Alfonso replied, grabbing the well-worn guitar leaning against the wall, its polished wood reflecting the soft glow of the bedside lamp as he began to tap his foot rhythmically on the floor.

"I think you know this one," he said with a playful grin, strumming a few chords before launching into "Hound Dog." The tune flowed from him, but with a twist it was tinged with a soulful blues vibe that differed from the version they were used to.

"Hey, that’s not Hound Dog!" Elaine piped up, her brows knitting together in confusion.

Alfonso chuckled, his laughter warm and inviting. "This is the blues version, pumpkin!" He smirked, enjoying their playful banter. "Your daddy’s version is... well, it gets the job done."

"But what do you mean?" they both asked, leaning in closer, captivated by his teasing tone.

"It, well, it served its purpose," Alfonso said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. He knew that the twins adored their father, but he was still adjusting to the legacy of Elvis. It had only been thirteen years since he had re-entered Cecelia's life, and while he embraced the family, sometimes he felt like a relic from a different era.

Just then, the soft voice of a maid interrupted their moment. "Mr. Reed, the phone is for the kids," she said discreetly. Alfonso gave a slight nod, the twins scrambling out of bed with youthful energy and racing down the stairs to answer the call.

"How’s Vegas treating you?" Jesse askes his cheerful voice crackled through the phone, his warmth wrapping around them like a cozy blanket.

"It’s fun, sweetpea," she replied, a smile evident in her tone. "I can't wait until you three are old enough to join us on our adventures."

Alfonso listened with a proud smile as he watched the twins chime in. "How’s your grandpa?" Cecelia continued.

"He’s good! He was singing Hound Dog and said Daddy doesn’t sing it right," Elaine shared, giggling, as Elvis chuckled on the other end, shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, sounds about right," he teased, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

"So, how’s school?" Cecelia prompted, her interest piqued.

"I have a girlfriend!" Jesse declared, his voice bursting with glee.

Cecelia and Elvis erupted in laughter, sharing the joy of childhood. "What’s she like?" Elvis asked, curiosity shining through.

"Well, she’s uh..." Jesse fumbled for words, but Elaine jumped in with a smirk, "Wonder Woman!" A touch of jealousy crept into her voice, making Jesse giggle nervously.

"Alright, you two, it’s time to settle down. You have school tomorrow," Cecelia reminded with a melodic lilt to her voice. She made kiss noises over the phone, throwing the twins into a fit of playful giggles before they headed back to their haven under the blankets, warm with love and laughter.

Las Vegas

"Hey, Pumpkin," Alfonso's voice crackled over the phone, a familiar lilt to it, but something was off. Cecelia furrowed her brow, sensing an underlying tension, yet she had long learned not to question her daddy too closely.

"Hey, Daddy, how's everything going?" she asked, attempting to infuse her voice with cheerfulness. He laughed, though the sound felt strained, "Kids are in bed, and I'm going to partake in the TV room. Ain't never seen one of those," he continued, his voice brightening slightly, "Tell Elvis though he's gonna need more of them small cigar thingys." The image of her father, an eccentric blend of charm and mischief, brought a reluctant smile to Cecelia's lips, but her heart tightened with concern nonetheless.

"Daddy, you didn't smoke all his Cigarillos, did you?" she asked gently, a mix of admonishment and worry coloring her tone.

"Might've," Alfonso shrugged, the casualness of his response worrying her more.

"Mr. Reed, I'll send you a pack if you like them that much," Elvis chimed in, trying to lighten the situation.

"See, I knew I liked you, son," Alfonso coughed hard suddenly, the sound echoing through the line and sending a shiver of dread down Cecelia’s spine. It was a harsh reminder of the fragility that lay beneath his bravado.

"Well, I'll see you when you two get back," he said, his voice fading as he hung up.

After the call ended, Elvis cast a knowing glance at Cecelia, picking up on her unspoken worry. He could see the subtle furrow in her brow, the way her lips pressed together in a line of worry.

"Come here, honey," he beckoned, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Elvis, something could be wrong. He could be dying..." Cecelia sighed, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and fear as he wrapped his hands around her tense shoulders. His fingers worked gently on a knot in her back, easing the tension, but her mind raced with anxieties.

"Your Daddy is fine. He's Carolina tough," Elvis said, his tone filled with an easy confidence. As she leaned into his touch, Cecelia couldn’t help but feel a little of the tension lift, though the thread of concern still lingered.

"Besides, he still chews straw," Elvis continued with a smile, attempting to inject some lightness back into the moment. Cecelia chuckled softly at the thought of her father, back in the day, with a stray piece of straw poking out from between his teeth. It brought with it a rush of warmth, a reminder of the unyielding spirit that defined her father.

She tilted her head back, gazing up at him. Elvis’s hands felt like heaven on her skin, soothing her worries even if just for a moment, grounding her in the here and now.

"Mmm...The only Daddy I'm worried about right now is you." She bit her lip,

"Then let Daddy take care of you, honey," Cecelia shimmied out her dress as she twirled her finger on the zipper of his jumpsuit.

"You and your slutty deep V necks are gonna kill me." She licked down his chest as his body shuddered, "Fuck...Cece..."

"What did I do?" She asked, playing innocently, her long, big, curly hair over her shoulders, as she was on her knees. Every day, she was grateful that Elvis stopped wearing underwear under his clothes. It made it easier for her to reach what she wanted. Pulling him out of the jumpsuit. She buried her face deep into him, taking as much of his length as she could in her mouth. Sure, there were pricks of tears around her eyes, but she didn't mind as long as she heard him moan and grunt and felt him pulsate in her mouth. She didn't care.

"Keep this up, and I'll be spent before I-"He shivered from the loss of the sensation. Cecelia chuckled as she looked up at him. Elvis was now between her legs, kissing and biting her thighs as he heard her draw a sharp breath. His tongue was doing a few kitten licks as she arched her back atop the rose petals on the bed. Cecelia was in heaven as she was grabbing her breasts and moaning. Elvis had been working on her clit as he inserted his long fingers deep inside her. Cecelia was going crazy,

"Fuck! El~"

"Haven't even started yet, baby." He laughed, pulling away as she felt empty and cold, "Please! I need you," she whined as he kissed from her clit all the way to her lips, "Patience," lining himself up with her entrance, he pushed into her slowly as she bit his shoulder, God how he loved this woman,

"How're you feelin?"

"Like I want you to make love to me, but be rough." She whispered in his ear, picking up his pace. Cecelia was moaning like a cat in heat.  

"Hold on tight, baby,"

"Where are we going?" She asked as her back was up against the cool glass of the suite window. Cecelia held onto him as he rammed into her, her eyes fluttering as more sweat accumulated between the two of them. He then pulled out of her and turned her to face the view of Vegas, slamming back into her as her knees nearly gave out,

"Elvis! OH SHIT, YES, YES, YES!" her hands on the glass as Elvis kissed down her neck. He was panting and rutting into her before he pulled out again and led her to the bed. Cecelia pushed him down as she sunk down on his cock, her hips grinding against him as his hands were on her hips and his mouth on her nipples. This was the thing she missed. Elvis could feel himself getting closer, but he could feel she was too. With how her walls were closing in around him.

"Getting closer, baby?"

"Yes!" She nearly screamed, his cold ring touching her neck,

"Yes, what?"

"Yes Daddy," She screamed in bliss. Her body shook, and her moans were louder, and she collapsed on his chest. Elvis had oozed out of her as he kissed her and looked at her, "Think you wanna ... Take this to the bathtub?"

"El..."

"You thought we were finished?"

"A little..."

"Oh, honey, I'm just getting started," He carried her. Cecelia squealed as she kicked her feet up, giggling and laughing. Denise suddenly thrust the door open, startling everyone in the room.

“Cecelia!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the awkward silence.

“Mother!” Elvis exclaimed, throwing his robe around her as a blush crept across her cheeks, a reaction he had expected but still found amusing.

“Get dressed,” she commanded, her tone as flat and devoid of emotion as it had always been, echoing the strictness of her parenting from years past.

“Wh-What happened?” Elvis stammered, confusion written across his face as he tried to read the urgency in his mother's eyes. He sensed there was more to this abrupt visit than she was letting on.

"Alfonso Reed, Blues Singer and father of Cecelia Valmos - Presley, has died at 58." A radio from outside their hotel room said Cecelia froze as her mother looked at her. She was trying to hide all her pain, but Cecelia could see through it,

"WHERE DID HE DIE?" Cecelia exclaimed, her voice a mix of urgency and disbelief as she hurriedly dressed. The air was thick with tension, and her bags were already packed, a silent testament to her readiness to flee. Elvis stood by her side, a reassuring presence as he held her hand tightly.

"The hospital..." he replied gently, his voice barely above a whisper, knowing that the news would hit her like a freight train.

"Who's got the twins? Who's looking after Lisa?" Panic surged through Cecelia like wildfire, her heart racing.

"Your aunts. They're safe in Nashville," he assured her, trying to soothe her frantic mind.

"I...I can't stay. I have to go," she said breathlessly, bolting out the door. Denise watched her leave, exchanging a worried glance with Elvis, their silence heavy with unspoken concern.

As Cecelia rushed through the chaotic hallway, she felt a suffocating weight pressing down on her. Everyone around her was offering their condolences, showering her with hollow sorrows and empty prayers, but those gestures only added to her sense of entrapment. She longed for a way to escape the overwhelming reality of her loss.  

“A drink, please,” she requested of the bartender, her voice trembling slightly.

“What can I get you, Mrs. Presley?” he inquired, his tone sympathetic yet cautious.

Cecelia gazed at the lined bottles behind the bar, her heart pounding with apprehension. “Tennessee Whiskey," she replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. She had never been a drinker, the only exception being the occasional glass of champagne during her family’s extravagant Christmas parties.

“Sorry for your loss,” the bartender offered lightly, his sincerity palpable.

“Don’t see why you’re sorry, sugar,” she shot back, a bitter giggle escaping her lips as tears welled in her eyes. “You didn’t lose the greatest Blues singer as a daddy.”

“Want me to leave the bottle?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Please...” she whispered, accepting the solace of a momentary escape from reality.

The more whiskey Cecelia consumed, the lighter her spirit seemed to float. With each swig, laughter bubbled up within her, blurring the edges of her troubles as she became increasingly giggly and flirtatious. But beneath the euphoria, a current of sadness twisted within her an anger that simmered just out of reach, directed at herself. She had started with half a bottle, her words beginning to slur, her accent thickening into a melodic drawl.

"Y-You... what d'ya thank of Elvis?" Cecelia asked, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and longing. "I think he's a swell fella, and—and I says to him, 'I love you, Mr. Presley!'" Her hand danced through the air as she spoke, articulating her thoughts with a swagger that captivated those around her. The patrons at the bar nodded along, smitten by the charm she exuded, grateful for the chance to be in her glorious presence.

As time passed, Cecelia found herself nearing the bottom of the bottle. Her laughter echoed through the bar, but it masked the chaos within. Suddenly, she was stumbling, nearly toppling out of her chair. "Ya know, my daddy died—that's right, he did," she slurred, her voice thick with emotion. "A-a-an I wasn't there when he died." She let out a carefree laugh, but the weight of her words hung heavily in the air. "Some daughter I am, right?"

The room began to spin, a whirlpool of colors and sounds that made her heart race. Breathing grew more labored; lethargy washed over her like a heavy blanket. "A... An... another... bott--" The last syllable escaped her lips as she dropped to the floor, the whiskey bottle slipping from her grip, the world fading to darkness.

Meanwhile, in the hotel room, Elvis felt a piercing anxiety twist in his gut. She had walked out hours ago, and no one had seen her since; where could she have gone? He didn’t want to entertain the worst-case scenario, but the weight of memory pressed hard on his mind. He recalled how, back in the 60s, Cecelia had confided in him about her struggles with depression. The thought of her fighting those battles alone now terrified him.

“I couldn't find her, son,” Vernon groaned, his voice tinged with exhaustion and concern.

"Shit..." Elvis began to shake. His anxiety was kicking in, and it had been an hour now.

"Where the hell is she!" Denise sighed,

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Vernon opened the door to find Jerry standing on the porch, a worried expression etched across his face. The silence between them hung heavy until Elvis, brimming with urgency, pushed past his dad and entered the house. Jerry gently cradled Cecelia in his arms, her unconscious form weighted with exhaustion. He glanced down at her, a mix of concern and frustration in his eyes.

“Keep an eye on her,” Jerry instructed, his voice low and steady. “She’s been through a lot tonight.” He carefully laid Cecelia down on the cool bathroom floor, making sure she was in a safe position for when she woke up. The dim light of the hallway flickered, casting soft shadows around them as he turned back to Vernon, his brow furrowed. “Jerry, where was she?” Vernon asked, his voice edged with panic.

“At the bar,” Jerry replied, his tone heavy with disbelief. “That’s where they found her.” The weight of the night’s events loomed between them, a dark cloud they couldn’t escape.

BLAGH!"

"Drank an entire bottle of whiskey," Jerry murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. Elvis dashed to the bathroom, the sound of Cecelia's retching echoing in his ears. She was hunched over the toilet, gripping the cold porcelain as he gently held her hair back, trying to shield her from the wave of nausea that overtook her. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." she stammered between heaves, her voice trembling with distress.

"Shush, it's okay, I've got you," he replied softly, his heart aching for her as he stroked her back.

"I don't ever want to ACK! Drink again," Cecelia gasped, her body wracked with spasms. The room swirled around her, a dizzying blur of colors and sounds. She felt utterly depleted, guilt washing over her like a cold tide, leaving her feeling small and vulnerable.

"Need me to get Doctor Nick?" Vernon inquired, concern etched into his features.

"No, she just needs a cold rag and some rest," Jerry interjected, glancing at Denise, who stood nearby with her jaw clenched tightly. Elvis had managed to undress Cecelia, carefully slipping her into soft, flannel pajamas.

"Elvis..." she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed, barely clinging to consciousness.

"Let’s get you to bed," he whispered, his voice soothing and warm.

The next morning, Cecelia awoke with a relentless pounding in her skull, retreating once more to the bathroom. The bracing chill of the tiles pressed against her skin, and she could almost convince herself that she felt pregnant, but it was worse an amalgamation of regret and physical agony that twisted tighter in her gut.

BLEGH!

"Honey, are you okay?" Elvis asked,

"I feel like shit... What happened?"

"Well, you got drunk last night." Elvis mentioned as Cecelia looked horrified, "I don't... I didn't..." Elvis kissed her hand, "I didn't sleep much. You were talkin in your sleep about your daddy," When he mentioned him, Elvis could see the tears in her eyes.

