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#i am basing my self worth around this person
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i love character customization sooo much but i hate playing most video games sooo much. the only games i actually see any kind of purpose in playing are competitive/rhythm type games that score you like tetris or rock band.
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ame-perduexx · 1 year
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Astrology Observations🦋
*as always* take what you want, leave what you want
*based only on my personal experiences with people with these placements*
🧚🏻cancer venus: if you've ever felt love from a cancer venus then i hope you know how special it can be. does it feel like love-bombing at times? sure. But i find it beautiful how unabashedly they throw themselves into someone they like. can it be suffocating to someone who isn't fully ready to commit? sure. but its impossible not to root for them.
🧚🏻taurus venus: wonderful, incredible, sensational style sense. thrift shop royalty. impeccable taste. can look good in anything - simply because it looks like a carefully curated outfit when in reality it took them probably 5 mins to throw together.
🧚🏻gemini venus: attracted to people who show them endless fascination. enjoys playing questions games to get to know people. knowing someones favorite color or season may seem pointless but they genuinely find a person's answers interesting.
🧚🏻as a fixed sign .... i have found i clash the most with cardinal signs. they infuriate me to no end. I enjoy the dynamic nature of mutable signs more.
🧚🏻Leo sun/moon: listen....even when you meet one and they tell you: "i'm like the most un-leo, leo ever! I hate being the center of attention!" they are LYING. either to you or themselves or both. i understand why taurus get the bad rep for being stubborn but leo's are stubborn in the way they believe they fully are the best person in the room at all times....which in a way i am almost envious of them? they have a kind of self-love that is unflinching.
🧚🏻virgo suns: make extremely well bosses. are very diplomatic and fair in how each worker is treated and never takes anything personal.
🧚🏻Sagittarius suns: for some reason.... the ones i have met and been around (ones who all identify as women) present themselves as extremely proper and pious in social settings. they love to be seen as the most put together one - especially in work-place. quiet in work environment ... but will talk your ear to death if you're sitting next to them at a dinner party
🧚🏻*trigger warning for SA* 🧚🏻scorpio placements. particularly sun,moon and mars. experience deep sexual trauma. over and over and over again in their life. started at an early age. continues to be taken advantage of throughout their lives. easy for them to associate self-worth with being sexually desired in a negative way. doesn't trust a person if they seem innocent at first, it always turns into some form of a violation.
🧚🏻gemini placements: listen to more lofi style music or instrumental. music without lyrics.
🧚🏻gemini moons: i know i've said this before in a post, and its a common understanding with gemini placements, but they genuinely are extremely talented with foreign languages. learn them quickly. hear them spoken for a while and can pick it up naturally.
🧚🏻moon opposite saturn: i'm so sorry. i know how hard it is. the depression, the anxiety, the constant self-doubt. you are truly your own worst enemy. i'm sending every person with this placement all my love.
🧚🏻libra sun & moon: have i ever truly had a deep convo with these placements? no. do i still love their company? yes. but it tends to feel surface level with them. they are not talented in expressing their thoughts in a spoken or written way without it sounding....childish. maybe its just me .... either way they would still be the first person I invite to my party. they make me laugh. maybe it's their childish naive view of the world i love. maybe I wish i could see it that way.
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thebibliosphere · 2 years
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Something I've been recommending a lot to my fellow MCAS + POTS-sufferers at the moment, has been investing in a soup blender.
Apart from beta blockers, the primary treatment for POTS is increasing salt and water. A really good way of combining both and upping your nutritional value is by drinking things like bone broth or veggie stock.
But if you're like me with a ton of allergies (so you can't buy anything premade🙃) and bone broth raises your histamine, then you're left with the energy sapping task of making your own.
And I don't know about any of you, but when my nervous system is throwing a wobbler, the last thing I am capable of doing is standing up for long periods at a time over a hot stove.
Some people get around this by using a slow cooker, which is great if you can. I personally can't because slow cooking raises the histamine content of food (especially meat) and also, the clue is in the name, it's a slow cooker and sometimes my POTSie, ADHD butt needs food now-ish or as soon as possible and not 8 hours later. Instapots can be good, but they take up a lot of counter space and also I don't know if you've ever tried to release a pressure cooker valve when you can barely stand, but I genuinely think that's the closest I've come to dying and I've experienced both megaloblastic and hemalytic anemia.
Which is why we got a soup blender. They take up less space, are generally easier to clean, and also easier for me, at least, to use. All you need to do is roughly chop your ingredients up, dump them in the jug, add seasoning, fill the jug with water, hit the soup function and then sit your ass down for the next 20 minutes while this magical fucking thing both cooks and blends you some liquidy goodness.
I will say, don't invest in the instapot one. It's not worth the price point, and the motor burned out on mine after about six months. It was also a pain in the ass to clean. (The self clean was more of a "swish water around for 30 seconds" function and I can't tell you how many times I hurt myself trying to get gunk off the bottom.)
The one I currently have is a Ninja HB152 Foodi Heat-iQ Blender, which was a little more expensive, but in my opinion, far superior and better made. It's faster, makes either chunky or smooth soup, really good consistency dips, ice cream and smoothies. I've also used it to make alternative milks like oat milk and it didn't jam the blades.
It also has a great cleaning system that actually takes a full 6 minutes to run and really gets any residue off the base, and it also alerts you to things like the jug or lid not being secure, which is great when I'm brain-fogged and try to blend things without the lid on.
Anyway, this post brought to you not by Ninja but by @mothman-etd making me some leek and potato soup laden with enough salt to make this POTS episode manageable.
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Just throwing the info out there. Hope it helps someone.
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the-clumsywitchtarot · 2 months
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In What Area of Your life are You Manifesting Unexpected Abundance? Pick-an-Image Reading
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Cards
Ace of Swords
6 of Cups
Knight of Wands
The Star (Reversed)
I feel like this is a pile that overthinks things, very much a what's going to happen next type of person regardless of whether things are going good or bad for you. I see an abundance of clarity and mental rest coming for you, I feel like you will finally come to a place in your life where you'll just kind of be like whatever happens happens. I know that I am taken care of regardless. I also see that you may be receiving financial abundance that will not just benefit you but also the people around you. But it isn't necessarily the money you will be giving to those around you but rather the gift of you being free (or mostly free) of financial woes. You'll be able to be a better person in your relationships because of it. Lastly, with the star in reverse, I feel like you will be given an abundance of energy to deal with things you may not have healed from your past that you once put down. Because they were too overwhelming but you are now ready to deal with them again.
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Cards
4 of Swords
8 of Cups (Reversed)
The Hanged Man
Queen of Pentacles
I feel like this pile is really stepping into their feminine energy, you're learning that you don't always have to work for what you want. And that sometimes you can simply set an intention and let what you desire come to you. Even though the 8 of cups can often be representative of someone not walking away from a toxic situation, for you I think this card is actually representative of you sticking to something and standing your ground. When you would usually just walk away as if you don't deserve to take up space. So for this pile I feel like you are drawing in an abundance of feminine energy and a hefty sense of self worth.
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Cards
7 of Pentacles
9 of Cups
The Moon (Reversed)
Queen of Wands
Firstly, I see that this pile has been working hard at something, for some it has been actual work, like working to improve your career. And for others I see that you've been working on improving yourself, either way I can see things all working out at once. You may have been thinking that you were making no progress then all of a sudden, out of the blue you might be offered a promotion. Or the sting from a heartbreak you've suffered will suddenly start to feel less painful. With the moon in reverse any illusions that were once present will start to fall away as well. In short you will receive an abundance of fulfillment for all of the work you've put in over the years.
Please let me know if your reading resonated and always remember not to make a decision based on a reading unless it's one you feel completely comfortable with. Thank you for visiting my tarot page!