"Come here, come here." He wrapped his arms around her as she took his morning scent, "Is he really gone..." Cecelia asked,

"I'm afraid so," Elvis said as she curled into him. He remembered how he was when Gladys passed. Elvis wouldn't eat. Talk, he'd cry, and Cecelia was there for him the entire time, holding his hand and letting him cry in her chest. Now it was his turn, "I don't think I can go to his funeral. I—"

"How dare you be so irresponsible!" Denise burst into the hotel room, her voice cutting through the heavy air like a sharp knife. Cecelia instinctively turned at the sound, her heart racing as she faced her mother. In that moment, she felt the weight of childhood memories flood back, making her feel small and vulnerable. "Mommy..." she murmured, reaching out with a trembling hand, only to find Denise turning her back, distancing herself further.

"Look at you, drunk like your..." Denise's voice dripped with disdain, the anger in her tone unmistakable.

"Denise, don’t you dare..." Elvis interjected, shooting her a concerned glance, hoping to mediate the escalating confrontation.

"Father, you'll kill yourself just like him!" Denise’s words were a jagged edge, cutting deep into the fragile atmosphere. Elvis’s expression darkened at her accusation. He understood the depths of her grief—she was mourning her husband, the man they had all lost—but this wasn’t the way to express it.

"Already singing the blues just like him!" she added, bitterness lacing her tone.

"HEY! Cecelia is having a hard time too!" Elvis shouted, his protective instinct kicking in. "Cut her some slack, for once." The tension crackled in the small room, as Cecelia stood silently, caught in the middle of their painful exchange, feeling more lost than ever. "Instead of being on her ass so much!" Elvis said,

"She's gotta be strong, Elvis. Her mistakes can cost our label..."

"She's human, she'll make mistakes," Elvis sighed,

"STOP TALKIN ABOUT ME LIKE I AIN'T HERE!" Cecelia sobbed as he hugged her tightly,

"CECELIA!"

"NO, Mama, you can sit on your high horse, or you can feel for at least one damn minute, but you will not tell me how to feel!" Cecelia cried,

"Don't you talk to me like that!" Denise grabbed her face. She looked into her daughter's eyes as she saw Alfonso in them. Denise laughed, "If you'll excuse me a bit..."

Denise walked out as she cried. Midge saw her,

"Finally grieving Mrs. D,"

"I lost my husband, my best friend, my manager, my business partner." Denise cried, "Almost lost my daughter."

"What did Cece do..."

"Nearly drink herself to death..."

Valmos Manor Nashville 1970

“Come here, my sweet babies,” Ruby beckoned gently, her arms cradling the twins close against her warm embrace. Eleanor, seated comfortably nearby, held little Lisa, who had drifted into a peaceful slumber on her shoulder, her tiny breaths steady and soft. The eerie memories of the hospital still lingered in the air, casting a shadow of anxiety, but with the comforting presence of Eleanor and Ruby, the twins felt a sense of safety, as if they were wrapped in a cocoon of love. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my mama or papa,” Elaine murmured, a hint of worry flickering in her eyes.

Eleanor, tracing her fingers through Elaine’s hair, smiled reassuringly as she sat with her on her lap. “Well, let’s not dwell on sad thoughts. Instead, let’s think about…” Ruby’s gaze drifted over to Jesse, who was engrossed in a game, oblivious to the world around him.

“Oh my God, Denise still kept that Elvis doll!” Ruby exclaimed, laughter bubbling up as she caught sight of the tattered toy peeking out from a nearby box. Her laughter was infectious, and soon Eleanor joined in, the sound brightening the room.

“A what?” Jesse glanced up, curiosity dancing in his eyes as Elaine reached out to grip the doll with fascination.

“Back before you two were even a twinkle in your mama and daddy’s eyes, when they were sneaking around and falling in love, I bought your mama this doll in 1957,” Ruby explained, her voice rich with nostalgia.

“It was the ugliest thang I’ve ever seen,” Eleanor chuckled, her eyes twinkling with fond memories as Jesse and Elaine erupted in laughter, the sound echoing with joy.

“But Ruby thought it would bring comfort,” she added, her tone playful.

“Did it really?” Elaine asked, her eyes wide with curiosity, the doll now cradled in her hands.

“Oh, your mama adored that ugly old thang,” Ruby replied, her smile radiating warmth, conjuring the image of a younger Cecelia finding solace in the charm of a doll that was undeniably flawed yet bursting with love." Eleanor chuckled,

"I think it's handsome." Elaine hugged it tight. "I wish they were back. I miss them." Jesse said as Elaine nodded in agreement. Jesse then walked to the fireplace as he saw a picture. It was in black and white, and it was Cecelia and Elvis at the Lousiana Hayride in 1955.

"Papa looks funny!"

"I think he looked handsome," Ruby smiled,

"Let me see!" Elaine smiled, looking, "They look like they had a crush on each other,"

"They might have, but I tell you, I liked that look better than the sideburns," Eleanor mumbled,

"What about my sideburns?" Elaine and Jesse froze, running to the door and hugging their daddy as he kissed their foreheads, "See, you found that ugly behind doll." He joked,

"Elaine loves it," Ruby laughed,

"Just like her mama,"

Cecelia walked in as the kids ran and hugged her. There was an odd shift of wind in the house. Cecelia couldn't look at the pictures or awards.

"Mama!!!!"

"My babies," She hugged them both. "Laine, J, are you two okay?" She asked as they nodded, Eleanor giving her, her sleeply little princess Lisa,

"Grandpa's not coming back, is he..." Jesse asked,

"I don't think so..." Cecelia tried to hold it together,

"Alright, Ruby, Eleanor, we need to view the body..." Denise said, her voice steady but laden with the weight of grief. "After that, I have to figure out who's stepping in to take over his share of Valmos Sounds, and what to do about his funeral plot in North Carolina." A faint, bittersweet smile crept onto her lips, and Midge, Elvis, and Cecelia exchanged glances filled with unspoken understanding.

"Well, don't just stand there! Let’s get moving!" Denise urged, the urgency in her tone compelling them forward.

"Cecelia..." Ruby began, her voice soft, hesitating as she sensed the emotions swirling around them.

"I’ll stay with the kids," Cecelia replied, her smile warm yet tinged with sadness. "Maybe I'll swing by the studio for a bit."

"I’ll stay with you," Elvis chimed in, offering his hand with a gentle squeeze before pressing a tender kiss to her palm.

As everyone else departed, Cecelia lingered on the steps, a flood of memories washing over her. Among them, one moment stood out vividly, clearer than the rest...

1957

Cecelia put on her red heels and went downstairs. "Mornin Daddy," she kissed his cheek, "Morning, Mother," she hugged her as Denise looked at her,

"That dress and the red lipstick..."

"I can take it off if you'd like ..."

"No, keep it. If you want to look like a woman of the night."

"I was going based on my album for the interview," she mumbled, putting the plate of food on the table,

"Where did Mr. and Mrs. Presley go?"

"They went to the store. They'll be back." Alfonso said as he looked at Denise, smiling at her,

"Speaking of Presley's your uh friend Elvis, how's he doing?"

"He's still asleep. He doesn't get much of it with Tom Parker around." she smiled.

"I see, but damn can he eat!" Alfonso responded, laughing a bit.

Soon after, all the camera crew had set up shop in their living room. Cecelia was sitting next to the tree as her parents were on the couch, snuggled nice and cozy, and talking about their cover of Baby It's Cold Outside.

"We've been married for so long. That the chemistry is still there." Denise smiled. Cecelia couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

"Is it true you two are separated?"

"Separated from this ol girl, never!" Alfonso smiled as he kissed Denise's hand, and she slowly glared at him. Cecelia sighed, hoping maybe someone would acknowledge her existence.

"Cecelia, tell us about your Christmas album! Not only do you have Little Richard. And a duet with BB King, but Elvis Presley! On Jingle Bell Rock, how did you manage that?

"Well, you know Aaron and I. We go way back to the Hayride days. We got noticed at the same time. We're great friends really and...." The stairs creaked as the attention turned to Elvis, who was rubbing his eyes still from sleep as he was halfway dressed,

"Hey Nel, is breakfast ready..." he paused as he slowly went back upstairs, Cecelia chuckling as her parents were fuming in anger,

"Like I said, we go way back."

1970

"Is Mama okay?" Jesse asked as Elvis nodded, "She's thinking about something." He smiled, ruffling up his hair, "Like what?"

"Memories." He smiled, " A lot of memories happened in this house," Cecelia grinned as she stepped on the creaking step. Elvis shuddered as he remembered the many times he'd stepped on it. "EL! MY ROOM IS STILL THE SAME!" She giggled. He ushered the kids upstairs. As they went inside her bedroom, "It's so pink..." Jesse laughed as Elaine flopped on the bed, "Who's that?" Elaine pointed to a poster, "Uncle Dean and Uncle Frank." Cecelia had smiled as Elvis playfully rolled his eyes at how she swooned out their names,

"And who's that with all the lipstick on him," Jesse asked as Cecelia turned red,

"That's uh..."

"That's Daddy!" Elaine smiled, "But why kiss that when you had the real thing?"

"Well... You'll understand when you're older." Cecelia smiled,

"You too, Jesse," Elvis said. The two then laughed and scrambled off as Elvis closed the door. He leaned against it as Cecelia smiled, "I feel like I'm twenty again." sitting on her bed, "Why twenty?" Elvis asked out of curiosity, and then it hit him, "Oh, twenty..." he smirked as she blushed harder, "Finally understood what you meant about good rockin'." She smirked,

"Now we can't stop rocking," He walked to her, as he kissed her, trying to pull her close as Lisa stirred,

"Shhhh..."

"Your grandparents room?"

"Yeah..."

"CECELIA, ELVIS, KIDS, WE'RE BACK!" Midge shouted as they ran downstairs. Denise glanced at Cecelia and Elvis as she sniffed her daughter,

"You smell like Elvis..."

"Thank you," Cecelia blushed,

"Wasn't a compliment."

North Carolina 1970

"El, thank you for being here," Cecelia sighed deeply, her voice tinged with the weight of sorrow. They were surrounded by the somber atmosphere of Alfonso's repass, a gathering that brought together her family, his friends, and, of course, Elvis. "Baby, this is just as much my family too," he reassured her, kissing her hand gently, eliciting a small smile amidst the grief that clouded her heart.

As they navigated through the sea of familiar faces, Cecelia spotted Irene, her cousin whom she had always loathed. Irene strutted by with her nose held high, offering a mockingly polite "Sorry for your loss," which only intensified Cecelia's irritation. If only she could unleash her frustration and chop Irene in half with a mere thought.

"See, you brought Elvis," Irene sneered, a condescending smirk playing on her lips.

"That's what you do when you're married to the man who's the father of your kids, Irene," Cecelia shot back, her voice steady despite the irritation boiling beneath the surface. Elvis cast a wary glance at Irene as she walked away, and Cecelia chuckled softly, appreciating the moment. Meanwhile, their children were off playing with their cousins, the innocent laughter a stark contrast to the sadness that filled the room.

"BB!" Both Cecelia and Elvis exclaimed in unison, their faces lighting up as their little ones approached them. "If it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. EP," Elvis said, scooping them both into a warm embrace. "Sorry 'bout ya pops," he whispered to Cecelia, his voice low and sincere.

"Thank you. I know he would've loved to have seen you again," she replied, her smile brightening a bit as warmth surged through her heart. "He will. Someday, honey, say you made this sweet potato pie."

"I made 99% of that plate. My mama was too distraught to cook today," Cecelia laughed lightly, her affection for the dish connecting them to cherished memories even amidst the grief. Elvis joined her in savoring the food, lost momentarily in the comfort of shared tastes and laughter.

"EP, you better cherish this woman. They ain't makin' 'em like her anymore," one of his friends remarked with a knowing grin.

"Believe me, I know," Elvis replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead, a gesture that spoke volumes of his love and admiration. Denise, watching from a corner, couldn’t help but smile as she witnessed this connection; they were family, supportive even in the most challenging of times.

Suddenly, Cecelia's eyes lit up with surprise. "AYE! Cousin Crudup made it!" she exclaimed, rushing towards him with palpable excitement. Arthur Crudup, a pillar of strength and a lifelong friend of her father, was like an older brother to her daddy and a legendary figure in Elvis's world.

"Cece, you didn’t tell me you were related to Big Boy Crudup…" he exclaimed in surprise, wrapping her in a hearty embrace.

"He's like an Uncle to me," Cecelia beamed, pride and affection shining through her sorrow.

"Mr. Presley," Arthur said, extending his hand.

"Sir," Elvis replied, shaking his hand firmly. "I'm a huge fan…"

"I know, little bit here told me all them years ago," Arthur chuckled, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. As he settled into a chair, he added, "You know I ain't never seen my song get dat big 'til you did it." The laughter that followed struck a poignant note in the room, as Arthur hugged Cecelia again, holding her tightly.

"Be strong," he whispered into her ear, offering a touch of strength amidst the sadness, a reminder that family bonds endure, even in the darkest moments.

A few hours later, everyone was singing. Denise, Eleanor, and Ruby gathered around the grand piano, their voices harmonizing beautifully as they sang soulful gospel songs that filled the air with warmth and nostalgia. Suddenly, Elvis stepped in, his presence commanding yet inviting, and he joined their melodic celebration. Cecelia, clutching her father’s weathered guitar, sat on a nearby stool, her fingers deftly strumming the chords as a tear rolled down her cheek, glistening in the soft light.

"In honor of my daddy," she murmured, her voice steady yet filled with emotion. A smile broke through her tears as she began to sing "That's Alright," the familiar tune echoing memories from her past. Elvis paused to glance over at her, his expression tender, while Denise chuckled softly, her own eyes misty with bittersweet sentiment. In that moment, Cecelia embodied both herself and the spirit of her father, a living testament that his legacy would endure through her.

"This song here is one that I cherish deeply," Cecelia continued, her voice gaining strength as she reminisced. "I remember being just eleven years old, hearing it for the first time, knowing that my daddy had a hand in its creation back in 1954. And there I was, listening to this incredible singer," she said with a playful grin, directing her gaze at Elvis. "Y’all know him as Elvis. To me, he’s my best friend, my husband, and the guy who always steals my fries." Her laughter mingled with the music, lightening the atmosphere. In response, Elvis leaned in and affectionately kissed her cheeks, a gesture filled with love and shared memories.

As the last of the guests departed, Cecelia, Elvis, and the kids climbed into their car, anticipation bubbling in the air as they set off for their temporary home for the night. The drive was filled with laughter and excitement, but the moment they arrived, the atmosphere shifted. Before them stood a charming white house, its fresh paint gleaming in the evening sun. A welcoming porch swing creaked gently in the breeze, inviting them to relax and unwind.

The house was nestled on a sprawling patch of land, even more expansive than Elvis's own home in Tupelo, with lush green grass stretching as far as the eye could see. The rich scent of earth and blooming flowers filled the air, whispering promises of adventure to come. Jesse's wide eyes took in the scene, and with an innocent curiosity, he asked, “What’s this place, mama?”

Cecelia stepped out of the car, her heart swelling with emotion as she gazed at the house that would shelter them for the night. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but it was not one of sadness; it was a tear of joy and relief. With a soft smile breaking across her face, she turned to Jesse and whispered, “Home…”

In that moment, all worries faded away, and the new beginnings awaited them in the embrace of the welcoming house.