All the best to you,
- Erika, The Clumsy Witch
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hinamie · 27 days
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i normally don’t contribute much of my opinions on chapter content n themes bc a. i think my role in fandom spaces is that of a fanartist and I want to keep my art at the forefront, and b. I am Insecure about how little of the manga I have actually consumed and don’t think I have a solid foundation on which i can offer any coherent arguments or insight. generally I like to leave the long meta 2 people who have been genuinely invested in delving into the manga with the intent of analyzing it . y'all do gods work u are the reason i am not flying through this series completely blind
that being said, i am not here to give criticism on pacing or story cohesion bc quite simply, that is not my wheelhouse. i do, however, want to offer my 2 cents on the concept of choosing to live for others as someone who (like a lot of people is the vibe i’m getting) also struggles w depression and self-worth issues and sees aspects of themselves in megumi as a result. i want to reiterate tht this is not an analysis, these r just my gojo voice personal feelings n u r allowed 2 feel differently based on your own experience :)
let me just say first of all that I can 100% empathize with people wanting to see megumi choose to live fr himself after a lifetime spent in a system notorious fr stripping people of their agency and turning them into tools. i think in a perfect world he Does come to the realization that he’s worth living for. but i also think that him /not/ having crossed that bridge yet is also a very valid n realistic outcome. he's a kid, he's just had the worst experience of his life, he's traumatized and then some -- i only have a bachelor's in psychology and god knows i'm no doctor but personally i wouldn't call that a mental space where self-love is likely to stick
it’s hard to claw yourself out from rock bottom. to expect someone to immediately be able to make the transition from being in the worst mental state of their life to realizing that they are worthy as a person is a tall order that i honestly don't think many people wld b able to fulfil. /I/ certainly haven’t been, and living for others has honestly been what’s kept me going for a long fucking time. even when I’m not necessarily at a low point, I still rly struggle w liking myself n thinking i’m a good person, but what’s been a genuine lifeline fr me when i can't love myself is to direct that love Outwards. If nothing else I know that I have things I can create, and things I can offer others. I've spent countless hours forcing myself to acknowledge that, no matter how much i don’t believe them, if the people around me insist that they see something of value in me or in my work; something tht makes them love me Despite, then that alone is worth staying alive for.
i personally (although i can see how others wld disagree) don’t view the 'living for others' frame of mind as waiting for someone to save you, but rather as holding out hope that there is More out there than your own self-loathing will let you believe. For megumi, it wld seem that his something more was the people he cares about. Yuuji gave him the agency to choose whether or not to keep living, and megumi made that decision of his own accord, which fr someone at their absolute lowest is still a huge achievement! there was agency in that decision, there was selfishness--regardless of the underlying motivation it proved that he /wants/ to live. little side note but i think that megumi Making a selfish decision to live for others' sake should also give a bit of hope that he does have it in him to eventually be able to b equally selfish in the value he places on himself.
anyway that's what i got source: i'm depressed . n look i get that with so little of jjk left, it Is frustrating that we probably Won't see megumi come to the conclusion that he's worthy and that he should live for and love himself. but at the same time i don't think that his decision to keep living for others should b condemned either, bc as someone who has also yet to cross that bridge, sometimes that rly is the first step
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crash-and-cure · 1 year
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Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley. 
A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted ​ for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting  after 30K (don’t judge me)
Then 
There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would. 
These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior. 
Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.
It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances. 
I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable. 
But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore. 
And to think this is all over some musician.
She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion. 
As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen. 
He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking. 
While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot. 
And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind. 
Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way. 
But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process. 
Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.
All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally. 
She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him. 
So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit. 
She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.” 
He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks. 
“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for. 
“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name. 
“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back. 
“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents. 
She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”
He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her. 
It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past. 
Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be. 
“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.” 
“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.
“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”
“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script. 
That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.
Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.
So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again. 
She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is. 
“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.
“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her. 
“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is. 
“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.
“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.” 
“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back. 
“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.” 
“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?” 
“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”
The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town. 
“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.
Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it. 
But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this. 
“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”
“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it. 
“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.” 
Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob. 
Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with. 
Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged. 
“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.
“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.
“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive. 
“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.  
Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately. 
Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought. 
“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.” 
“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended. 
“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer. 
Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole. 
“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”
He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”
She is not buying it though.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this. 
It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”
“Why?” she asks, not really thinking. 
“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”
She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.” 
He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile. 
“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”
He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely. 
Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two. 
“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.” 
“I-I don’t follow.” 
“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.” 
“Sweetheart everybody sees me.” 
“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”
“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.
“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,” 
“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”
“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”
“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”
“So how long you been in the business?”
Without missing a beat. “50 years.”
He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”
He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?
“Never.”
He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm. 
After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on. 
“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her. 
“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”
“And Toni’s husband?” 
“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head. 
“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks. 
“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.” 
“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence. 
She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up. 
“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover. 
“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.
1, 
“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone. 
“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?” 
2. 
“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen. 
“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”
That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same. 
But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster. 
“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it. 
The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx. 
How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.
How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay. 
How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena. 
She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”
Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage. 
Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control. 
In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away. 
She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife. 
Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now. 
Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur. 
“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation. 
“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”
“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”
“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…” 
“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”
Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas. 
“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”
“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.
Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day. 
They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible. 
She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day. 
There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady. 
Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day. 
They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.  
Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe. 
In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.  
“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”
For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers. 
And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day. 
So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go. 
The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset. 
Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.
“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve met my mother.” 
Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.  
Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.” 
It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing. 
The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter. 
Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them. 
Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been. 
What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune. 
No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters. 
Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about. 
One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters. 
Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.
It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another. 
For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.
By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her. 
“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.
“Actually she’s going with me.” 
“And you’re going to wear that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.
Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?” 
“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.” 
A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister. 
“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”
Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?
That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister. 
It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons. 
He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.  
Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.  
Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road. 
It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane. 
She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.
Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences. 
“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”
Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.
It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.
Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.
“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”
“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”
“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback. 
That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her. 
It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.
It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor. 
But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door. 
Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers. 
Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette. 
He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before. 
She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible. 
They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had. 
She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all. 
They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things. 
That was the way she learned that her sister was dead. 
She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.
It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her? 
As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon. 
She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears. 
She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.
Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun. 
But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself. 
In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place. 
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger. 
Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime. 
He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.
She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world.  The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena. 
“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”
“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing. 
“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her. 
“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.” 
“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.
“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at 
It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?
“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”
Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears. 
It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative. 
She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent. 
But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace. 
Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.
The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.
At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her? 
“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”
Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”
“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep. 
The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain. 
This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.
This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras. 
It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others. 
When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable. 
She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.
It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous. 
Sorry for your loss
It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words. 
It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone… 
Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time. 
What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.
She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.
She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two. 
She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.
Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA. 
But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive. 
And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.
It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her. 
Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her. 
Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister. 
Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone. 
As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.
Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child. 
I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican. 
She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.
Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head. 
She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon. 
As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way. 
What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.  
It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.
Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera. 
She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her. 
Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed. 
And she decides neither will her baby. 
She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more. 
Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.
Now
Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.
But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long. 
Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did. 
Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did. 
Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.
“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him. 
It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting. 
Three black women huh?
That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to. 
It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed. 
Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react. 
It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react. 
“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes. 
They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her. 
He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading? 
If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise. 
He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.
She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in. 
He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would. 
He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces. 
His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her. 
The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project. 
The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years. 
He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go. 
But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.
He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood. 
In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.
He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching. 
If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him. 
He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.
Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers. 
He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side. 
He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life. 
But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit. 
Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21
It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.  
The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You. 
He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd. 
He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this. 
In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon. 
But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.
He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted. 
He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come. 
It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress,  bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel. 
“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually. 
He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss. 
“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back. 
He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”
Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”
Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath. 
She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.” 
“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig. 
“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose. 
“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.
“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.” 
He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”
“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?” 
She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories. 
“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.  
“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below. 
Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him. 
It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you. 
Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head. 