[sissylittlefeather]

Your Love's Been a Long Time Coming: Chapter 9

A/N: Ahhhh, the penultimate chapter! There was so much screaming after the last one! Will your screams be satisfied?! Please keep reading and commenting. I live for it! Love you all 🩷🩷

Need to catch up? Masterlist here.

Warnings: not much, alcohol use, cussing, kissing, angst

Word count: ~2.2k

Later that night, as Sonny sleeps peacefully on his pillow beside her, Vivian cries herself to sleep, silent tears streaming down her face.

******

Elvis paces Graceland almost constantly while Sonny and Vivian are gone on their honeymoon. When they come back, he hosts a party to welcome them home, but it's a thinly veiled excuse for him to see Viv again. He knows Priscilla isn't stupid. She has to be able to tell something is going on with him, but he's not really sure he cares. There seems to be something distracting her these days too.

On the day of the party, Elvis is on edge trying to make sure everything is perfect. By the time Sonny and Viv finally arrive, he's so worked up he's chain smoking cigarillos and his stomach is filled with butterflies like he's a teenager. He stands in the foyer smiling awkwardly. She looks even more beautiful than he imagined and he's dying to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he really wants to, but all of a sudden Sonny is there shaking his hand.

"Can we talk, boss?"

"Oh, um, sure can I just... I want to-" He gestures to Viv but Sonny cuts him off.

"No, we need to talk now." Elvis looks back at Viv as Sonny ushers him into the kitchen for some privacy.

"What is it, Sonny?" Elvis asks, clearly annoyed.

"I know about the wedding." The butterflies in his stomach freeze.

"What about the wedding?" He asks, praying Sonny isn't talking about what he thinks he's talking about.

"About you and Vivian. Jerry told me." Elvis shifts uncomfortably. "You're my friend and I know you. I know you're not trying to break up my marriage. So I'm asking you to stay away. Please. I know y'all have always had a thing, but she's my wife now. Please let us be happy."

Elvis looks at him in stunned silence. He never dreamed Sonny knew, but more than that he never imagined this is how he would react. Stay away? Now, when they're so close to finally being what he wants?

"I'm begging you, Elvis."

Elvis nods slowly. Sonny has been a good friend to him for too many years to count. He hears himself agree to stay away, still not sure he'll be able to keep that promise. But he makes it anyway.

******

Vivian is shocked and confused by Elvis's distance before he eventually leaves for Vegas in January. She's not sure what she expected, but it wasn't for him to avoid her completely. Maybe the guilt of what happened between them finally got to him. Or maybe he realized that he really didn't want her. Either way, she tries to keep her mourning silent and contained, focusing on her modeling career and her new husband.

Sonny is the perfect picture of a doting husband. Something about the marriage seems to have sent him into a lovestruck tailspin and he showers her with affection and lavish gifts. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was trying to prove something to her. Still, she misses Elvis. She appreciates all of the attention, but she can't help wishing it was Elvis doing all of it for her.

******

At the end of February, Elvis comes home from Vegas to find Priscilla in a state. She's crying and frantic and if he's being honest, he's more annoyed than concerned. He's spent the last two months longing for Viv and trying to convince himself that Cilla is a good wife and their marriage is worth saving. This isn't helping her case.

"Calm down, Cil, what is it?" She finally comes and sits next to him on the edge of their bed. He's hoping she's not going to try to make love to him for whatever reason. She's his wife and he'll do it, but he can't guarantee he won't imagine Viv and that makes it hard for him to moan the correct name.

"I can't do this." She shakes her head and wrings her hands.

"Can't do what, Cil? Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't stay here. With you." His mouth drops. That was not anywhere on his list of possibilities for what was going to happen.

"You can't... what?" She stands up and walks away from him.

"I can't stay with you. I have to leave. I'm... I just have to go."

"Priscilla, why? What happened?" She turns back to him with tears in her eyes.

"I'm in love with someone else." His heart drops. The fact that he is too is lost in his wounded pride.

"You're... what?!" He stands up and walks towards her filled with rage. Priscilla looks up at him defiantly, her own rage bubbling to the surface.

"No! You don't get to be mad at me for this!"

"I'll be mad if I damn well please!" She stomps to her dresser and pulls something out of the top drawer, throwing it at him.

"Don't act like you're so innocent!" He looks down at what she threw. Panties. Viv's panties. "Found those in your jacket pocket when I took it to have it cleaned. They're Vivian's aren't they?"

"Cilla, you know there have been other women." He says it quietly, his mind flooded with memories of being with Viv.

"This is different! You're in love with her, aren't you?" He looks up at her, his blue eyes round and tortured.

"Yes." She sobs openly.

"Our marriage is over Elvis. You can have her." For one bright, shining moment there's a glimmer of hope. And then he remembers Sonny and the promise he made to him to stay away. He looks back at Priscilla.

She had already packed, so it doesn't take long for her to be gone. He stands in the living room as she drives away. Then he turns and kicks over a table, sending the objects on it flying. He sits with his head in his hands.

Now he has no one.

******

Vivian is home alone, pacing around her living room. She knows Elvis is home from Vegas and she's dying to call him, but she knows she shouldn't. Sonny won't be home until tomorrow and her mind is racing with possibilities. But no, she can't. He probably doesn't want her anyway. This is the last thought she has before she hears someone pull into the driveway. Surely Sonny isn't home early?

She peeks through the front curtains and watches as Elvis stumbles out of the car. He has a bottle of something in his hand and rather than walking up to the front door, he turns in the driveway and hollers at the house.

"Vivian!" She waits for a second, trying to decide what to do. He stumbles a few steps and yells again. "Viv!!"

When she realizes he can barely walk, she rushes out the front door to him. He smiles when he sees her and holds out his arms.

"My beautiful Viv. You always come when I call." His voice is slurred, his words thick. She lets him lean on her and half carries him up to the house. When they get inside and she gets him settled on the couch, she grabs the bottle. It's peach brandy and it's almost empty. "That's my second bottle."

"Oh my god, Elvis. You don't drink. What is going on?"

"I figured my wife leaving me was a good enough excuse."

"Wait, Priscilla... left?"

"Yep. She's gone." He leans forward with his head in his hands and starts to cry. Then he sniffs loudly and turns to Vivian. "After everything I gave up for her. She left."

Vivian sits on the couch speechless. For the first time since she's known him, he has no obligation to any other woman. Some small part of her leaps with hope, but she's the one with the obligation now.

"Why are you here?"

"Didn't have nobody else. Didn't want nobody else." He reaches out and cups her cheek with his big, warm hand. Then he pulls away suddenly and tries to sit up. "Promised Sonny I'd leave you alone, though. I'm pretty bad at promises."

"You promised Sonny you'd leave me alone?"

"Yep. At the welcome home party for you. He knows about us at your wedding." A lightbulb goes off for Viv.

"That's why he's been so... and why you've avoided me since then."

"Mhmm. Didn't want to break up a happy home." He hiccups and leans back on the couch. She realizes how close he is to passing out.

"We need to get you to a bed because I won't be able to move you if you fall asleep here."

"Okay." He half whispers, half sighs. She helps him take off his shoes and jacket and stand up and then they make their way down the hallway. When she gets him onto a bed in one of the extra rooms, she watches as he looks around, noticing the pink, blue, and yellow paint swatches on the wall and the rocking chair in the corner. "Viv, are you...?"

His eyes move to her stomach and he sobs. She sighs deeply as he grabs her and pulls her to him, weeping.

"I really lost you, didn't I?"

"Elvis, I'm not pregnant yet."

"No, but you wanna be. You will be soon." Viv buries the thought that she'd rather be pregnant with his baby. It does no good to tell him that. Instead, she kneels down in front of him and holds his face in both hands.

"You didn't lose me, Elvis. It's not possible. I'll be yours until the day I die. Even if it's just as a friend." The last part cuts through her like a knife and she can tell it hurts him too. But what other option is there? She's married.

And then he kisses her. He pulls her body in close to his and presses his mouth to her. She can taste the sweetness of the brandy as she opens her lips to his tongue. He drags her up onto the bed with him and lays down with her in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers. When he finally comes up for air, she touches her nose to his gently.

"You're too drunk for this, babe." He shakes his head.

"'M not, honey."

"You said no to me twice for this exact reason. I'm not going to take advantage of you."

"I promise you won't." He kisses her softly. "Please."

"Elvis, I have a husband." She whispers as he kisses her neck.

"You're telling me you don't wish it was me?" A wave of longing and desire washes over her. That's exactly what she wishes every time Sonny makes love to her. But the guilt is about to kill her.

"I can't." She pulls away to get out of the bed.

"No, wait. Please stay with me. I won't touch you anymore. I promise. I just don't want to be alone." She looks at him, his blue eyes pleading and sweet, the same boyish look from all those years ago. Something about that look makes it impossible for her to say no, so she crawls back into the bed and snuggles into him. He strokes her hair and kisses the top of her head. "Thank you, baby."

******

The next morning, Elvis wakes up with a pounding headache, but he doesn't care when he realizes Viv has her head on his chest. The thought that this is how he'd like to wake up every day slams into him and a lump forms in his throat. Still, his sober self remembers his promise to Sonny and is overcome with guilt. At least they didn't have sex. She was right to stop him.

He slides out of the bed without disturbing her and walks back out to the living room. He slips on his shoes and throws the almost-empty bottle of brandy in the trash. Then, he goes back to the bed and kisses her cheek gently. She doesn't stir, so he leaves quietly. For the first time, going to Graceland doesn't feel like going home. She is his home.

******

Vivian wakes up when the front door opens and closes. At first, she thinks it's Elvis leaving, so she sits up quickly, but it's not.

"Hey honey, I'm home!" Sonny calls from the entryway. She breathes a sigh of relief that Elvis is not still here. A big part of her wishes he was and they could just get it over with, but she knows that's not kind to Sonny. "What the hell is this?!"

She hears him yell from the living room and she bolts out of bed. When she gets there, she finds him standing with Elvis's jacket in his hand.

"He was here, wasn't he?!" He's never yelled at her before. She doesn't want to lie, but she also doesn't want to hurt him.

"Yes. But nothing happened! It wasn't like that! He was just drunk and upset about Priscilla leaving."

"I told that bastard to stay away."

"Sonny, I promise, it was nothing."

"I'm sure. It's never nothing between you two." She stands in silence. He's not wrong. "Vivian, I'm going to ask you one question and I want you to be honest with me."

She nods slowly in anticipation.

"Are you in love with him?" She looks at Sonny with tears in her eyes. Would it be more kind to lie? Or is it finally time for him to know the truth?

"Are you?!"

"Yes."

******

Are you ready for the end?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @jhoneybees @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @atleastpleasetelephone @burnthheparaphilia @cinnamoroll-things

[paunchsalazar]

are there any manga artists you particularly admire or are inspired by? what about their work do you like?

yes, absolutely! I could go on and on!

There are so many manga artists I admire, though some feel further off from anything I can or would want to make, and some are more direct influences, they’re all fun to read.

Here are a few favorites just on my bookshelf, ones I think about a lot…

Naoki Urasawa

I really admire his sense of timing and ability to build tension, I think he’s really good at keeping a simple back and forth conversation visually interesting (something I struggle with and seek to improve upon!)

Rumiko Takahashi

I’ve read a good amount of her work and find myself appreciating Maison Ikkoku the most. I like how she makes use of the environment, lots of gags play around with the old apartment building falling apart around them, the street that freezes over in the winter, the train that passes by and drowns out the tail end of a sentence. It makes the world feel so lived in!!

Yoshikazu Yasuhiko

He has been an animation director and it shows! I really admire his sense of clarity and momentum from panel to panel, page to page! I wish I could add more pages.. but he’s so good at guiding the eye and keeping the viewer/reader oriented in action scenes, and his draftsmanship is just insanely solid. He has a sense of timing that I think is informed by animation or vice versa, I feel like it slows the pace down to something closer to real time.

Bisco Hatori

I would include whole volumes if there was space… but I love her ability to make a “moment”… to slow your heartbeat down and make it pick up again. I also think she’s good at getting creative with camera angles and using simple set ups while keeping it visually interesting. I think Ouran starts out a little chaotic but gets a lot smoother as it goes on.

I love how she lets a bubble build and then pop! before it can get too serious… she created a story with a lot of flexibility in terms of tone!

I also admire how much fun she has with lettering and speech bubbles, it reminded me that, while comics are a visual medium, sound is something useful and highly effective. I feel like I can hear her characters when reading and find it really inspiring.

Hiromu Arakawa

She’s so good at dynamism and motion. I can’t say I’ve applied it, but I wish I could. I also really like how she handles cross cutting between different scenes, the A and B plot, on paper. I often find myself in awe of her scene transitions!

Fumiko Takano

Beautiful beautiful beautiful lines… this is just one quick moment of many but I love how you can feel time swell.. the camera pulls out, the day is at an end. She achieves so much with just pen and ink and the occasional screen tone and I admire her pen(cil) mileage a lot.

[viceroywrites]

art credit to mischa-makowka / link to picrew here

introducing my gravity falls oc, (dr.) cecilia dela rosa

headcanons and backstory drabble ahead

age when she first met stan: 27 - current age: 58

fun facts about her:

her hair is graying so she decided to lean into it and dye her front bangs gray and keep the rest black with strands of gray

filipino-american

has two older sisters - experienced a lot of competition and comparisons between her and her sisters

shameless hcs between her and stan:

she fell for stan bc of his humor and his recklessness - he helps her let her hair down and live a little and she keeps him in check

if stan hadn't made the decision for her, she would've totally bailed him out of jail

kept and wore a gold chain that stan left at her apartment for months after he left

lectures him about drinking pit soda all the time... but has a stash hidden in her office

right back where we started from & come on eileen are their songs

nicknames: cilia, cil, angel (stan kept making the joke that she fell from heaven the night she bandaged him up)

-

stan had just been driven out of idaho after yet another scam and was going by hal forester at the time still.

stan had gotten a bit too drunk at a bar downtown, got into a fight with someone. cecilia, in her first year of med school, just so happened to be walking back to her apartment after a night out with friends when stan was kicked out of the bar, with a few bruises and gnarly cut across his cheek.

cecilia rushed to help him out, insisting they go to a hospital. not wanting to get caught and have to leave illinois already, stan protested going to the hospital. perplexed but stubborn, cecilia said in a huff that she had medical supplies to bandage him up back at her place but insisted on no funny business.

stan wasn't one to say no to the free offer.. especially to a pretty lady.

the two ended up hitting it off that night & stan, as a thank you, insisted on buying cecilia dinner - that dinner being a chicago hot dog stand. that dinner quickly turned into a friendship.

their hot dog stand dinners slowly became dates & after stan pulled the classic move at her apartment while watching a scary movie and putting his arm around her, she returned the gesture by snuggling up to him.

stan began to open up about his past and trouble with the law. surprisingly, cecilia had a relaxed reaction, wanting more than anything to help stan gain some stability back in his life.