“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama. 
Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. 
He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around. 
“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth. 
“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…” 
She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth. 
“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption. 
“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”
It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life. 
“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.” 
“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.
“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.
“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that. 
“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.” 
“Really?” 
“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”
Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand. 
But there’s one part that eats at him still.
“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point. 
That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”
Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”
She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set. 
She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse. 
Not if Elvis had any say about that.
He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.  
“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.” 
The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask. 
But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.
It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms. 
Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long. 
They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this. 
They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her. 
He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and 
The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.
But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself. 
“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened. 
That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from. 
But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?
So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”
Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.
And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was. 
He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there. 
He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together. 
But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go. 
It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.
Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP… 
His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign. 
But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth. 
The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out. 
It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something. 
He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out. 
But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here. 
But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.
Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way. 
It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.  
But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.
As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t  in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name. 
It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.
At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset. 
When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.
It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment. 
Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards. 
“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation. 
“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him. 
He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp. 
He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.
But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter. 
He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.
Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.
His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.
He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself. 
But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever. 
Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?
After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration. 
There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.
The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point. 
All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?
But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.
It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence. 
Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine. 
This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her. 
But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him. 
His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it. 
He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to. 
But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article. 
He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this. 
It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of. 
Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country. 
Really he just wants to lay down. 
Sometimes forever. 
In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again. 
At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.
He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one. 
So he’s not about to let her go so easily.
Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.  
He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open. 
“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”
So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be. 
She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down. 
“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.
He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what 
“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”
“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”  
“Wh-what?”
“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words. 
“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”
She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.” 
“But… I’m not…”
She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”
“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words. 
“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”
She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.
He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.
He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him. 
This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.
When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily. 
But she’s not one to be swayed so easily. 
Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office. 
Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.
Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach. 
Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.
It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass. 
He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday. 
He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted. 
He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers. 
She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did. 
Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.
Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her. 
And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer. 
Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.
Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.
It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. 
He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet. 
The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.
Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb. 
It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek. 
“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek. 
The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it. 
In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him. 
Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.
“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms. 
“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?” 
“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp. 
Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.
“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.” 
He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.
“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”
“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.
He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.
That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission. 
He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away. 
He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door. 
“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”
She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it. 
“Why would I want them to be yours?” 
A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention. 
She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.
He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her. 
When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight. 
He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip. 
What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.
She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.
“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits. 
“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement. 
“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her. 
“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.” 
He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest. 
But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.
“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”
It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment. 
“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break. 
She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”
If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer. 
As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why. 
“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.” 
She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose. 
He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.
She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go. 
Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up. 
“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh. 
“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers. 
She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat. 
Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day. 
If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her. 
He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.
His baby.
He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act. 
With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone. 
Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.
He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him. 
This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back. 
But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living. 
Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms. 
Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby. 
On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day. 
It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it. 
As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer. 
A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk? 
Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms. 
In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it. 
Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?
What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?
Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.
But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi. 
But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.
So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story. 
How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set. 
Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department. 
“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck. 
He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out. 
“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment. 
 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her. 
He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”
“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”
Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”
“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”
He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them?  How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up? 
“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”
He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.
“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.” 
She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is. 
Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door. 
He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?
“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…” 
“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are. 
“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.” 
Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.
“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”
And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror. 
He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.
He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.
“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers. 
And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.
She’s right, this isn’t a movie.
So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back. 
He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light. 
If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one. 
What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image. 
It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.
No.
She’s not gonna deny him this. 
Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together. 
He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house. 
He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters. 
Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one. 
That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it. 
Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.
Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life. 
The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town. 
Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.
That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.
Alejandro and Mireya.
Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them. 
By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.
But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies. 
Everything except for a father. 
Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.
So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head. 
How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.
How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch. 
How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure. 
How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.
How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies. 
If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.
Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way. 
After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day. 
His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements. 
“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”
As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.
So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”
Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man. 
“And what they been sayin’?” 
“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”
As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out. 
“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.
“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 
“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.  
He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave. 
“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”
The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate. 
He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together. 
Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table. 
Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.
“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”
The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.
“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”
“...what other things?”
“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”
The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.
“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production. 
“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command. 
Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground. 
“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.” 
It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made. 
Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat. 
“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”
The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him. 
The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically. 
“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg. 
Elvis does not acknowledge this. 
Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with. 
“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them. 
With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now. 
Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father. 
Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.
And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.
It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.  
Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.
But how can he just let her go? 
Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.
So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works. 
She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department. 
It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner. 
So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA. 
Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.
The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.  
“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly. 
“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here. 
“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”
This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that. 
“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.
She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”
“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.
“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.
“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.” 
The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to. 
“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it. 
“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer. 
“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.” 
She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…” 
He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come. 
The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for. 
But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them. 
They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him,  Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot. 
The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there. 
“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.
Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys. 
So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.
This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.
Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is. 
Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama. 
In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment. 
It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.
He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him. 
The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them? 
“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused. 
“Let’s get goin’ already.” 
The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.  
Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two. 
Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.
“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”
Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with. 
Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image. 
Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces. 
His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.
He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two. 
Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand. 
Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him. 
He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first. 
He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back. 
After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore. 
The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink. 
This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.
And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this. 
The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.
Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars. 
“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.
In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs. 
The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there. 
The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.
They call your daddy Big Boots
And Big Boots is his name
It takes a big man to wear big boots
That's your daddy's claim to fame
It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore. 
Gonna tell you a little secret
You won't believe it's true
Did you know your daddy, Big Boots
Once wore little boots like you
Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio. 
But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…” 
His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”
Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest. 
Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp. 
Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.  
One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon. 
Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice. 
He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her. 
She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her. 
She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.
“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”
“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”
He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”
This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas. 
“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.” 
He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”
Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”
“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”
This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put. 
“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”
“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”
She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”
The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes. 
Good.
After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father. 
“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”
He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away. 
“The world the studio pays for.” 
She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”
He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.
“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.
“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.
“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”
“I would neve-”
“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”
Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know. 
All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time. 
He needs them in his life.
He needs her in his life. 
“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.” 
Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. 
But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense. 
And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them. 
He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.
He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today. 
“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him. 
He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in. 
The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear. 
He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he 
“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her. 
Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.
But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass. 
“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…” 
He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.
“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.” 
He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night. 
Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.
So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through. 
Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future. 
That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him. 
He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy. 
He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this. 
He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her. 
Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.  
Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland. 
“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible. 
He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again. 
Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time. 
Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.
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daremna · 2 years
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NOTE: Do not take any of this personally, I am not a professional astrologer. I'm also mostly refering to the underdeveloped/immature versions of these placements. If the shoe fits, slay Cinderella, if not, congrats this isn't about you. PS I do not support misogyny!! Most mean girl archetypes are rooted in patriarchal views and villanising femininity, I'm just using these characters for fun and to base some of my observations on.
Aries placements Including 1h and mars. Known as the 'baby' of the zodiac, ruling the head, aries placents can often have an inflated sense of self, petty and childish tendencies. Because they are ruled by mars, they tend to be very easy to anger, argumentative and driven.
1h/aries mercury are straight to the point and will tell you what they really think without sparing your emotions. Will press your buttons just to rile you up and get a reaction out of you.
1h lilith + chiron placements can have have an unstable/toxic relationship with women and be extremely competitive with them. Can receive a lot of unwarranted negativity and jealousy from other women which in turn will make the native see other women as untrustworthy. (I have lilith in the 1h and I've noticed I tend to rub a lot of women the wrong way. My entire school experience was getting bullied and targeted by MULTIPLE women. I've also had to work through a LOT of internalised misogyny).
1h lilith + pluto will have an intense and heavy energy around them whether they like it or not. Command attention in every room. People will fear or respect you, most likely both. They crave power and don't care if they step on anyone along the way. Will get what they want, or else...
Leo placements including 5 house and sun. The stereotypical 'qeen b' sign. Can often struggle with extreme self esteem & self worth issues. When not worked on, they will project their feelings onto other people to regain a sense of power and control.