"why don't you get a job as a bouncer? you got the muscles for it." cecilia commented with a playful grin, squeezing his bicep.

stan was practically on cloud nine from the praise but shrugged, "can't, toots. moment they do a background check, i'm done for."

cecilia gave him a deadpan look, "you think any of the seedy dive bars around the college are gonna do that? they're probably doing illegal shit themselves."

stan blinks before pulling her in by the cheeks into a kiss, "cilia, baby, you're a genius!"

"well, i am in med school."

stan ends up landing a job as a bouncer for a bit and things were looking up. until one day, the law catches up to him. on the way to work one day, stan spots a police car in front of the bar and overhears them questioning the owner outside, a wanted poster of him in hand.

stan books it in the opposite direction. his survival mode is on and he knows he needs to split town. and quick. packing his bags and loading his car, he realizes he has to leave cecilia behind. he hurriedly scrawls out a note on the back of a receipt and stops by her apartment, dropping it into her mailbox as well as a reminder of him.

cecilia comes back to her apartment after class, checking her mail to see the note.

'hey angel,

i had to skip town, cops showed up at the bar and i can't afford to get caught and end up in jail... again. i'm really sorry to do this to ya but thanks for believing in me and giving a nobody like me a chance.

you're gonna do great things and you got a whole future ahead of ya. i don't wanna drag you into this mess.

thanks for everything, maybe someday we'll meet again.

stan.'

cecilia's heartbroken, holding the note and a photo the two of them had taken during a fancy dinner she treated them to in celebration of his new job.

despite the heartbreak, she finishes med school, gets married... then divorced and decides to move out to west for a change of scenery.

cecilia works at a local hospital a few miles out from gravity falls - they end up reuniting after stan throws his back out while helping mabel and dipper with their suitcases when they came back to visit for the summer.

stan reluctantly agrees to go after much pestering from his brother who is baffled by the fact that stan has not had a check up in years.

as he's waiting, having changed into those uncomfortable paper gowns, cecilia blinks at the name on the chart, in disbelief - a name from her past. it must be a different stan pines... right? she thinks to herself as she heads over to the patient room.

she knocks on the door and hears a gruff voice that's unmistakable, "yeah i'm decent."

she opens the door and blinks as she's greeted to the man who had left her behind years ago. "stanley pines?" she questions, trying to remain professional.

"yeah that's me, doc." stan says, not recognizing her at first, "listen, i haven't been to a doctor in ages. pretty much, i threw my back out and it's not getting any better."

"mind if i take a look?" cecilia asks, sliding on her gloves as she makes her way around to stan's back. her hand trails down his back, pressing down softly before hitting the tender spot that causes him to hiss.

"yup, that's it." stan mutters and cecilia can't help but laugh, throwing caution into the wind, "you know you've had this issue with your back since you were in your 30s."

"right? i swear no doctor has said anything about it!" stan complains but pauses, "wait how do you know that?"

"long time no see, stan. not sure you recognize me after all these years... does the name cecilia ring a bell?" cecilia grins, taking a seat on the stool before wheeling over to the computer.

it takes a second before stan realizes who's in front of him. "cecilia? cecilia from chicago?" he says in disbelief.

"that's me - though i go by dr. dela rosa nowadays." cecilia chuckles, typing things down into his chart.

"god, it's been so long..." stan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "hey.. i'm sorry for ditching you back then. i-"

"you don't have to explain yourself, stan. i was upset but i understood the position you were in. i'm... just glad you're alive and well.." cecilia sighs with a sad smile.

"ah jeez, cilia... sorry if i scared you. a lot's happened since we last saw each other.." stan admits.

"well... i'd love to catch up." cecilia says, pausing before turning to face stan, "take me out to dinner and i'll consider forgiving you."

stan blinks at her forwardness before breaking into a huge grin, "i know just the place, you got yourself a deal!"

stan ends up taking her to greasy's dinner where he catches her up on his life - reuniting with his brother, dipper and mabel, his travels on the stan o war II.

(sorry if this is cringe - i'm a sucker for rekindled romance)

[bah-musing]

Hii! Can we have a lvl 4 headmate/part who is in her 20s? We also wanna add the handwriting, art style, handedness, and accent (preferably Irish since we are Irish). I will also add emojis for you to go off of.. 🌑📓🔐💡

Loved the emojis, thank you! :D

Level 4 - Mused - 🌑📓🔐💡

All under the cut!

Name(s): Erin, Locket, Maura, Caitlin, Autumn, Noelle, October,  Journey

Pronouns: she/they/ae

Age range: 20s (21-24 range)

Species: Human, with some dog-ish traits if you please! May or may not be werewolf-y

Personality Snippet: Nostalgic, calm, patient, quiet but not shy, unafraid to ask questions, intro astronomy 

Role(s): Soother (x), Delight (x), Memori (x), Nostalgia Holder (x), Census Taker (x), Doorkeeper(x)

Source: N/A

Gender: Afemfluid (x)

Orientation: Neptunic (x)

Front Triggers: Craft stores, thrifting, DIY projects, fall in general

Faceclaim: First two are from pepperjackets’ friend maker. Third one is from baby_carrot_art’s baby carrot character maker. Added the favorite color so it looked nice!

Nickname(s): Lune, Eri, Lo, Lockie, Mauve, Cait, Lin (/Lynn), Honey, Elle, Oxeye, Journal

Food: Honeycrisp apples, simple lasagna, honey on toast, caramel apples, oranges, roast chicken, rolls, spaghetti, caramel popcorn, kettle corn. 

Drink: Tea with honey, cherry coke, sparkling water, water with flavor packets, old fashioned root beer.

Color: #CD8223 - CIL Golden Amber (x)

Game Genre: Cozy games, strategy games, collector games

Movie Genre: Nature documentaries, maybe paranormal stuff (would get a little scared, but in a fun way!)

Song Genre: Lofi, calm breakcore, acid jazz, 

Hobbies: Walks, enjoying nature, looking into native plants, journaling, thrifting, drawing, writing personal essays for fun, poetry, watercolor, scrapbooking, DIY shenanigans,coloring books,  and meditating. 

Habits: Butters toast on the lighter side, always keeps track of her glasses, always does the spinny when she wears a skirt or dress, keeps a spare hair tie and headband on their person. Caries a lot of things- just in case! 

Songs:

Hunned Bandz - Tanukichan

Rose - midnight muse

Mary - Alex G

C:\\M00G_C?TY_2 - bxnwxghxrn (link since i know it's certainly a title!)

Everlong - Foo Fighters

anything - Adrianne Lenker

Harness Your Hopes - Bside - Pavement

Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse

Media recs: I limited it to only one midnight muse song above, I would recommend the album Flower Language as a whole. Midnight Gospel (show on Netflix, I think there’s more.. But it’s leaving my mind atm!)

Minecraft, Sid Meier’s Civilization (6)

TQ: Either writes with proper punctuation and capitalization or writes in “internet casual” where she just has wanted punctuation and no capitalization or apostrophes (ie. “Yeah, I just went to JoAnn’s.” vs. “yeah, i just went to joanns!”). 

Handwriting: I couldn’t find one that seemed to click, but I think the fonts Playpen Sans and Caveat are lovely for her! Demonstration attached.

Art Style: An image since I had a hard time with words to start. I could see her having a semi-scratchy way of doodling with whatever she has near her! Not afraid to experiment and have fun, tends to doodle space. They love to sketch with ballpoint pens (lightly) and play with colors and hatching! Stars they draw are all sorts of different shapes and are colored with orange and green most commonly.

Second image is how I imagine they would doodle people, a bit of a chibi-ish Animal Crossing style that is disconnected and Cute!

Handedness: Right-handed for precision (writing, drawing, cutting food, etc), left-handed for strength (carrying, archery, etc)!

Accent: Irish

Misc: I feel like she would find learning Latin or Greek fun and maybe even write in it! Favorite season is certainly fall. I think there would be a fondness for apple-scented shampoo or “grandma smells” in shampoo and body wash. Would have fun with press-on nails, but not have the commitment for professional ones that last a lot longer (due to crafty hobbies). Super into match-y outfits! Maybe ae would enjoy DnD? Unsure! I could see the cottagecore aesthetic being appreciated. 

[anneapocalypse]

Rating my own recreations of my Hawkes in Inquisition

Why? Because I thought it would be fun. Please feel free to steal my idea and tag me so I can see your Hawkes.

Alessandra Hawke

World State: Elf Lovers

Difficulty: Easy

DAI's character creator offers a very similar hairstyle to to Alessandra's original. Her lovely hooked nose is a key feature and DAI fortunately had one similar enough, though it's a little more rounded at the end. She looks a lot more Tired in DAI, but all Hawkes do, and they probably should. It's tough to get a more rounded jawline in DAI, so her face looks a little more angular. Darker skin tints tend toward warmer in DA2 and cooler in DAI (and cool light severely washes out medium browns in DAI) but all told, she came out pretty darn good.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Sabine Hawke

World State: For Love of the People

Difficulty: Easy

She changed her part to the other side, but otherwise Sabine came out pretty bang-on. All Dragon Age games need a better variety of Asian features now and forever. Nonetheless, I think her face shape, skin tint, and even her nose comes pretty close. Looking at these shots, I could have possibly made her chin a little longer and rounder. That's about the only quibble I can come up with.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Cillian Hawke

World State: Love & Magic

Difficulty: Moderate

Cillian took a few outtakes to get right. The hair is acceptable, eyes and mouth look good. and after a lot of tweaking I think I got his face shape pretty bang-on. The nose, however, is a problem. The nostrils are sitting way too high relative to the point (as opposed to his original nose which is pretty straight across the bottom), which makes him look like he's sneering at all times, and this combined with DAI Hawke's tendency to have a pinched, worried brow makes him look Angry in a lot of shots--not exactly right for a gentle-hearted Blue Hawke. Nevertheless, I'm really proud of how I nailed those cheekbones.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Emilia Hawke

World State: Noble Hearts

Difficulty: Hard

Woof. Just woof. This did not go well. First off, DAI really doesn't have a true "dirty blonde," just this mustard color which makes the whole shot look overwhelmingly yellow, so much that DA2 Emilia looks washed-out by comparison. I thought the nose was fine, but looking at these shots side by side, something does seem a little off. The hairstyle is acceptable, but its makes her forehead look much larger than the original (modded) hairstyle, and I couldn't really find a way to fix that. Overall it's really the face shape that kills it. DAI does not like round faces. I did my best, and then left her in the Fade where she belongs. (Trust me. It what she deserves.)

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐

Mallory Hawke

World State: Rogues Gallery

Difficulty: Hard

We're starting from modded hair, so we have our work cut out for us here. (Curly hairstyles WHEN. Also modded freckles, but there DAI has us covered.) Unfortunately, I was not able to get a hair mod to work in DAI, so Mal was forced to wear her hair up, which she Would Not. But we make the sacrifices we must. Mallory also has a lot of soft curves to her face, but I'd say she survived the jawbonification a lot better than Emilia did, and where was this nose when I was trying to make Cil? DAI's neon teal eyes are a touch greener but I can let that slide. Overall, I'd say she's still recognizable, even without letting her hair down. That's still my girl.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

(Note: I put all the comparion pictures in side-by-side, but none except the first one will display that way on the dash, and I can't fix it. 🤷‍♀️Sorry.)

[vlovebug]

yes, another hcs page I'm sorry I just can't stop 😥

beware grammar mistakes ╯︿╰

val alone hc:

he gets bitchy when someone tells him what to do

he can tell a medical emergency is going to happen (serves dog behavior)

he carries things that may help someone with a disability but never medications that need to be prescribed by a doctor ofc (pots, diabetes, seizures, etc.)

he has medical knowledge ( why do i keep bringing this one up)

likes to sharpen his nails

has knifes in his shoes ( why? idk)

sometimes he talks and just can't stop (real)

sometimes talking takes too much energy ( real)

he's a bit sadistic ( only if it's asked of him)

he expects rough touches after soft ones

he shares the most gruesome facts ever ( best ways to get to the heart, how to gut someone or something, etc.) (he and spelldon work well for each other for a reason)

bc we don't know his dad, I'm saying he never existed ( gift from Eros or just pop in his mom's womb one day) ( holy mary that you?)

he's a great hunter ( bat)

I feel like if a kid likes him he lets them hang off of him

he doesn't bite when he's a bat, it's more like making a paper cut with his nails and drinking from it.

human children scare him, they're just so fucking mean T_T

he has a blanket hoodie that covers 70% of his body ( they're so comfy)

his body takes on the temperature of the climate around him ( dead bodies do this) yet he's always on the colder side ( 50-50 chance I'm keeping this hc)

hes a slut for pumpkin pie

Demisexual and intersex? ( all of Eros's creations are intersex in my eyes/ incubus or succubus)

doesn't know how to tie a tie to save his life.

his body doesn't build muscle but he is strong

will eat lemons like people eat oranges

vampires can't gain or lose weight ( or get taller unless it's from a spell or something) he's the same weight and height as when he died (idk where I was going with this....)

he walks away to not punch someone when they make him mad ( idk if I said this or not) (now that im looking back this... this ones stupid)

he stares at people but doesn't realize it

he only writes with the pen/cil between his pointer finger and middle finger ( I do this sometimes and it feels great )

this is an explanation for the height I gave Valentine (5'2), in 800 ad ( yes 800 it's the closest I could find to 410ad leave me alone.) the average height for males was 167cm( 5'4) to 173cm (5'6) and I think he's a little under the percentile for his age group back in ad ( this doesn't make sense does it), so I put him in 5'2-5'3 without heeled shoes on because of this. ( if the height percentiles for 800 ad are wrong let me know I just used Google so idk if it's right or not)

he wears contacts ( is he blind ? We will never know.)

he laughs at people who say pink is only for girls

he took a liking to a human once, and they died. big sad

Don't play hide and seek with him.

he is oblivious when he's around someone he trusts, he doesn't do it on purpose it just kinda happens (for example is paying attention to his surroundings) so there's a bunch of safety stuff on shit so he doesn't hurt himself or brake anything ( this was the explanation for the one hc I made with spelldon)

Don't make bets with this man. he will win every time. ( he's made people go broke bc of how competitive he gets.

has a great poker face

hes related to cupid but doesnt know how

he wears underclothing everyday and night ( he's modest ig) ( ignore my old art bc of this :D)

hes scared of kismet (fate or destiny)

mad val is very rare and the reason is cus he's scary af

has a harder time getting over baby gates even tho he can fly ( he forgets )

his nails and teeth can detract and attract ( like enid's from Wednesday)

can be summoned by a summoning circle

He is part incubus but doesn't do sexual favors cus ew ( 50% vampire, 50% incubus)

He's an enigma

His bat form is a fruit bat :D

He can't eat if somes around him

spelldon alone hc:

he wears alot of snake jewls

can't STAND fake friends

he's got RBF ( resting bitch face)

he judges people by accident and makes a face every time, Val called it the face of judgment ( I can't think of a name for it :()

has a great poker face

gay and demisexual

turns people into animals on purpose

he can be extermly cruel.

likes holding hands

very touchy

him and his sister act like its.giz on tiktok ( i think) ( outside source wow )

they like harassing each other in stupid ways

she has pushed him down the stairs more times than he can count

has actually really soft and gentle with the innocent

he likes to admire val when he zoned out cus he wont get yelled at for staring

He is competitive but not as much as Val

he is full god ( i say he is but idk if his dad was god or not, so fuck it)

he uses his hands and magic more in fights than actual weapons

he finds it amusing that people forget how much monsters are monsters till they get like scared ( no Brittny you can't fix him he eats people.)

he has certain things he lets no one touch, not even val

spelldon is like 6'0-6'3 because hes the son of a goddess ( or two depends) so he got them good-good genes. ( give)

he tigtens jar on purpose cus he forgets that val is also strong and can open anything, so he gets sad when val opens shit he tightens cus he wanted to open it for him ( loser )

somehow always has a book on him, no clue where he puts it.

his hair is in either dreads or twists ( I know dreads are kinda of like twists but they stay that way but idk how that works:,0)

piercings galore (def has snake bites + tongue)

steps over baby gates but sometimes trips

has a pet snake

SPELLTINE:

Val has a garden that has pretty much all of the herbs and funus that spell needs for spells or potions

they can carry each other pretty easly

they both have quite places where they go when they need personal time

spell has a shit ton of piercings ( as i said earlier), val doesn't but he wears more jewelry that can be slipped off ( rings, bracelets, necklaces , etc.)

they make things for eachother

val likes grabbing spell and taking him really high into the air and dropping him and grabbing him before he hits the ground ( with permission and a heads up ofc)

They are smart until they're together then they turn stupid

BC spell can see Kismet and such, he tells very veg ones to Val if he's like extremely panicked

they both get moonstruck

misanthropy. both of them.

they cover the table's sides so the other doesn't hit their head when they get something under them

spell with do anything Val tells him to ( within reason ofc, but he really does always say yes)

val teaches spell how to certain weapons but gets confused why he goes all red

val once got the folded test paper of doom and spell laughed at his face then he got the folded test paper of doom then it was vals turn to laugh at him.

spell keeps a drawing of val on him cus he cant get a photo

they played hide and seek once. spell said never again.

they throw water on each other when stressed ( cold water to the face helps calm someone down cus its cold, google it I cant explain)

val likes to climb up spells shirt while being a bat, it freaks spell out cus he cant find him then boom something ice cold is claiming up his back

olive theory, spell like them val doesn't

picky eater and the one who eats what they give them, spell is the one that eats the stuff val gives him

spell holds vals blood bags to that they warm up, his body temp is high af

parts of them glow in the dark ( eyes, vals body markings, certain pricing of spells glow in the dark, vals nails {dont ask why I've come to this conclusion I just did})

compliments that actually seem more like insults to others

disturbing insults

If they share meals they eat in different rooms

( I'm so sorry this is so long, it was supposed to be three different posts)

[lemonaficionado]

Blog post 2023

One year ago, at the end of 2022, I created a time capsule in video form. About 15 minutes ago, when I was lying in bed hoping to fall asleep early in order to not lose too much sleep tonight (as I will most likely want to wake up extremely early in the morning), I decided to make a blog post this year, at the end of 2023 (cutting it extremely close mind you, which is typical of course).

So much has happened and so much has changed this year, I can't remember al of it. I can't even remember most of it. I've spent an abnormally large amount of time the last few months thinking about what happened when and what started when and trying to get a grip on a timeline in my head.

Of all the things that changed, I might have changed the most, giving much more significance to my 18th birthday than most. Of course it wasn't a sudden change, although it did feel quite sudden. I was a buildup of tons of vicious cycles and time itself running a young boy around. I'm still a young boy on the inside for the record, and I'm sure I still don't look like a man on the outside yet (no, thank you).

There actually was a moment, a moment I had planned, from which things could have changed very sudden, if I had let it happen, if I had made it happen. But I'm glad I didn't, in hindsight.

Woah- Deja vu... I have a feeling I wrote something like that before, with Tumblr being the colour scheme it is now (canary, because lemons), and me deciding to click off and discard the draft. Possibly that happened in a dream?... Deja vu is still a mystery to me.

The moment (that didn't happen, for the record) is quite personal to me, so I doubt whether I should put it publicly on the internet for everyone to see. It was that exactly one year after I asked a group of friends to form a - "student group" shall we call it? - with me (which ran it's course and was disbanded because another took its place), I would ask that group of friends whether they wanted to be friends (with me) again.

In hindsight I think that gradually entering that circle of friends was a better option than dramatically asking to. And so that is one of the few occasions for which I'm glad I only speak out if I find the perfect moment, a character trait which often is unhelpful when you want to be social, by the way.

I didn't want to start the blog on that moment actually, I wanted to either attempt a chronological list or talk about recent events, as in the past three days. I don't know how long it took you to read until here, but I started roughly 45 minutes ago. I'm slow like that.

In the month of my birthday there was a sports day I have a fond memory from, I don't remember the exact words that were said but they made me feel helpful and I liked being helpful and the memory is something I've referenced before (not on this blog obviously).

Around that time was when I really started wanting to break from the cycle of every day feeling the same without progress towards anything. I asked for a notepad and pen(cil) for my birthday that I was planning to bring with me from then onwards to write stuff in. Those who know me well know which little book I'm referring to.

Though I don't remember any example right now, I was starting to try to be more social around that time. Then the summer holidays happened. And something weird happened. From the past holidays (before that summer) I had concluded that I did not like traveling and going on holiday. And I really didn't want to go anymore. But against better judgement I went anyway.

And looking back I'm definitely glad I did. Because I learned that I strongly dislike physical labour when money is the only goal I am working towards. And I learned that there are people out there who I actually really like being around. 'Introvert' and 'extrovert' have become meaningless to me, because it depends entirely on who I am around and how I am feeling.

The end of the summer holidays, although I slightly doubt it, might have been the first time I actually had the feeling of "I'm going to miss this person" aimed towards a human being. Before then I had always been more of an animal person. I remember that at the start of the summer holidays I had already changed, because someone who knew me well mentioned it.

I tried to bring this social change with me back to school, but failed horrendously, getting hit with all of the problems being in the last year of highschool gives you. I don't remember exactly what happened, probably because not much out of the ordinary happened, but after a couple of days I gave up. And I gave up hard.

I decided to stop trying. And to just focus on school. This is getting personal again and it is getting late (22:22 ha) so my brain is slowing down, sorry for any inconveniences caused. I have written about this before, in a script for a video I never finished, so I want to keep this relatively short.

Everyday, I would come into class, sit alone in the front, be the first to leave when the bell rang, and I would not go to the aula in the break. Instead I would wander round the building or go to a study area or something. Being in the aula became overwhelming and the noise scared me away. Only in two lessons would I sit next to someone, and only then because I didn't want to make my old friends worried about how I was.

After five school days of keeping this up I started wearing a paper bracelet to school on which I kept track of how many school days I had been like this. I have also referenced to this bracelet before. I still have this bracelet on my shelf beside me now, the numbers on it span from 6 to 15. It was hard to know when to stop.

After an Earth science project that I was looking up against included a nice conversation with a friend and a trip home with four people that I wanted to be friends with (taking that ferry instead of waiting for the one after was one of the best decisions I've ever made, and I didn't hesitate to take it too when I saw them actually boarding it), I took off the bracelet. I hoped it was the end. Of course the next school day went badly again so I kept it on for a couple of days more, but it didn't take long before I- forgot to put the bracelet on one day. And to be perfectly honest, that is a perfect ending to the whole thing and a typical example of me, really.

Then (or around that time) Operation Friendship started (yes I called it that). I gradually started sitting next to people in lessons instead of on my own all the time. I made a list of everyone who I wanted to become friends with or get to know better (writing this makes me feel so embarrassed) as well as ranked them on how much I had talked to them or how well they knew me so far. It lasted a surprising two months before I finally wrote down in my notebook that OpFr was discontinued in order for me to focus on the friends I already had at that point.

Do not make the mistake of thinking I never questioned what I was doing. There are plenty of times that I wondered whether what I was doing counted as something a psychopath would do. And there were plenty of times where I was tempted to shut OpFr down before I finally actually did.

Anyway, one of the people whose name I wrote down but never actually got to talk properly with is someone I'll call target Kela. The reason I bring Kela up is because of the first half of 2023, before the summer holidays. I kind of feel like that storyline is unfinished though, if you know what I mean? Maybe I still find it too personal to talk about Kela...

I'll move on to recently instead. In the beginning it was really hard being part of two friend groups, every time I moved from one to the other it felt like I was abandoning one for the other. Now it still feels off, but it's tolerable and I don't think anybody judges me for it. That's one of the things that changed over a smaller vacation.

The other thing that changed is how I perceive the world, which suddenly changed back to how it was before I merged into a "new" friend group and only then did I realise that how I felt had been different in the first place. Suddenly I was back to my old socially scared self, but then with more friends and with memories and pre-made plans for me of who to befriend next (/exaggeration).

It's been weird, thinking about the past and where I am now, but I need to wrap this up now as in less than fourty minutes it will be 2024!

A couple of days ago was my first time playing D&D, which is notable because I have been interested in D&D for almost a year and ten months. Afterwards I was frustrated with myself for how it went, but I've already vented those feelings so I won't do that here. Yesterday I was still in a really bad mood so even walking for two and a half hours and having a house to myself didn't change anything.

Today we did the floor of my room, in one day instead of two, even though I was tired the whole way through. And tonight I was lying in bed trying to go to sleep early so I could wake up after the fireworks and be mentally active at three in the morning. But then I got the idea to do this!

I guess that means that my idea hyping brain is working again, so that's good. I originally had the idea of reacting to my time capsule video from last year and turning that into a video of it's own, which I could still do, but there is so much I could still do, and there is so much I should still do.

There is probably a ton of stuff I forgot to say and a ton of stuff I will remember not long after having posted this. But if you read all of this, first of all, who are you? and second of all, why did you just read *that* much text willingly?

-Aaaand my sibling just came in and completely halted my train of thought. Happy 2024!

Edit 1 (at 00:33): I completely forgot to say that part of the reason I got the idea to do this is because I realised when I was lying there that I missed people. And I really didn't often miss people in the past. Talking to a friend in a voice channel helps a lot temporarily, but I generally dislike holidays nowadays because I rarely see friends during them.

Second thing I completely forgot to mention is the memory right before the summer holidays of being at the graduation ceremony and seeing the people of the "student group" (who now I would say are my friends) being super happy in a group photo together. I stood and smiled from the sidelines. :')

[evitcani-writes]

Ways to do something that isn’t being told to run for a local office:

Know economic uncertainty is a foothold fascism. We are likely heading into a recession (because of deliberate actions) which has additional cuts to social benefits. It’s cliché, but try to position your resources into conservation.

If you are at a job which you may politically disagree with, consider implementing parts of The Citizen’s Simple Sabotage Field Manual. Some of it is out of date, some of it is timeless. Consider distribution if you don’t work in a job where implementation is practical (or you work at a nice job).

Remove symbols of hate yourself. Do not look away. Do not walk away. Consider carrying graffiti markers to cover graffiti or other items which cannot be removed displaying hate. Molotows or Poscas are on the pricier side, but you can buy them individually and they stand the weather test.

Say something if it is safe for you to do so. If you see someone being harassed, walk up and politely ask them to leave as well as call over other people. Practice deescalation tactics. The NSW Government has this guide. While telling the person off may feel like an “and everybody clapped” opportunity, it can put you and the person they are yelling at in danger. Instead, get more numbers and deescalate. The police certainly aren’t going to.

Be part of your community. Last week, I was invited to a local knitting circle. I’m going to go. I learned about it through smalltalk. Read the flyers. Talk and greet people. Be a member of your community.

Cry. No, seriously. Let yourself cry. Let yourself mourn and yell and be mad! Do not be numb to strife.

Have a private life. This is advice I’ve been taking more seriously as I age. Blah blah old man shakes fist at social media, but seriously. That’s actually how they get you. Consider end to end encryption messaging apps and VPNs, but don’t trust them. If it doesn’t need written down, don’t write it down digitally. Get old fashioned with a paper and pen(cil) journal. Print out pictures you can flip through. Mine makes me… so happy to reread or just look at the badly printed regular paper low pixel count photos.

When the worst happens, take a deep breath and think. Fascists love terrorists. It gives them an excuse they can pretend is reason. Do not be terrorized into giving up your rights. If you want examples, check out everything America did after 9/11.

Right now, I’m surrounded by four sleeping cats. Two at my feet, one by my side on the floor, another on the bed on my other side. The creak of my partner’s chair in the other room right before their laughter. This is my home. If you don’t know what makes our world good, you will have nothing good to give it.

I want you to remember:

The fascists hate you too and they just will pretend otherwise until after they've killed the rest of us, before they turn on you.