Narcissistic to overcompensate for what they think they lack in. Similar to Regina George, they will keep people around that they look down on to always feel on top and like theyre the star/ main character at all times. "She's the queen bee - the star, those other two are just her little workers."
They are ruled by the sun, so they feel like the centre of everyone's universe is their rightful place, they can't help it🤷. (Yes, I'm a leo, and what about it?)
Leo risings can have the typical 'mean girl' look. Attitude, confidence, great outfits and big/poofy hair. "That's why her hair is so big, it's full of secrets." Big Shelby Cummings energy.
When paired with aquarius placements, they can have an even more inflated ego. Theyre the two signs with the biggest god complex.
Virgo placements including 6h. The 'know-it-all' of the zodiac. Can come off as pedantic. Trying to outsmart anyone. Big emphasis on virgo mars and mercury.
When paired with leo placements, they can be self-righteous and very judgemental. "I'm just better than everyone" energy.
Scorpio placements can be as fierce as aries placements, as they are both ruled by mars in traditional astrology, but they will mostly keep it bottled up/hidden to maintain their mysteriousness.
Sun-pluto aspects can make an assertive and driven individual.
Scorpio/1h mercury: "So you agree, you think you're really pretty" energy. Calculating and manipulative. Will play mind games with you. Watching your every move. "Gretchen Wieners knows everybody's business, she knows everything about everyone." Like a cat playing with it's mouse.
Can come off as cold and rude at first regardless of their character (especially scorpio rising). But that's just their rbf. Unless you actually give them a reason to dislike you, then all hell freezes over.
Scorpio mars will become vindictive and spiteful. They hold onto grudges like no other. When vengefuly, they play the long game. WILL remember that time you made fun of their outfit when bumping into you 20 years later. Selective memory🙄.
Gemini placements including 3h and mercury. Stereotypically fake and two-faced. A social chameleon. Extremely charming and persuasive. Can have a tendency to lie and gossip like no other, they love the mental stimulation it gives them. They are ruled by mercury, the planet of communication after all.
Mars/Mercury in gemini or in the 3h love to argue for fun. Will start a verbal altercation just for the hell of it, if they're feeling particularly bored. Gemini-mercury placements will come up with the most creative insults lmao. "You put the "suck" in "liposuction" You put the "ooo" in "jiu-jitsu" You put the "ism" in "This is all just a defense mechanism". Truly a poet, they have a way with words.
Not easy to anger. Like they'll fight you but they don't actually care unless you really got to them. The type to make fun of you if you're really angry and riled up.
If paired with scorpio placements, girl........ They can really be scary is all I'm gonna say (and i hate to stroke people's ego's so this should say a lot).
Libra placements including 7h and venus. Ruled by venus the planet of love, and represented by the scales but don't let that fool you. When underdeveloped they can be highly superficial, shallow and fake. Love to gossip.
Libra rising look innocent and sweet, borderline angelic untill you past it and the mirage slips away~ Remember, biblically accurate angels are scary as hell. Can have the typical 'mean girl' aesthetic, very pink and feminine.
Libra mercury/ venus can be a sweet talker, very charming and persuasive.
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Heavy moon aspects especially harsh moon-pluto and moon-mars. The 'mommy issues' placements (I'm sorry. Me too tho). Can become manipulative, fake, cold and detached. Can see women as the enemy and fail to make connections with them due to the maternal trauma they experienced. Have a hard time trusting other women.
Capricorn/10h placements can be dedicated and power hungry. Their workaholic tendencies, if mixed with more vindictive placements or character traits can make the person very ruthless. Goal oriented, focused on the bigger picture. Gets shit done, it's not their fault you were in their way. Big Blair Waldorf vibes! “Destiny is for losers. It’s just a stupid excuse to wait for things to happen instead of making them happen.”
“If you really want something, you don’t stop for anyone or anything until you get it.”
Yh you get my point.
Sagittarius placements are known to be brutally honest. Born without a filter, trust them to tell you the truth. Can come off as rude but usually without malicious intent. "What? I'm just being honest." Truth hurts sometimes.
Mercury-mars and mercury-pluto aspects (heavy on the mercury-mars) know exactly what to say to hurt someone. They can say some awful things in the heat of the moment and regret them afterwards. Their comments can really stick with you, they'll go right for the jugular with no hesitation.
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*Remember, these are just for fun, based on my own research and observations. I'm not a professional, I don't know shit. There's no such thing as an evil sign, all placements have a dark side. It all depends on you and how you deal with your issues. I have like, a lot of these placements so I'm not targeting anyone*
~Jules💖
© 2023 Daremna All Rights Reserved
Edit: To the one's reposting this on tiktok with no credit, it's pathetic babes, stop. If you're that interested in astrology try coming up with your own takes🥰💋
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micahulrichdraws · 26 days
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I don't think self-deprecation or concern for the person's well-being is ever going to come across well to someone saying they like what you do. Maybe I'm missing something, but there are reasons to like your art besides being miserable. Even if only the truly miserable liked your work, responding to them by pointing out how miserable they must be wouldn't feel great for them. Your art isn't giving them depression, and it's not like you're contributing to net suffering by making art with ~themes~, so it seems unnecessary to bring up. You suggested that if you struggle to enjoy life, and you make something, anyone who resonates will also struggle to enjoy life. I disagree. Some people will like it for completely shallow reasons. Some people have empathy for others' suffering. You can have a decent life and no mental illness and probably still appreciate a well-drawn skeleton. I don't know what kind of art a perfect world would produce, but any world where people are mortal is going to have sadness, and some art will reflect that. Yours isn't uniquely dark.
Sorry if you've gotten 100 asks saying this same thing. I wasn't sure based on the ones you responded to, and I just found your blog. I know it's sort of a joke, bc you do still sell art prints and stuff, so you clearly are okay with people liking your art. Tbh, I /had/ depression for a few years, so I'm not exactly proof against the theory that your art somolehow only appeals to depressed people. It seems unlikely, though. And the way you talk about your art as "garbage" kind of gave me flashbacks to the sort of self-deprecating humor I'd use when I hated myself. I don't know you or how you're doing, but that feeling made me want to say something.
You didn't just miss something, you missed like, everything I've ever said on my blog about like, everything to the point I'm not even sure this was intended for me? Like I'd break it down, point by point and be like 'no what are you smoking' but that'd be a waste of time after the 'why do you think my art gives people depression!?' part of whatever this is. Like, this is offensive levels of trying to make me be someone I'm not for the sake of a hypothetical argument against a strawman. So if, you want to take offense to who I am in case you misclick and end up here again here's an asshole enough of a response to give you a legitimate reason to find me intolerable:
Welcome to my page! I make art, jokes, and bullshit with folks to make people happy. I started doing this when I was big sad, because cheering people up cheers me up. Now, here's the crazy part: some people are very sad, and sometimes they tell me it makes them a small amount of happy, which gives me dopamine and makes me do it again. The word 'some' means 'not everyone', or even 'a fraction of a percentage'. For example, in this case, it means 'most people just like my drawings but some people get an extra lil bit out of it'. I don't take myself seriously because I know that the art world is insanely intimidating to those outside of it, and sometimes artists tend to be egotistical and condescending, a word that means 'having or showing a feeling of patronizing superiority'. Naturally, I do everything in my power to avoid that, because I'm a very 'gates open' kinda person.
So, here's the WILD part: in my perfect world I would've never had depression. Now, I know, that would have been inconvenient for you as someone who passed by my page one time, and I do apologize. I also apologize that I don't make 'dark art', because I like frogs and mice doing cool shit. Finally, I apologize for my art having -~*themes and concepts*~-, I know good art only comes from ChatGPT and that was my bad.