[babyawacs]

#gameofnations_before_pewpew_pew  #trump_decides_putins_fate #independent #on #economy #basics  #meething_ahead #independent #on #special_envoy #ru ssia_deal  ‎.@peace .@nato .@ukraine .@otan .@msc .@us_stratcom @us_stratcom .@bbcr4 .@bbcradio4 .@pacif icsubs @pacificsubs .@ussocom @ussocom .@gchq .@nsagov .@odnigov .@atom .@iaeaorg .@energy .@potus @potus .@vp @vp .@trt .@nato @otan .@snowden .@msc @msc @us_stratcom .@potus .@vp @gop .@gop .@dnc @dnc @women @thedemocrats .@women @girls .@girls @woman .@woman @ girl .@girl .@all .@wef @wef @imf @imf @eu_commission @euparl_en .@euparl_dk .@eucouncil @eucoun cil .@elonmusk @dogecoindesigner @spacex ‎.@peace .@nato .@ukraine .@otan .@msc .@us_stratcom @us_stratcom .@bbcr4 .@bbcradio4 .@pacificsubs @pacificsubs .@ussocom @ussocom .@gchq .@nsagov . @odnigov .@atom .@iaeaorg .@energy .@potus @potus .@vp @vp .@trt @paris  #indepen dent #on #russia_deal #ahead #pLLLLLibbbbbb_dildosound_on_canada_andthem_dud e_whathehell ?!? .@potus @potus @vp .@vp @gop .@gop .@dnc #potus #potus_trump_you_cannot_wander_around_slapping_your_potus_dildo_on_nations_and_demand_inthename _of_america_to_stop_existing_but_with_deal_ options  #independent #on #ukraine #negotiations #negotiation_styles_vs_quickfix_peace #detail #ukraine_will_arm_up #follow_the_train_of_thought: #securityguarantees: ‎ #guys_like_vance_rubio_yuppdeeedoooo #_u_k_r_a_i_n_e_i_s_w_h_a_t_????????????? ‎#independent #notmywar #on #trump_putin ‎ #ukraine_is #what ????????? .@paris @wef .@wef .@msc @msc  .@london @sicherheitshalber @muenchen .@muenchen .@munich @munich   @profklausschwab .@profklausschwab .@nato @otan @nato @peace .@eu_commission @eu_commission .@eucouncil @eucouncil .@euparl_en @euparl_dk .@poland .@gchq .@nsagov .@rosatom .@joebiden .@gop .@dnc‎ @aeh_rancor_randcorp‎ @BBCr4today .@axios @axios . @ap . @reuters . @nato . @osce . @rosatom @axios‎ ukraine started as color revolutions prey eachother off control o ver nations #jews_vs_russia  ‎with unfixed loot 1990s russia cutdown in 2000s 2010s . wholoots ukraine it see med the us wanted that war to occur atleast didnot effort the peace. criminal war of russia on victim pawn ukraine in this game of control then broke as game to nato grade doom or live mass scale after weeks. 3years on now russia is stuck must fake it stro ng wacky us leadershipdoesnot evenunderstand what it cuts down ofits own powerbasis everywhere letalone one of these warmesses nee d a quick fix peace now or the war drags on with what the europeans can and build up now but then against the usa. the frontline length is underestimated the role ofsmartmunitions in stalled long frontlines eventually  #keypoint  (!)sustainable quickfixpeace cancelthe interim steps ////

#gameofnations_before_pewpew_pew #trump_decides_putins_fate #independent #on #economy #basics #meething_ahead #independent #on #special_envoy #russia_deal ‎.@peace .@nato .@ukraine .@otan .@msc .@us_stratcom @us_stratcom .@bbcr4 .@bbcradio4 .@pacificsubs @pacificsubs .@ussocom @ussocom .@gchq .@nsagov .@odnigov .@atom .@iaeaorg .@energy .@potus @potus .@vp @vp .@trt .@nato @otan .@snowden .@msc…

[shraddhamatre]

Recognizing the Crucial Information and  10 Success Strategies for the COAL INDIA LTD Exam

For experts and recent engineering graduates who want to work for one of the biggest coal-producing businesses in the world, the COAL INDIA LTD (CIL) test is a big chance. Coal India, a Public Sector Undertaking (PSU), provides a distinguished career with generous perks; yet, due to the high level of competition, careful preparation is required. This article will guide you through the specifics of the CIL test and offer ten crucial pointers for acing it.

Overview of COAL INDIA LTD Exam The CIL test is used to hire Management Trainees in a number of engineering specialties, including mining, mechanical, electrical, and civil.  Typically, there are two phases to the selection process: an interview and a computer-based exam (CBT). A selection of candidates advances to the interview stage if they pass the CBT.

Eligibility Requirements: Candidates must have at least a 60% grade point average in the applicable engineering degree. The age restriction is typically thirty years old, however there are exceptions for protected groups. 2. Exam Structure: There are two papers in the CBT: Paper I and Paper II. Paper II concentrates on the technical/professional knowledge of the relevant subject, whereas Paper I covers General Awareness, Reasoning, Numerical Ability, and English. 3. curriculum: The extensive curriculum covers both general aptitude courses and essential engineering subjects from the candidate's field. A thorough comprehension of the curriculum is essential for efficient preparation.

Marking System: There are 100 marks available for each paper, including multiple-choice, objective-type questions. It is beneficial to attempt every question because there is no negative grading. 5. Termination Marks: Depending on the exam's difficulty level and the volume of applicants, the cut-off fluctuates annually. However, it can be a safe bet to strive for at least 75–80%. Ten Crucial Pointers to Pass the COAL INDIA LTD Exam: 

1) Recognize the Syllabus Completely: To begin, make sure you comprehend the Paper I and Paper II syllabuses. Pay greater attention to the technical topics associated with your engineering specialty since Paper II is very important.

2) Make a Study Plan: Within the time allotted, make a study plan covering the complete course. Divide up your study sessions into weekly or daily goals, then follow the plan. A well-organized strategy guarantees thorough discussion of every subject. 

3) Emphasis on Core Subjects: Since Paper II revolves around these topics, give them top attention. For those aspiring to become mechanical engineers, subjects like thermodynamics, fluid mechanics, strength of materials, and machine design are essential. Make certain you can answer numerical problems effectively and have a thorough understanding of the ideas. 

4) Practice Previous Year Question Papers: One of the finest methods to learn about the format and nature of the exam is to work through previous year's question papers. It also helps in improving speed and accuracy, which are critical in a timed exam.

5) Strengthen General Awareness and Aptitude: Paper I is equally significant because it assesses General Awareness, Reasoning, Numerical Ability, and English. Maintain current knowledge of current events, work on your numeric ability, and solve reasoning problems on a regular basis. 

6) Regularly Take Mock Tests: Mock tests are an excellent tool for determining your degree of readiness. They assist you in recognizing your advantages and disadvantages, enabling you to concentrate on your areas that want development. Additionally, practice exams help you become more adept at time management by simulating the real exam setting. 

7) Revision: Revision is essential to remembering what you have learned. Set aside time in your study schedule for review, particularly for key concepts and equations. Take brief notes so you may quickly review them before the test.

8) Time Management: During the test, effective time management is essential. During your preparation, work on answering questions in a timed manner. Don't spend too much time on challenging questions throughout the exam; move on and return to them if time allows. 

9) Remain Positive and Healthy: Exam preparation is greatly influenced by one's emotional and physical well-being. Make sure you consume a balanced diet, get adequate sleep, and exercise on a regular basis. To stay motivated and focused, be upbeat and manage your stress. 

10) Enroll in a Study Group or Coaching: If you find it difficult to get ready on your own, you might want to think about enrolling in a study group or coaching program. You may get insightful knowledge and maintain your motivation by interacting with peers and receiving mentorship from seasoned individuals.

In summary Successfully passing the COAL INDIA LTD test necessitates a calculated strategy, persistent work, and the appropriate tools. By being aware of the specifics of the test and heeding the advice provided above, you may increase your chances of success. Recall that the secret to reaching your goals is smart effort combined with endurance. I hope your preparation goes well!

Start Your Preparation With: https://gameacademy.in/  / https://clppenny.page.link/cTBm

Recommended: https://www.youtube.com/@gblions  / https://www.youtube.com/@gblionsaeje 

[thcdoomed]

"They never are." It is simply a matter of fact. The sky feels more dull in the city. The lights that dot the street, flickering out of buildings, all of it serves to drown out the natural beauty of the night sky. That's not to mention the pollution in the air that sullies everything it touches. She often wonders what people see in such crowded spaces. It feels so invasive as if there is no true sense of privacy. Give her nature at its purist any day. And yet, the city called to her when her friends were in need and Gale had been so insistent in cutting himself off from everyone. He must have forgotten what a stubborn sort Dronia is, especially when it comes to her friends. Never has she been one to leave someone hanging. Karlach had told her about his recent isolation and when her calls and messages went unanswered, she made a point to show up in person. She made herself impossible to ignore. "I am, but at the same time, I won't because you clearly need someone around for now. Friends make the city more tolerable. I wouldn't have missed a chance to come to bother your doorstep even if it meant the stars were a little less bright." And she means it. "I can't say I'm above a bribe though." She replies with a smirk.

As he gestures with his hand, the sky suddenly seems much more welcoming to her and she leans against the window cil, eyes wide with enchantment. Oh to have such control of the weave like that, something she always envied the wizards who were her best customers. "Not bad at all, Gale." But there is no teasing tone, the wonder has snuck into even her voice. "I don't doubt it, you made the city feel a little more like home already."

"I know that look. Let me guess: they're not as beautiful as you're used to, are they?" He doesn't need to hear the answer, truth be told. What she thinks, he's positive, is a resounding no. Still, Gale finds he can't really argue with her on this. Here, the city smog prevails, every brilliant little twinkling in their skies gone pale. He can feel an indisputable sense of loss, ever a paramour of these celestial veils, and as they peer out his window by his crackling fire, he imagines her view in the trees and groves. Romantic, he supposes. And veritable wonder. Ah. Gale dotingly looks up, glass panes parted and curtains billowing. Dronia sat there is licked sharp and silver, and Gale, haggard, looks notably worn. "I'm sure you're raring to board the next bus out of here, ever the crown jewel of insomnia, but for what it's worth, I've very glad you've visited. If it should entice you to stay, I can conjure you something new to cast your sights on. What one might call a bribery, I'd consider an opportunity."

At least he's some humor. One year in solitude, and thankfully, dwindled as it, Gale's still some twinkle of a spirit to him. He raises his hand, the stars up above suddenly gleaming brighter--and in his face, gingerly, his expression glows. "Not too bad for a city boy, hm? I assure you, I am very capable of much more." / @thcdoomed ♡'d.

[katarina-side]

ROLE PLAY (cillian Murphy)

“Tommy you promised me you wouldn’t bring this into the house” I screamed holding our baby in my arms rocking him as he cried

“I’m sorry I never intended on it happening” he whispered looking down ashamedly, holding the note in hand.

“Just put Charlie back to bed” he said fixing the blanket

“Absolutely not he’ll be sleeping with us tonight I don’t want him alone Tommy” I said, turning and slamming the door on my way out.

“cut!” Shouted out director as I opened the door walking back into the room tickling the baby’s stomach

“Great job today” I whispered in his ear as his mother walked over and I passed him along to her.

“Brilliant work today” Cillian said coming over

“Same to you, you're crushing it this season” I said as we walked off set to head to our dressing rooms.

“Hey hey amazing job guys” Paul said walking over hugging me

“Thanks Paul” I said smiling as Cillian thanked him as well as he wrapped his arm around my waist caressing my side.

As Paul talked to us my mind wandered to the scene I filmed with Cillian this afternoon. We had a sex scene together that had me feeling all types of way all day long.

Sophie comes over stealing me from the boys as I laughed.

“So how’s cil treating you?” She asked me I chuckled

“Good Soph good I’m happy” I said

It’s been a long time coming. We've been filling together for years starting with inception and then dark knight all the way to Peaky. We've flirted throughout the years but took til about a few months ago to finally make it official.

“Good I’m so happy you both are together it was killing me all season 1 watching you all flirt like teenagers” she said as we both laughed.

As we talked I felt arms wrapping around my waist and Cillian rested his head on my shoulder.

“Don’t forget we’re going to get drinks with everyone tonight” he said to Sophie

“I know, you two will be on time right?” she said, smirking, scolding us and walking away I smiled laughing as Cillian tickled my sides I turned in his arms.

“Come on darling let’s get ready” he said as we walked to his dressing room.

He opened the door as we walked in. I threw off my heels exhaling happily as he laughed behind me locking the door kissing me.

“Mr. Murphy we have to be on time” I said laughing in between our kisses.

“Just a quick one come on I was so turned on during our scene today” he said caressing my back I smirked.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I said as he smiled.

“But I want to try something, '' he said in a shy tone which surprised me.

I looked at him curious and nervously, “can we do some role play” he said

“Oh my gosh cillian yes why were you so nervous.” I said, chuckling, kissing his cheek as he laughed.

“I want us to be in our characters” he said as he kissed my neck sucking softly on just the right spot I tilted my head back moaning.

“Tommy” I moaned out as cillian let out a groan

“Amelia you're mine all mine” he said, lifting me up causing me to yelp as he brought us to the couch laying me down.

“Mr. Shelby” I said as we kissed and he lowered his hand pulling up my nightgown I was wearing.

“Mrs. Shelby you look ravishing in this nightwear wonder who bought it for you” he said as his fingers moved up and down my clothes slit I whimpered.

“My husband only buys the best,” I said as he smiled and kissed me.

His hand moved to pull my underwear to the side sliding his fingers up and down my slit brushing his knuckle against my clit every so slowly teasing me.

“Oh god” I said breathing out moving my hips trying to get more friction

He inserted two fingers in me and began to thrust slowly looking at me.

“Look at you my dear whimpering already. A soaked fucking mess and I’ve barely done anything yet” he said adding a third finger beginning to pick up the pace.

“Oh fuck” I moaned out grasping onto the back of his shirt

“You're gonna be a good girl and come for me darling gonna cum around my fingers. Come on, I feel you tightening around me. That sweet tight cunt of yours” he said making me squirm and bringing me closer to my climax

One thing about cillian is he is an amazing dirty talker one of the things I enjoy most in our sex life.

“Fuck fuck I’m so close cillian” I said as my heart beep increased till I felt empty I opened my eyes to see him sucking his finger clear of my arousal.

“Cillian” I said angry leaning up

“Seems like you forgot who you're with huh darling think of this as a punishment” he said getting up and walking backwards to the bathroom watching me.

“Cillian get back here right now” I said annoyed

He smirked, “aww you were close huh? Right on the edge you still feel it darling” he said tilting his head in a playful way.

“Well guess I’ll have to take care of myself then now Tommy” I said, shooting him a look sitting up and placing my feet on the coffee table so he can see a full view.

Taking my fingers in my hand I sucked on them getting moaning out and began to caress my folds teasing my clit like he did.

“I was just joking Stephanie let me finish you off” he said startled.

I held my hand up as I stuck my finger inside my tight pussy.

“This is your punishment, take a seat baby” I said as he lowered to his knees watching me.

I thrusted my fingers in and out of my pussy moaning out as I curled my fingers just right. I reached over to the dresser on the side pulling out a vibrator which we keep in here.

I turned it in and started to circle it around my clit, “ oh fuck” I moaned out stilling my fingers overwhelmed by the overpowering feeling.

“Let me help you darling,” Cillian said, crawling over to me pulling my hand away and inserted his three finger picking up pace as I held the vibratory firmer in my hand he reached up with his other hand clicking the vibrator increasing speed.

“Fuck cillian oh god” I moaned out whimpering as he moaned and groaned himself while thrusting his fingers.

“That’s right baby keep going I feel you tightening gonna cum for me baby god I’m so lucky come on baby cum for Me” he said curling his finger hitting just the right spot I screamed out.

“Tommy fuck” I shouted moving my clit off of me to have cillian hold it down as I practically shook from the feeling of my orgasim taking over my body.

“Oh god fuck” I whispered catching my breath as cillian chuckled turning off the vibratory placing it down moving the table off to the side lifting me up and turned us so he was sitting on the couch now and placed me on his lap

“Not done with you yet darling.” He said as he lowered his boxers and his cock sprung free standing erect with pre cum dripping off his tip.

“Baby that show turned you on huh?” I whispered smirking as I kissed behind his ear as I lifted myself as he positioned his cock lining it with my entrance he guided me down. Both of us moaning out as I feel him enter inside me.

“Fuck” we both gasped against each other’s mouths I begin to gong against him as we moaned and kissed each other.

“Amelia fuck you feel so good” he said moaning out as I began to quicken the pace.

“Tommy fuck your cock feels so good. Oh fuck” I moaned out as I bounced on top of him.