Sike, I didn't apologize, my fingers were crossed behind my back when I said that. Fuck you for thinking me not wanting to be around for a decade is 'worth' because I drew a mediocre skeleton, and because somehow sadness is necessary. That line of thinking is so awful, here's a video explaining it:
youtube
PS: the reason my friends and I in these parts call my art 'art garbage' is because that's what my professors called it back in school for like 4 years, back when I started this shitshow. Much love.
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netherworldpost · 3 months
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Hey so weird question, but I saw your comments on the isikai comic and I needed to ask–
You have mythology clients? How does that work? What do you do? Most importantly, how can I get into your field as soon as humanly possible?
Mythology is a very deep passion of mine (thanks rick riordan) and I would genuinely adore the chance to work in a field that allowed me to really dig into that world :')
It’s the essence of every movie and/or every person you have ever heard say “I know a guy” (or in my case, “a them”)
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I was a graphic designer from The Days When the Web Was Young (in terms of popular usage, not actual existence). The days when everyone was self taught because everything was so goddamn new.
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As a person, I gravitated to role play discussions and whatnots. As time went on and people arched up their careers and I… arched up into art and being acutely interested in the nuances of the world, things started weaving together:
You are a writer and you want someone to hand you a folio about what magic potions taste like, you contact me. I say “based on your world building, healing potions taste like THIS and mana potions taste like THAT.”
You have a tabletop rpg with your friends and you want help figuring out why you would own Dragonlance’s Lord Soth’s helmet, I craft backstory options with you and your DM
You have a special interest in mermaids and want to know how they would build homes, so I build a series of thoughts…
…etc.
It’s not the sort of thing you can browse a directory for (or it didn’t used to be, the modern internet and social media has opened options up considerably. To be clear, I think it is a good thing it is more open)
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I built up this practice slowly, over many years, largely around a very small group of clients.
The work is specialized (read: expensive) because I typically draw it up so you own it, unless it’s a bespoke fan piece (Soth’s helmet — you own the lore, but not Soth, so if you want to adapt it into something you totally own… let me grab my Make New Invoice pad).
From above, if I say “your world YaddaYadda has YaddaYaddaYadda berries and they make healing potions, they taste like…” you would own that. You can put it in a book or a movie or adapt it or put it on a soda pop can in the real world, whatever you like. Forever.
I am a ghost writer for this world detail so you can focus on the questionably important things like “plot” and “spell check” and “grammar.”
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It’s ghost writing and ghost research (sometimes on actual ghosts), structured in a way that you have a private, personal archive to point to as a “historical record” (in quotes because the place, events, and people are strictly fictional).
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Now is the part I hope to be helpful
You have two basic options. This is the basic option set of every business doing everything so you are in good company!
You can SPECIALIZE or you can GENERALIZE.
I specialize. I have a small number of clients and the projects take years to flesh out and convolute. I very, very rarely take on new clients — partially because I am at a place in my career I don’t want to, partially because we have to click clock clack together personally (this is an art project that you own and…), partially given the necessity of privacy, I can’t show anyone outside the group, so portfolio building is…
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…difficult.
Specializing is great because per-project it pays a lot better, but it’s extremely difficult to get a project. Balancing, if a project isn’t large, I won’t take it.
If you go this approach and someone wants more on a magic berry, you need to make it worth your while.
How is the berry grown?
What does it taste like?
What is the life cycle of the plant that grew it?
What local lore surrounds this plant? What can the berry make?
Who discovered these uses?
A hundred other steps
It’s not “healing potions are cherry flavored and mana potions are blueberry flavored.” It’s a mini (sometimes not mini) textbook on one specific thing. That doesn’t exist!
Or you can GENERALIZE.
This has popped up a lot over the last few years, it’s great and I love it. This is adapting or building new mechanics for existing games. Create lore, artwork, mechanics, whatever you are good at.
Modules!
The downside is it is less profitable per unit — say you make $1-2 per PDF download, so you have to sell a lot of them to make a living.
The benefit is it’s a lot more accessible — it’s easier for someone to say “I shall pay $2 for this PDF” than “i will deal with this questionably unhinged often ranting weirdo and their humorous but sarcastic producer on a monthly basis for 4+ years.”
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Generalizing is “healing potion taste like cherry, mana potions taste like blueberry”
Specializing is making actual real world cocktails so you can have a dinner party to LARP one weekend with bottle labels and lore about the berries and the brewer and the field the berries grew in and and and and and
How to get started
Specializing… you basically fall into it, job by job, person by person, you shift and mold and break and build your office brick by brick.
You get good at figuring how to make your money make money because sometimes things are going well and you’re very YAY MONEY
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And sometimes you are “…where did the money go…” for a few years at a time. On that note I ramble about money and business on @notfinancialadvice but with a
Hmm
belligerent tone
Because the worlds of finance and my political views do not regularly align and I get
heated in discussions
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But it’s important because you need to stretch those advances as efficiently as possible. Or starve to death!
GENERALIZING is simpler. Make stuff, talk about it, offer free samples. Learn business and marketing, keep your finger on the pulse of what marketing means to you and your audience today because it regularly changes.
Note: simpler, not easy, none of this is easy.
You always have the option of saying “oh wow I hate this risk and work, I am going to make SUPER ELABORATE STUFF as an art project.”
I have known a lot of people over the years who started in the realm of Lore Makin’ and said “nope” and became artists. Some as their job, most as their hobby (sometimes very very advanced hobby).
Ultimately…
… the choice is yours on what path you make.
And can make. Based on you, as a person, your goals, your resources, your needs and wants.
I have a former business associate who pulled stakes, went to live in a college town, got a day job in marketing, is raising a family in a very conventional and happy manner. We did a two year study together on old cartoons! Daily discussions of mechanics in the cartoon world! Like, massive drawings and real world physics research! 12-24 hour days!! Now he sells cardboard boxes and has a son and a wife and a yard and it blows my mind. Very happy for him, completely unexpected.
A former business partner cashed in and bought a plot of land in the middle of the desert and tinkers with old cars and plays fetch with his dogs all day.
I am (slowly) crafting a tiny greeting card company :)
The good news is you can do whatever you want, the bad news is the risk vs reward pendulum is massive
The start is making things, stumbling into people who will say “yeah I will buy that”
Stumble into people who like it until you build up the specific to you and what you offer skills to court those people
Repeat until you quit retire or die.
At this point, you share the basic business of business to everything, be it elaborate fantasy wedding experiences or hammers.
The best news is, and I say this a lot, you choose if this is how you make a living (career), thrills (hobby), or experiences (once in a while).
The best thing is to give this your all and love everything about it.
The worse thing is to give it your all and hate it.
I have… gone off script.
I hope this has answered your question and helped you move forward.
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mayasaurusss · 2 months
Note
Transfem Jackie in the wilderness??
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The feeling of you.
Contents: female reader, transfeminine Jackie, angst and comfort, internalized guilt, detailed descriptions of feelings, exploring themes of transexuality, 3rd point of view from Jackie's prespective, vanilla smut, gentlia described vaguely. Not really thought plot.
Words count: 7k/ about 12 pages
Author's note: As you read, this is a transfeminine Jackie oneshot. I wanted to explore themes of self hatred in many ways. Since I am not transexual, I based myself on the expereince someone in my life had to describe various moments in this oneshot. If this might be offensive to anyone, please dm me so I can edit this work. This is the first time in an oneshot where I write full on smut. This might not be very 'sexy' then, so forgive me for that. This oneshot contains vanilla-ish sex, so it might not be everyone's cup of tea. Anon, I'm sorry for the several months long wait, but I wanted to be sure to write something in character for Jackie.
To make reading easier: the italics are charcaters thoughts. First half is from Jackie's 3rd pow and second half (from smut onwards) reader's 3rd pov.
Enjoy everyone!
When you joined the Yellowjackets soccer team, you didn't expect to fall heads over heels with its capitan, Jackie Taylor.
It was a rainy November afternoon when you joined. You had seen Jackie walk around school from time to time, but have never interacted with her this close, for all it was worth, you didn't even know she was the soccer team captain. You joined the team some months after your best friend Vanessa did; she had insisted that it was fun and it would build up your confidence. So, you have joined.
Vanessa had talked about your frail character with Jackie before you joined, telling her that you were insecure in your abilities, so, after the coach had tested you, Jackie choosed to assign you the substitute position of right winger. So, you wouldn't have had to play all the time.
Right before you got introduced to the team, Jackie had talked with you. A look of worry was visible in your eyes and Jackie, even if she didn't know you all that well yet, was slightly worried. For you maybe, yes, but also that you could potentially be more of a burden to the team, if you didn't do well enough. After all, Jackie needs to have as many competent people in her team as she can. You need to grow more confident.
So, she had taken you by the arm and led you to a secluded place right outside of the field's entrance. Jackie had looked up at you and smiled kindly, "Well, are you ready to go?". You had felt incredibly scared and apprehensive that day but when you felt Jackie's hand lightly touch yours, trying to get you out of your head, you felt safe, seen.
That was the first instance of your feelings blooming for Jackie. At every game, she did not ever forget to encourage and praise you for your actions. Even when you didn't perform well, you knew Jackie would always be there to make you feel better.
To her surprise, a year after having joined the team, you were almost a completely different person. Confident, strong and willing to stand up for herself and others. Jackie did have to admit that your change was more than welcome. She could never say it out loud, but whenever she saw you in the changing room, her heart skipped a beat. Of course, Jackie had to maintain her reputation at school.
No one, besides her parents and Shauna, knew that Jackie wasn't who others thought she was. Since she was a child, she had felt like she was missing a core part of herself. It was when she met Shauna that everything changed: with her, Jackie had confessed her worries and secrets and in exchange, got the help to finally become her true self. Her parents weren't as supportive as she thought they were going to be. Sometimes, she saw her mothers sending glances in her direction, which she couldn't decipher as worry or disdain; but she didn't care.
In an attempt to finally convey that image she built of herself, upon entering her new school alongside Shauna, she had seduced Jeff, one of the guys she found less ugly. She wasn't able to fully explore herself before jumping hand in hand with him in the relationship.
The first time and only time she and Jeff have had sex, she didn't dare to make him look. Somewhat, she managed to create an excuse to not strip and only get him off. It was a rather boring and disappointing night. But she hadn't left him, in a way Jackie still felt some kind of odd feeling when she was with him. She couldn't tell if it was love.
This is why she couldn't show herself shy when she was near you. She couldn't risk her image, people would talk if they saw her behaving in a flirtatious way towards you, and Jeff would leave. She knew he was probably cheating on her, but as of right now, she couldn't worry less.
Jackie feels her mind slipping out of consciousness time and time again. She can vaguely feel what is happening near her, bodies bumping on her shoulder and light dimming lower and lower until, behind her eyelids, she can only stare back at the darkness.
Shauna wakes her up, and she's not sure she's completely herself at this point. Her body moves before her mind can process what's happening and just mere seconds later, she falls hard to the forest floor. Just as her cheek comes into hard contact with the naked soil, her mind registers what's happening. Jackie looks behind herself to see something that shakes her to the core and will for the years to come. People, her teammates flooding away from the main entrance of the plane, all gushing out like droplets of the leftover alcohol of the red cup she had drank from last night, at their last party.
Jackie struggles to get back to her feet, her legs giving just as she gets up. Shauna is there, she holds her and runs her fingers on her face, tracing over the bruise that has begun to form. She searches for your face among the others and finds you clutching at your left leg, a scar running down your hips.
Jackie's eyes follow as Shauna gets back into the plane and a feeling of dread fills her heart. She knows that if she doesn't help Shauna, her best friend will die. When she enters into the crashed death trap smoke fills her lungs and her vision. She searches for Shauna, finding her fiddling with something behind her shoulders. For a second she considers slapping Shauna, telling her that she's an idiot and taking her back, but when she hears Vanessa's desperate sobs her brain is filled with fear and horror and something akin to bravery. Her hands brace on either side of the seats and summoning a bravery she didn't know she had, along with Shauna, Jackie manages to open a window of opportunity for Van to slip out. Once the fresh air fills her lungs again and her brain is awake, Jackie searches for you.
Misty had hastily put together various bandages that ran down the entirety of your leg, blood already seeping out and darkening the cloth. Jackie can't even register that she has you in a death grip until she feels your chest moving on hers in an attempt to get more air in your lungs.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- '' her words get cut off as you push into her, already wettering the neck of the blue and yellow jacket she wore. Your throat bobs and tears fall from your eyes ``I, I'm scared". Jackie holds you to her chest, sobs threatening to leave her body, "Me too".
The smell of fire and pine needles filled the air around you, the tall trees shielding your view of the night sky. Hours after the disaster, you were surprised to find yourself enjoying your teammates' jokes near the campfire. You would have expected to feel this happy in another situation, but there you were: laughing in the dark night with the corpses of your old friends already starting to decompose back into the deathtrap. Jackie had insisted on sitting near you along Shauna. She kept to herself, having to maintain that image of her authority. Maybe she could be the one aiding the team to take a stand against nature. But in the aftermath of saving Van she had let her selfishness surge again and had protested against her cleanser being used as a sanitizer. She didn't mean to, the words left her mouth before she could understand the gravity of the situation. This wasn't what she was prepared for, her mind wasn't prepared enough to survive, to see the lifeless bodies of her own friends burn and decompose under her eyes.
Jackie had gotten silent for some time and her mouth had tasted the tears that were threatening to fall, but when she had felt your touch linger on her hand, a feeling of calm panic had washed over her. Your eyes stared into hers, understanding, saying 'I feel you, I understand you' and her heart ached. The fear was still clawing at her heart but she tried to subdue it in favor of quietly looking at you, trying to breathe through the hurt. Unbeknownst to her, Shauna's envious eyes had watched the whole interaction with anger boiling over the surface.
That night, Jackie dreams. She dreams of the last game, the leather of the ball comes into hard contact with the white metal of the goal and bounces back away from her and the other team wins. She dreams of a world where she and Shauna are now in her room, sad and bitter, but not here. Not on a cold night. She dreams of a world where she comes back to Jeff, he comforts her by kissing her cheek and whispering sweet, fake nothings to her. She dreams of him finally admitting he cheated, of a world where after months of sadness and thought, she manages to confess the strange feelings she has whenever you're around. She dreams of your lips touching hers.
If only... if only she didn't score, maybe...maybe...
The morning had come by fast, a pale light shone down from the trees and greeted their painful awakening. Jakcie had fallen asleep the night prior cuddled between you and Shauna. All the team had cuddled closer during the night in an effort to maintain as much heat as possible. The soil was scattered with clothes, remaining junk food leftovers, branches and the mechanical remains of the plane. And when she woke up, Jackie had panicked. As quietly as possible she had begun to hyperventilate, the reality of the situation finally kicking in. In an effort to keep calm, to get comforted, Jackie hides her face into your chest and lets her tears fall freely. In your sleep, you cling onto her and for a split moment, her heart bursts out of her chest. It feels like her rib cage has suddenly tightened on her organs and her body has been set aflame. She couldn't feel like this. She shouldn't. And why with you of all people? Why you, and not Jeff? Why you, and not Shauna? What is in you that makes her poor heartache, even in the most desperates of situations? Nevertheless, Jackie allows herself to feel and falls right back asleep. Reality can wait for some time.
When the bodies had been buried and were beginning to dissolve into the earth, a heavy silence had weighted on the team shoulders. At least they could rest in peace, for the rest though only chaos was waiting. Jackie had never been so scared in her life. So, when Taissa shouted that she had seen a lake nearby, Jacki couldn't believe it. Or, more accurately, she was scared of leaving. What if the rescue team came just as they left? And what if they didn't find them? She couldn't afford to lead her team into another hazard. so, when almost all of the team agrees to go, Jackie feels betrayed. It's stupid and selfish but she does, especially when Shauna raises her hand in favor of leaving. Without too much thrust, Jackie follows. She steps away from Shauna and walks with you, helping you move your leg on the uneven forest floor.