“This pussy is mine, your my property. My property only” he said kissing my ear and neck as I held onto him as he thrusted into me from underneath.

“Fuck cum inside me please Tommy please mark your property” I whispered out into his neck kissing his neck.

“Cum with me darling come here” he said moving my head off his neck resting our heads against each other.

“Ready love” he whispered I nodded as my orgasim approached

“Cum for me baby” he said as I felt him release inside me.

“Fuck” I moaned out coming Undone cumming along with him I slowed my pace as cillian grabbing my cheek holding my face as he kissed me.

I smiled into the kiss feeling his heartbeat against my chest as we both came down from our high.

“That was something” he said, chuckling, pulling away brushing my hair behind my ear.

“Mhmm” I moaned out tiredly as he laughed.

“I wore you out huh?” He said as I nodded laughing as well.

“Come on let’s get cleaned up” he said lightly smacking me but lifting us up and walking to the bathroom.

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel Vote History

Hi everyone. Just because it interests me, I wanted to make a post about the votes that happen in the proofreading story and how they’ve affected the story so far. I’ve talked about it before, but here is the sheet updated up to today. This post has what was voted on, the results, and the affect on the story the vote had. I will also post a stats page after this! :)

Starting character:

Logan

Patton

Virgil

 Chapter 1:

Alright, where should our boys run off to?

A. The castle gardens to see old Mr. Deknis, the castle gardener who is a cranky old man, but does have a soft spot for children. (+1FG)

B. The kitchens where Patton’s mom works. She’s working on getting dinner ready. (+1CIL)

C. Up towards the royal living space where they might run into the king. (+1 KW)

 Chapter 2:

How will Virgil respond to the gardener’s questions?

A. …Yes. ( FG+2)

B. Uh, I work in the kitchen, got overwhelmed and ran to hide out here. (FG+0)

C. Um…Are you stealing food from the castle garden? (FG+1)

D. *Silence* (FG+3)

 Virgil needs to go somewhere to hide for a couple more hours. Should he go to (Universe decision. Wouldn’t change in other stuff)

A. The library Logan was in earlier. (He sees Logan’s desk and book.) (Logan’s book ref)

B. The pantry by the kitchen. (We’ll probably hear Patton’s mom speak, but he won’t know who she is yet.) (+1 CIL)

C. One of the unused guest rooms. (By the small dining hall Patton and Logan ran through. You just turn the opposite way that they did.) (More about Assassination Plot)

 Chapter 3:

What type of cookie should Patton offer Virgil? Each comes with it’s own little background story.

 A. Mint chocolate chip (Patton’s favorite cookie!) (P+2, L+1)

B. Sugar cookie (Logan’s favorite cookie) (L+2, P+1)

C. Snickerdoodle (The King’s favorite cookie) (T+2, P+1)

 Chapter 4:

Which of Logan’s questions would he ask first? All of the questions are going to eventually be answered, but which one he asks first will change how Virgil responds and his initial perspective of him.

A. Why did you only have one knife? -1 for current panic levels, +0 L and P

B. What did you do to the guards? +3 for current panic levels, +4 for L and P

C. Who are you? What’s your name? +1 for current panic levels, +2 for L and P)

 Why does Thomas have to leave for 3 weeks? Each with give a different short story when he gets back from his trip. (Story decider)

A. To deal with a trading dispute between two parts of the kingdom.

B. To deal with an issue that came up about getting food supplies to soldiers for the winter.

C. To try to convince another nation not to get into an alliance with an enemy kingdom. (flavor text)

 Chapter 5:

What should Patton and Virgil talk about?

A. Feral cats (+0 panic +1 P)

B. Gardening (-1 panic +1 P)

C. Books (+1 panic +0 P)

 Chapter 6: (Extra Scene)

What path should Patton take to the kitchen? Each has him seeing different people/things.

A. The shortest path down the spiral staircase. (Overhears guards)

B. The least strenuous path past the library Logan likes and down the bigger set of stairs. (Sees the librarian)

C. The least busy path where he cuts across the garden. (Sees Princess Marisol)

 Who should be talking with Patton’s mom in the kitchen when he arrives? (Scene Modifiers)

1. A castle guard +2 Patton’s covertness, +1 intrigue (Gets away with macaroni salad.)

2. The gardener -2 Patton’s covertness +2 intrigue

3. A different kitchen worker +0 Patton’s covertness +0 intrigue (Gets mac salad but gets caught.)

 Chapter 7:

What should Logan offer Virgil to eat off his table?

A. Mint (+1 L)

B. Honeycomb (+2 L)

C. Chives (+0 L)

 Chapter 8:

Which part of the conversation between Patton and Logan should he wake up to? (Each comes with a different reaction to what is happening as well as a level of tiredness.)

A. They’re talking about how they’re going to keep him in the closet. (Medium amount of sleep, -1 panic)

B. They’re talking about how the binding potion is done. (Longest amount of sleep, +1 panic)

C. They’re talking about the food. (Shortest amount of sleep, +0 panic)

 Chapter 9:

What should the theme of Virgil’s closet end up being?

A. Cats. (+2P)

B. Flowers. (+1 V +1P)

C. Stars. (+1 L +1V)

 Chapter 10:

What are the boys going to have for dinner? (Scene modifier)

A. Chicken noodle soup- Had a discussion with one of the guards that Virgil drugged. Thinks Logan is legitimately sick so she made traditional feel better food.

B. A bunch of toast and crackers with a few different toppings- Had a discussion with Thomas’ royal advisor. Thinks Logan is probably faking because he’s tired and worried about his dad a bit but isn’t sure, so she made him something that would sit well if he was actually sick, but would also cheer him up (see jam).

C. Had a discussion with the castle librarian. Thinks Logan is likely very stressed out since he didn’t go to the library that day (a strange thing for him not to do in a day), so she made him something he really likes to make him feel better.)

 Virgil knows a little bit about constellations. Which one is his favorite. (Note: these are all fantasy ones, not ones that exist.

A. The Moribund Dragon

B. The Five Magic Makers

C. The Girl Who Sowed the Forest (flavor text)

You will get the myth behind whichever constellation is picked.

 Chapter 11:

What magic should Logan teach Virgil?

A. Hair color changing potion. (V+2)

B. Protection charm. (V+1, L+1)

C. Fire shapes. (V+1, P+1)

 Chapter 12:

What book should Patton read to Virgil? Each choice comes with a different mini story.

A. A Boy with 5 Rocks.

B. The Doll’s Cauldron

C. The Neverending Garden (flavor text)

 Chapter 13:

Shape for the pendant.

1. Heart (P+1)

2. Leaf (V+1)

3. Crescent Moon (L+1)

 Second vote: Color

4. Red

5. Orange

6. Yellow

7. Green

8. Blue

9. Purple (+1 V)

10. Black

 Third vote: Engraving

11. Spiral Sun (Emphasizes healing) (+1L +1V)

12. Flame (Emphasizes empowerment) (+2 V)

13. Interlocked hearts (Emphasizes love) (+1P +1V)

 Last vote: Decoration

11. Glitter (magically put under the surface of the pendant) (+1P)

12. A pressed rose (magically put under the surface of the pendant) (+1V)

13. Glow in the dark paint (+1L)

 Chapter 14:

I want them to be swapping stories in the next one. Who drags who with childhood stories (or at least who starts it)? (Scene modification)

1. Patton drags Logan. (flavor text)

2. Logan drags Patton

 What embarrassing story should Logan tell Virgil about in the proofreading story tonight? Vote by ask, reply, or reblog. (Scene modification)

A. Accidently pushed a foreign dignitary he had a crush on into a fountain. (flavor text)

B. When it was dark one night, he accidently put cayenne pepper instead of cinnamon in his hot chocolate, and woke up half of the castle screaming.

C. Died his entire body orange for three weeks because he got into Logan’s stuff and Logan wouldn’t fix him.

 Chapter 15:

What cat is Patton going to smuggle into Logan’s room to show Virgil? Each cat has their own personality. (Scene modification)

A. Mittens (White fluffy Ragdoll with black paws and face. Likes to curl up on people’s laps.) (flavor text)

B. Cleo (All grey, British short haired. Named after Cleopatra, thinks she owns the castle.)

C. Cinnamon (Orange Scottish Fold cat. Hobbies include causing problems on purpose.)

 Chapter 16: (Scene modification)

What potion would Logan probably be planning on teaching Virgil next?

A. A very basic healing potion.

B. Basically a find my iPhone potion that lets you connect two objects and you can find one with the other. (flavor text)

C. A cleaning potion.

 Chapter 17: (Scene modification)

please send in votes for what activity you want to see from Virgil’s perspective. All of them involve both Patton and Logan.

1. Reading lessons. +3 soft +1 cute +0 hilarity

2. Learning to make the tracking potion. +1 soft +1 cute +2 hilarity

3. Virgil gets to try different food party. +1 soft +2 cute +1 hilarity

 Which book? (Scene modification)

A. Five Dragons and a Flame

B. The End of May.

C. A Stone in the Meadow.

D. The Never-ending Garden (flavor text)

 What order are we going in? Note: Virgil is actually going to like spicy foods. He is going to like… pretty much all of the food. (Scene modification)

A. Sweet, savory, spicy (desert first!)

B. Spicy, sweet, savory

C. Savory, spicy, sweet (desert last!) (flavor text)

 Chapter 18:

Which hair accessory should we braid into Virgil’s hair?

A. Feather. (Except it wouldn’t be a comb, it’d be something that gets braided in more.) Milder angst. (+1 panic next chapter)

B. Leaves (but silver with purple accents) Peak angst. (DKS unlocked, +3) (+3 panic next chapter)

C. Stars (again with purple accents though) Moderate angst. (+0 panic next chapter)

 (What would have happened if the stars or feathers had been picked?

 All scenes would lead to Logan and Patton leaving him alone in the room and Thomas finding him. He then would always end up under the bed.

 For stars, that was Logan’s when he was younger which his dead dad gave to him. (He liked purple just like Virgil!) He would have told Virgil this and been slightly sad, but not nearly as much. Patton would have done Virgil’s hair as he is in general better at hair. (Logan did Virgil’s hair with the leaves because the piece meant a lot to him and he also had been taught to do his Pa’s hair like that when he was really little.) Logan would have left the room to find some of the things he knew matched it and Patton would have excitedly followed him to suggest a piece he was familiar with. Virgil would have still freaked out about wearing Thomas’s son’s hairpiece when he came in but not nearly as much as he was while wearing his dead husband’s. He would have still wanted it out, but wouldn’t have been quite as desperate and practically ripping his own hair out.

 For feathers, it was something Thomas wore, but nothing of any significance. Logan would not have told Virgil who it belonged to. So there would have been no sadness for Logan in the start up. Patton would have done Virgil’s hair as he is good at hair. Patton would have left the room first to find some more things and Logan would have followed him to keep him from bringing too much. Virgil would have no reason to freak out about the hairpiece other than that it was expensive and would have left it in in the aftermath.)

 Chapter 20:

So, now we can finally allow our dear assassin friend to leave Logan’s bedroom. He will eventually go to all of these places, but where should we take him on his first day of freedom?

A. The library. (KW+1, DKS+1)

B. The kitchen. (CIL+1)

C. The garden. (FG+1)

 Chapter 21:

What more active activity should they do later? Each, obviously, comes with a different activity and a different adult character interaction.

A. Introduce Virgil to horses (CIL+1 DKS+1)

B. Climbing trees. (Virgil is going to be scary good at this.) (FG+1)

C. Teach Virgil what tag is. (They will come to regret this most thoroughly.) (KW+1)

 Chapter 22: (Scene modifier)

Do you guys want

A. Mr. Deknis backstory via Logan.

B. Mr. Deknis to interrupt them and for us to actually get to see him today, but not get his backstory yet.) (flavor text)

 Chapter 23:

Time for an ominous vote. Vote for a word, and chose wisely. That word will be in the next paragraph of this fic.

A. Stop (Virgil would have managed to stop before running into Thomas.) +0 panic

B. Bump (Virgil manages to slow down, but still bumps into Thomas) +5 panic

C. Slam (Virgil slams into Thomas)+10 panic (next chapter)

 Chapter 24:

1. Try to talk to Virgil to get him to calm down. (-1panic T+2)

2. Let Logan and Patton work with him, but stick around. (+1 panic T+1)

3. Make a tactical retreat and leave Patton and Logan to handle it so his presence won’t make things worse. (-2 panic T+0)

 Chapter 25:

Virgil has three pairs of pajamas he’s been given while he’s hear. Which ones should he wear?

1. A large white shirt splattered with paint from Patton’s painting phase. (+1P)

2. A galaxy print t-shirt Logan grew out of. (+1L)

3. A giant black sweater of indiscernible origin Logan found in the back of his closet that Virgil has claimed as his own. (+1V)

 Chapter 26: (Scene modifiers)

Mr. Deknis is a snitch and immediately told Patton’s mom that Patton had befriended the mysterious child in the caste. Patton’s mom now wants to meet Virgil. Should they go

 A. Now, for breakfast. (Flavor text)

B. In the afternoon.

C. After dinner.

 Chapter 27: (Scene modifiers)

What homemade candy does Patton’s mom keep in her office?

1. Butterscotch hard candies.

2. Peppermints. (Flavor text)

3. Strawberry hard candies.

 Chapter 28:

Who would you most like to see as the perspective character for the next chapter. Note, there is going to be an Adult^TM meeting about the strange small child so the content will be mostly the same, the perspective will just be different.

A. Mr. Deknis (The gardener) (FG+1)

B. Thomas (KW+1, DKS+1)

C. Ms. Heart (Patton’s mom) (CIL+1)

 Ms. Heart is making them tea. What type of tea are they going to drink? (This has an affect on the mood of the conversation.) (Scene modifiers)

A. Earl Grey +2 Intense

B. Peach Green +1 Intense

C. Chamomile +0 Intense

 Chapter 29:

So, next chapter where do you want to see the kiddos?

1. The library (+1L, +1KW)

2. The sitting room in the royal wing (+1P, +1CL)

3. The courtyard (+1FG, +1V)

 What is the subject of the book Logan got Virgil?

X. Flowers (V+1)

Y. Animals (P+1)

Z. Food (L+1)

 Chapter 30:

What plant should Mr. Deknis be harvesting today? Virgil gets to help! (Scene modifier)

F. Pears

G. Acorn squash (flavor text)

H. Cauliflower

 Chapter 31:

None

 Chapter 32:

What do you want to see next?

A. Gardening hijinks. (FG+1)

B. Learning that fireplaces are the best hijinks. (KW+1)

C. Virgil is too good at hide and seek hijinks. (CIL+1, DKS+1)

 Chapter 33:

We’re going to be getting permission to look at the room that Virgil found pretty soon. What about this old bricked up room in the bowls of the castle are you more interested in talking about? (Scene modifier)

A. The small bookshelf it has.

B. The contents of a chest. (Flavor text)

C. The jewelry box.

 Chapter 34:

Winter activity for Logan to explain to Virgil.