When she spots the shore, a sense of wonder and happiness fills her for the first time in hours. With her help, you manage to speed up to the lake. There, a realization dawns on her. She hadn't told the others that she was 'different'. No one here except Shauna knew. What would they have thought of her? "Aren't you going in?" she heard your voice ask her. "Uh, I- I don't know..." she stammers out. Her eyes widen when she sees you changing out of your dirty clothes "Well, I'm going. Misty had said that the water might cleanse my wound, but she never talked about lake water" Jackie vaguely registered your response while her eyes were still trained on your figure. "I hope there aren't any germs there" you lose the branch that supported your uneven walk in favor of trying to get out of your pants.
"Hey Jackie... I know this is weird to ask, but can you help me out? I can't crouch low enough to pull them off" her heart skips a beat and almost automatically, she starts to undress you out of your pants. She's sure her cheeks are a bit more red than usual. "Ah, thank you. Are you sure you're not coming in?" she doesn't know, she isn't sure. But she so, so wants to be there with you. "Uh yeah just, just let me change and I'll be there".
Jackie's eyes follow as you dip into the water. Vaguely, she can feel her blood flow in her body faster than normal, but she dismisses it. When she nears on the shore, as quickly and as carefully as possible, Jackie strips out of her clothes and watches for any unwanted gaze. When the cold water crashes on her skin, her body begins to cool off and that thirst she felt has been quelled. Now she reaches you and guides you to deeper waters, careful to listen to any signs of discomfort from you.
That's how you spend the rest of the afternoon: splashing each other with water, resting on the rocky shores of the lake and gossipping. The everpresent eye of Shauna watching your every move. When Lottie had spotted something in the distance, everyone had been on the move, hoping to find a new shelter for the night. And they did. The cabin was decrepit. Its roof was slightly slanted, vines and vegetation covered the wooden walls; but it worked. It could work. When she entered, a smell of mold and old plants had hit her nose. She found a can of green beans and when attempting to open it, her hunger preceding the thought that maybe she could have preserved it, she was greeted with the sight of many greenish beans swimming in a gray pool of liquid.
On the other side of the room, some of the girls are checking out one of those old sex magazines. Natalie calls out to you "Hey look, this girl kinda looks like you" and right then and there, Jackie crumbles. "Nah, she doesn't look like me! You have a shitty sight Scatorccio '' the team's eyes all gather to one point in the page, some let out whistles while others comment on it. "So, are you like this gentlelady under your clothes?" Van jokingly teases you "Guess you'll have to discover it yourself". Despite thinking she's above this, Jackie steals a glance as she walks out. And it's true, that woman did look like you, despite some differences. And now, Jackie has to deal with yet another problem.
She feels her body shift without her wanting to and heat spreads through her lower abdomen, begging to be put out. She walks out of the door fast and follows a trail behind the cabin. There, she tries to calm down but to no avail, images of you fill her mind and she feels her shorts tighten. Jackie lets out a grunt of discomfort: the situation wasn't exactly the most comfortable one to 'rub one out'. She looks back at the cabin, it's far but still in view: maybe here she can take care of herself with no prying eyes watching.
Jackie slips out of her shorts and starts to palm at her length. She tries to think about Jeff, about Shauna, even about her celebrity crushes, but nothing works. Everything morphs into you. So, when she finally gives up and allows herself to fall into your image, she finds that her body is already at the brink of release. She feels your hands stroking her skin, the tension releases out of her shoulders and your voice whispers reassurances in her ear. "Let it go" and she falls from her high, her legs give out and the skin meets the hard ground. Her gaze falls to her hand. Oh god, what have I done?
The afternoon lights had started to shine through the trees. After taking care of her little problem, Jackie had come back and sat on the wooden porch at the side of the cabin. This can't be real. It can't, right? Her heart aches far more than she realized. She doesn't belong here. She is angry, sad and terrified. This isn't real.
Regret, both for the plane crash and for what she had just done. Did she really jerk off to a friend in the middle of the forest, right after what happened? God, how could she be so disgusting? So careless? People died and all she could think about was fulfilling her own needs. Like always Jackie, you always have to be the center of attention. You couldn't even let your teammates have a peaceful rest, you just had to think about yourself huh? Can you even feel something, anything for others? Do you have anyone else in your mind except yourself?This just shows the utter scum of a person you really are. You waste.
Back at home, everyone always counted on her. She was the voice of reason, the one person who could bring different people together under one team. She had been the one to create the Yellowjackets, to care for them, to nourish them. She knew she was selfish, selfish and stupid, but she really tried. Jackie didn't mean to be this much of a fucking liability, but she couldn't help it. This place, these people, did they even think of her as an equal? Or did most of them fake their appreciation for her? She didn't mean to be a bother, trying to fix the old music player instead of doing the chores, but she needed desperately to not think. Please, for the love of God, get me out of here.
Days, months have passed and winter starts to tighten its cold hands on the Yellowjackets. All of them know. When winter comes, they might die. Every night, the last breeze of autumn comes knocking on the door in the form of the Grim Reaper, begging to be let in. To join the fun. For how much their determination is worth, nature has a sick way of playing with its prey.
They don't have to think.
That's why Jackie had hosted a seance in summer, to distract them. And that's why she decides to host a Doom Coming. Death is already at the door, so why not having fun in the last few weeks of their lives? And her life is just a mess. Jackie feels as if all of the world's faults weigh down on her shoulders. She's sad, bitter and angry: sad for Laura Lee and her unfair death, bitter at Shauna and Jeff, and angry at the world.
Finally, night has fallen. The sun is lowering down the horizon, the cold air nipping at the skin, but she tried to ignore it. The camp smells of leaves, fire and earth. It's almost calming. Laughs and wind and fire crackling fill her ears. Jackie sits on a log which acts as a stool and closes her eyes.
Right now, when everyone is partying, she allows herself to be vulnerable. In the months following the summer, Jackie had come to care less and less about what others might have thought about her if her secret came to be known. So her facade had finally started to crumble.
Jackie sat on the log, her legs spreading far apart, her back hunched and with her face in her hands. She knew the others would look at her and make fun or feel sorry for her, but right now she didn't care too much. A quiet whine left her body and trickles of tears staining her cheeks. Something moves at her right side and she jumps up to see you holding two makeshift wooden bowls. "Hey, thought of giving you this. You haven't eaten at all".
Maybe she doesn't want to. Maybe Jackie would rather die, her body to be eaten by the people she loved most and then dissolve into the earth, broken apart by nature and scattered like a constellation. "I... I am fine" she mutters into her hands, trying to mask her sobs.
"But you're not Jackie. You're so not fine; don't you think I can see that?" she's taken aback by your teary eyes burning a hole through her heart. You push the tears back in and hand her the warm bowl of soup. "I am scared too, Jackie. We all are. But at least, just before the end...won't you try to be happy?" and you know that asking her this is stupid and pathetic, but you too need to push reality away. And Jackie doesn't have enough strength to deny you. "...You're right", she takes the makeshift wooden spoon and dips it into the brownish soup. She lets the earthy flavors fill her mouth. "This isn't half as bad as I thought it would be'' Jackie smiles as she sets the bowl down. A giggle leaves your lips as you stand up, your legs feel wobbly and your skin starts to feel uncomfortably hot. "Say... you wouldn't want to have... a dance with me, would you?" words slurred, you try to pry Jackie out of her log and she happily complies.
Jackie feels strange. She isn't in total control of her body, her mind is foggy, her body moves slowly and lazily. She looks at you with lovey dovey eyes, as if you are a goddess on earth who came to relieve her of her pain. She doesn't even care that Mari's and Alikah's eyes are on both of you; as of right now Jackie only sees you. But now her mind is playing tricks on her: she sees you on her bed, naked.