A. Snowball fights (Patton story) (P+1, -1 panic)

B. Building Snowmen (Logan’s dad story) (DKS+1, -2 panic)

C. Sledding (Logan story) (L+1, +0 panic)

 Chapter 35:

Adult perspective for the next chapter:

A. Thomas perspective dealing with getting the castle ready for the winter. He’d stumble across Virgil in the midst of this. (Note the next adult chapter will be a Thomas perspective chapter if that influences your vote.) (KW+1, DKS+1)

B. Helen perspective. She gives the child hot chocolate. Not much more to say about that. His eyes probably dilatate like a cat. (CIL +1)

C. Mr. Deknis. Virgil helps him out with some garden planning stuff. There isn’t really much to do because storing is pretty much done. We get a bit of Mr. Deknis trying to very gently interrogate small child, but alas, small child simply wants to gush about hot chocolate which he was introduced to earlier in the day (and still has a cup of.) (FG +1)

 Chapter 36:

None

 Chapter 37:

I’ve got some stuff to do today, and am going to work on the proofreading story. I have a quick vote for you guys. How should Virgil distract himself.

1. Practice reading (L+1)

2. Snoop around the room a bit since he’s never been there. (DKS+2, KW+1, T+1, +3 panic)

3. Make a bracelet out of string. (P+1)

 Chapter 38:

How will Patton distract a stressed-out Virgil today?

A. Read the next part of The Neverending Garden in Logan’s room. (+NG achievement)

B. Go down to get breakfast. (CIL+1)

C. Draw. (P+1)

 Chapter 39:

A. Shoulder (Shove) (+0 panic)

B. Head (Slap) (+2 panic)

C. Cheek (Punch) (+3 panic)

 Chapter 40:

Where should Thomas go in the castle?

A. Cabinet (the type of room, not like a kitchen cabinet, basically a study in a castle) (+1 panic)

B. Dovecoat (a building where doves are housed on the castle grounds) (+2 panic since it’s outside)

C. One of the very few secret hallways Thomas knows. (-1 panic)

 Chapter 41:

Last time on the Proofreading story, Thomas managed to convince Virgil to not hide in the walls for the rest of his existence. Where would you like him to take Virgil?

A. Back to the royal wing. (+1T, +1P, +1KW)

B. Down to the kitchen. (+1T +1L, +1CIL)

C. To the library he ran away from. (+2L)

 Chapter 42:

1. Inside activities (-1 panic, +1CIL)

2. Inside activities, but not in a building connected to the castle so they have to go outside- some stress (+1 panic, +1DKS, +1KW) [unlock stable scene for Thomas’s next perspective]

3. Patton somehow convinces him to try playing in the snow- all the stress (+2 panic, +1FG)

 Chapter 43:

Any preferences on where you want to explore?

A. The main public library (the one we’ve gone to is a more private one) (+1L)

B. The guardroom (+1P)

C. The guest apartments (that are empty during this time of year) (+1V)

 What book should Logan get to read to Virgil?

A. Into the Mist (Fantasy) (Into the Mist book unlocked)

B. Thief of Crow (Adventure)

C. I Wake at Midnight (Mystery)

 Chapter 44:

Pick how much snow is coming down outside! The choice will decide how characters interact and what they do in the next chapter.

A. A very small amount of snow. Just a flurry. (+1 panic, Walking back scene)

B. A good amount of snow is coming down. A bit miserable to walk in but you’d be willing to drive in it if you needed to. (+2 panic, +1KW, Thomas gives him his coat)

C. A lot of snow is coming down. It’s starting to obstruct vision. (+3 panic, +2 KW, Thomas and Virgil stay in the stable)

 Chapter 45:

What drink should Thomas get Virgil in the breakroom? It will decide what they talk about.

a) Earl Grey tea (+2 KW, talk about Logan and Patton)

b) Hot apple cider (+2 DKS, conversation about Thomas’s husband)

c) Hot chocolate (+1 DKS +1KW, not explicit mention of Thomas’s husband)

 Should Virgil hold Thomas’s hand on the way back to the castle?

a) Yes (+1 T)  

b) No (+0 T)

c) No, until he goes outside and is scared. (+3T)

[cerberusdailynews]

[PEOPLE] Interview with an Ardat-Yakshi

By Cil M’riste, freelance storyteller xposted to Freelance News, Cerberus Daily News, The Watch, and 14 others The Ardat-Yakshi condition is one of our oldest myths. One that is largely presumed to be legend by a large portion of the galaxy’s population. The term “ardat-yakshi” appears in fantasy books, in extranet games, and even in extranet RP forums. But what is the condition, and what is the myth? Most people will never even meet those with the underpinning medical issue. But I happened to get a chance to sit down with someone with the condition, to get her thoughts on a few issues facing people like herself. I myself am not a doctor, nor any legal scholar. So any information provided by this interview can only be taken as a small view into a larger issue. They are the opinions and lived experiences of but one person living with the condition. The rest of the article will be presented in a Q/A format, with a set of final thoughts from myself. Cil (C): "Hi, Nara. It's nice to meet you! Thanks for doing this. How was the trip here?" Nara (N): "Um... nice to meet you too, Cil, my job is to pilot a freighter between here and Palaven, so I make this trip a lot. This time it was a little slower than usual. You'd think traffic jams wouldn't be a thing in three-dimensional space, but with the amount of starship traffic around the Citadel, that's not always true. But I assume you're not here to interview me about my trip. You're here to interview me because I'm an Ardat-Yakshi. Well... Ask away." C:"Oh, no. While that’s true, that it's not what we came here for, I'm not aiming to rush you. But if you'd like to get into it, certainly. Let's see…" N: "Yeah, I'd like to get the tough questions out of the way sooner, I've been stressed out about this interview for like the whole day, and once we get those out of the way it'll be a huge load off my back." C: “Well, for starters. All most of us know about Ar- about those with your condition is that they are... well, extremely controlled, to put it mildly. Most of that knowledge comes from vids and games and all manner of fictional sources, so I don't even know if that's actually part of their thing, but for the sake of asking... Have you ever had an encounter with a Justicar?" N: "I can neither confirm nor deny that, unfortunately. Damn it. Uhhhhh... some of it, but not all of it, will probably be declassified in like fifty years or something. If we're both still around then, I can answer that question. But I think this is the only question that would run into that problem, so feel free to ask anything else you want." C:"So if there's something to declassify that insinuates, at least in my view, at least a tip to the scales in the 'yes' direction. But we'll move on, for sure. Hopefully this one is a little more easily answered. Now, as I understand it, for obvious reasons you've spent your life outside of the Asari Republics entirely. What has life been like for you living away from the traditional asari space?" N: "That... is quite a broad question, you could get a whole interview out of that, if you wanted. But if you want a short answer... On Palaven, especially in the city I grew up in, there weren't very many asari. I spent my whole childhood trying to fit in with my turian neighbors, and I didn't really have other asari to interact with other than my parents. When I became an adult, I enlisted to join the Turian military, where I stayed for most of my life so far, then retired to the reserves several years ago. I ended up having to become a cabalist since I was a biotic, like almost all asari are. There was only one other asari in my cabal though, and we didn't really get along much. First deployment was to Irune, which was pretty peaceful. Also met my wife there, so it made up for having to wear an exosuit all the time. Second deployment was to Solregit, which was... not peaceful. There was a rebellion on the planet's northern hemisphere that wanted to secede from the Hierarchy, which I'm sure you've heard about before. And, of course, I helped defend Palaven during the Reaper War. If there's anything you'd like me to go into more detail about, ask away." C:"Wife? Can you explain how that happened? Were they aware of...everything?" [Nara showed me some pictures here] N:"We met through an online dating service, actually. I stated up-front in my profile that my condition made it impossible for me to meld with anyone, or... be intimate in a way that could risk me accidentally melding with them. But Jin wasn't really interested in either of those things, so we were both happy together in spite of that. I think I have some wedding photos in my omnitool I can show you. That's her. That's Jin. And that's me next to her, but it's hard to tell it's me because the suit obscures my face." C:"Awwww. Those are lovely pictures. Many of us in our maiden stage don't settle down so easily. Do you think living in a mostly turian area growing up influenced your desire to commit to someone that early? And if you don't mind another question to move us along... You seem relatively outspoken about your condition. Is there a reason you feel the need to take what most people would likely consider the risky position of putting yourself and your condition out there without secrecy?" N: "To answer your first question, I would say yes, absolutely. Most of my turian peers, those who did settle down, at least, tended to do so in their thirties. I was thirty-eight years old when I married Jin, which is a little above average for a turian but I found out later that it was like, crazy low for an asari. Your second question is kind of complicated because I have multiple reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, is that somebody needs to speak out. If any of the Ardat-Yakshi in the Republics tried to do an interview like this, they'd be killed or locked up by Justicars or by the government or an angry mob of other asari. I'm still worried sometimes that they'll try and do that to me anyway, even though I've never been to asari space, and if it's a justicar I don't stand any chance of winning a one-on-one fight with one. I have a responsibility to speak up for those who can't speak for themselves, while I still can. Secondly, I'm from the Hierarchy and Turian culture places a very very strong value on honesty. Directly lying about my condition would go against everything I stand for. Thirdly, if what I say informs people about Ardat-Yakshi, it lessens the risk of other Ardat-Yakshi accidentally or, though I'm sad to say it, intentionally injuring or killing innocent people. If even one life is saved, even if I get killed, speaking up will have been worth it. Lastly, though this isn't that important since it only affects my personal life, but I am really, really, annoyed by stereotypes about asari promiscuity and especially asari maiden promiscuity. Letting it be known that I can't sleep with anyone because it could kill them cuts down on unwanted propositioning by, like, ninety percent." C: "Thank you… Those answers definitely shed some light on why you're willing to be rather public about these things. It's a good goal, wanting less people to be hurt. The idea of informing others actually leads quite nicely into my next question. I'm fairly certain I know the answer to this one- But are there any big myths that are simply false, or incomplete information that you think people should know the truth about?" N: "Well, to start things off, basically everything in stuff like Galaxy of Fantasy is wrong. We don't have magic powers, we can't resurrect the dead, et cetera. Most of these should be fairly obviously false, so I'm not going to spend that much time on them because otherwise I'd have to spend all day ranting about stuff like that one human I met who claimed I was somehow a real-life vampire or something. I get so many vampire comparisons. It's annoying. Ardat-yakshi aren't vampires. There's like, no connection at all. Anyway, to get back on track, there's one very important myth I would like to dispel. The ardat-yakshi medical condition is actually a spectrum. The lethal variant of the condition, which I have, is very very rare, but there are other variants that aren't lethal, and are much more common. At the mildest and most common end you have people who just give their meld partners temporary headaches, though most people with this variant don't actually know that what they have is technically a variant of the ardat-yakshi disease, and the Republics don't persecute them like they do with people like me. However, they're still infertile, just like anyone else on the A-Y spectrum. Further along the spectrum, the condition gets bad enough that each meld basically gives the ardat-yakshi's meld partner a concussion, and then even further along the spectrum comes permanent brain damage from each meld, and some ardat-yakshi can even leave their partners comatose in extreme cases. Or dead." C:"Thank you for your answers. I can't imagine it's easy to talk about some of this, given the way the disorder is regarded. Now that we've discussed things that are false, what are some true things you wished other people knew about it?" N: "Well, melding is actually addictive for Ardat-Yakshi, just as the Republics and Justicars say it is. I'm not exactly sure how addictive it is, since at the time of my only meld, which was before I knew I was an Ardat-Yakshi of course, I was already trying to fight off an Aurora addiction. I'm not sure what withdrawal effects were from that and what were from the meld, but it's definitely possible to fight off the addiction. Secondly, Ardat-Yakshi serial killers, though I would like to emphasize that they are very, very rare and are in no way representative of the average A-Y sufferer, do actually exist. They normally don't get very far in the Republics proper, since an autopsy can reveal how the victims died and you can test suspects for the Ardat-Yakshi medical condition. But outside asari space, people don't know how to actually catch the serial killers because the Republics keep trying to suppress information about Ardat-Yakshi, and the serial killers can amass staggering body counts because of that. The Republics would seemingly let hundreds of innocent people die to... um... avoid making themselves look bad or something? I'm actually kind of confused as to why they don't just tell everyone the truth for once." C: "Hm. That makes sense. But what about asari colonies, or even nations with asari majority or pluralities? Surely the condition can occur in them as well? Even if the Republics are, as you say, loath to reveal the truth, surely someone out there has been doing research too? That's just a thought though, I don't actually expect you to know what groups or nations all across the Terminus might be doing." N:"As far as I know, the condition, well, the forms of the condition severe enough to be dangerous, anyway, is rare enough that research isn't prioritized, especially since A-Y is basically a pureblood exclusive disease and asari colonies outside the Republics tend to have fewer purebloods." C:"Well, I have two more questions planned, so we're really scooting along here. Thank you again for sitting down with me. Let's see... Are there any mistakes you've made in your efforts to spread awareness for this condition?" N:"Well, with the fact that so few Ardat-Yakshi are able to speak openly about their conditions, when I talk to people about this, I'm basically the only Ardat-Yakshi that most people ever know about. Since I'm their only reference point, I worry that people will take my flaws and apply them to everyone with the condition. I admit, I'm not the best figurehead. I'm a convicted criminal, albeit for something I don't want to discuss here. I'm a veteran of a, to put it mildly, controversial war on Solregit. And I don't get along with people sometimes, along with other various personality flaws. But there are Ardat-Yakshi who are better people than I am. They simply never got the chance to speak out, like I do. One more question, and then I have to get back to my ship." C:"Of course, I don't want to take up too much of your time. I only had one last one planned anyway." Well we've spoken about many aspects of the situation as-it-is. What, to you, would a more just policy look like in the Republics?" N: "To put it simply, equality under the law. No preemptive targeting of Ardat-Yakshi based on what we might do, with the monasteries as a strictly voluntary institution. Ardat-Yakshi who have knowingly hurt or murdered people should still be arrested, like any other criminal. Ardat-Yakshi who do not harm others should be treated the same as anyone else. All I ask is that you judge each of us by our own actions, not the actions of others." C:"A fine answer. One I think the vast majority of people can empathize with. I understand. You probably have a schedule to keep. But it's been a pleasure getting to know you some, Nara. I look forward to writing this up." With the interview concluded, I walked away with a few different feelings. I entered the conversation a little nervously. I had no more special knowledge of the AY condition than any other asari out there. Since I’m not a doctor I can’t speak to the accuracy of any of the medical specific claims my guest made. But I felt that her desire to make more information known was genuine. During the conversation there were certainly no feelings of threat or manipulation that I picked up on. And I sympathize greatly with the idea of wanting to be treated the same as everyone else. It was a very interesting conversation; and one that opens a window into a phenomena that is very rarely covered in anything but fiction. I hope you enjoyed the small look into the world of Ardat-Yakshi as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you.