"W-what?" and now that discomfort is back again, twirling inside of her stomach. "What is it?" Jackie can only feel her body stiffen once again, swaying 'Uhhh shit'. "I- I, don't worry!" but you insist with that look on your face that she can't resist. "What? What is it? Are you feeling ill?".
Shit!. "N-no I-" it's almost like her brain can't form any coherent thought anymore. Why? Why now?!, you get closer to her, an inch from her ear "Do you need something?" God damn it. "I need to- I need-" Jackie stops dead in her tracks as she feels your leg accidentally pressing on her groin. Shit! No! No, no, no! Why?! What is wrong with you?
You look down to see something puffing under her dress. What the heck was she hiding there?. It takes you a moment to understand what it really is, and when you do, you let out a small 'ohh' of understanding.
"Do you have something to tell me?" and Jackie feels embarrassed: embarrassed, guilty and disgusting. How could she have those kinds of thoughts for a friend? She's no better than Jeff, she's no better than them. "I am so, so, so sorry please, please I' didn't mean to-' ' you cut off Jackie with a shush, take her hand into yours and guide her in the forest.
You lead Jackie through low tree branches and vines, through bushes and dirt until you stumble in a beautiful clearing. Hidden between the thick branches of the pine trees, away from the cabin, the uneven forest floor becomes flat, the trees give away to green grass and moss and flowers. On the way, Jackie had noticed strange scrapes on the trees, like a knife had cut through the bark.
"This is where I come when I'm overwhelmed. I found it while having lost myself after going to get the water. You remember that day I didn't come to the cabin after dark?" Jackie nods, waiting for your voice again "I actually had been walking on circles, some feets away from the cabin I took the wrong turn and ended up in the wrong place, here." From your pocket, you fish out a small cutting knife, an old candle and a couple of matches you had stolen from Dead Guy's stash. "Luckily, I had this with me" you gesture to the knife, "If I hadn't, I'm not sure I could have come back". You let your things fall to the base of a tree, forgotten. "So," you say as you sit down and pat the ground next to you "mind explaining what that was?".
Jackie feels as if her blood had become ice cold; she's terrified, so much so that she's stiff and can't bring herself to sit near you. "Come here" she awkwardly lets herself lay on the ground with her legs tucked under her body and away from you.
"I- I am..." throat closing in on her words, she takes a breath and gathers all the courage she has left in her heart "I wasn't happy once. Before. I didn't realized it once, Shauna helped me understand. Sometimes I faked begin happy just to see the people near me happy. To see my parents happy. But once I started to put my own happiness before, I understood". Jackie feels as if a block of ice got stuck in her throat and it's preventing her from speaking clearly.
"For the time we have left, I will continue begin myself. I- I don't care what others think of me" and maybe that last part was a lie, maybe she does care. Every human need reassurance. But when she says that, she's looking directly into your eyes, with determination. A smile graces your lips and Jackie feels as if she has died for a moment and her soul reached heaven "I understand you" which is far better than any 'okays or 'alright's she has gotten so far. "Y-you do? I thought, I thought you would be... grossed out", silence fills the air and Jackie's breath hitches, waiting for the final blow at her heart. "You could never 'gross me out' Jackie, why did you even thought about that?"
"I really thought that you might-" Jackie's words die engulfed in your arm, her head cradled on you, "You are safe with me". Something in her, a cage, breaks into million shining pieces and lets her heart beat red blood into her flesh. Jackie feels as if the old cruel world broke and left space for a new, shining future, one she shares with you. She weeps into your shoulder, finally understood, happy, euphoric, free from her own self and from the world's expectations.
You let her weep into you for some time, the sky's color changes from the purple and orange evening glow to a light cobalt, the stars already starting to show.
"Now, I want to ask you something else..." your cheeks feel suddenly hotter, thighs closing in on themselves. Jackie listens to you, and you're suddenly very interested on your hands. "That... thing that happened back there... why? Why did it happen while we were dancing?". Ohh shiiit.
Jackie feels sick. A ball of nausea forms in the deepest parts of her stomach and reaches out to her mouth. For a second, she feels like she will throw up. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry I forgot, I-" and now, emotions and feelings of the past months come crashing down on her heart. And when she parts her lips, it is too late to stop.
"I... like you. I do. I've felt like this for a while now. Back there I don't- I don't know why I felt like that and why it happened, but t-that's not like me at all! I- I am-" but the silence that follows is enough for Jackie to stop. Right then and there, she knows she has lost you. "I should probably go..." she says to you; Jackie's muscles move to follow her torso but your arms hug her shoulders before she can escape you. For a moment she's confused and almost thinks an animal might have tackled her to the ground, but when she feels your touch on her cheeks, peace fills her heart. You lightly trace her small skin marks under her eyes and lean down to kiss her. In her eyes billions of stars shine and in her heart, billions of stars explode. Her body is lighter, almost made of condensed air. It almost feels like a sin when she touches your hand: like if her fingertips could dirty the beautiful soul in front of her. "I want you too" you say to her, a whisper. Now she truly is gone.
Jackie kisses you back with a passion you didn't know she had in her. Everything is forgotten: the dirt of the soil, the rotten cabin, the looks of the others, the touches of Jeff, the desire for Shauna, the desire to run from the world. Here and now, Jackie is at peace. Finally at peace, after months of hardship. Her heart beats and her blood runs, and she's happy. So, so very happy.
When you leave the kiss, Jackie feels lightheaded. A dark feeling inside of her screams to stay, to take, to devour. She takes you right back into her arms, clinging to you so hard that you're sure your bones will snap. The kiss becomes raw, hungry and dangerous; all lips and tongue and teeth. Her hand cradles the back of your head and with the free hand, she claws at your shirt. There is a feeling blooming inside her groin and stomach; she wants to devour and be devoured. You get rid of your clothes and discard them aside. Now Jackie can see you in all your beauty, skin shaded by the blue evening night.
It's getting dark.
"Maybe, maybe we shouldn't..." Jackie whispers in your mouth but makes no effort to stop. Your hands find her soft skin, you cradle her head upwards facing you, "Let morning come". Your hands find Jackie's skin underneath her dress and her breath stops, she tries to gulp down air in her lungs but they feel tight. Your hands are just so soft and she feels so good, so right here with you. For the first time in a while, she doesn't have to be in charge of anything. For the first time, she can be her whole, broken self without needing to be something she's not. With a trembling voice, Jackie asks you to help her out of her dress. The cold air hits Jackie all at once, making her shiver but she is too caught up in you to care. As soon as the dress is off her hands are already on your skin, touching wherever they could. "I- I want to..." but she couldn't find in herself the strength to say what she wanted, needed to do. Instead, Jackie decided to crash her lips into yours again and rest her hand on your back, atop the clasps of your bra, a silent request. The dizziness of before had almost worn off by the time you were bare before her. A breathy sigh left Jackie's lips "Wowza...", you couldn't help but let out a giggle "Really? 'Wowza'?".
"What?! I couldn't help it..." her words trail off when her gaze falls to your chest. Fingers come down on you, caressing and touching and groping at every inch of skin she finds. She props you up on her lap, trying to relive the pain of her hardness starting to show. It's almost embarrassing how desperate she is, her cheeks are flushed red, her eyes unfocused and watery. Jackie's lips circle your nipple, biting and licking and sucking and tugging at your skin. Jackie's length gets harder and hard by the minute, for every time her name falls off your lips. All the uncomfortable and guilt has gone, leaving behind something dark and primal. She starts to hump on your ass while continuing to suck on you. "Oh, I see someone is eager" and all that confidence she had goes right out of the window, her sober self comes out more embarrassed than before "Oh- gosh I'm-I am sor-" but she is shut down by your grinding down on her. "Who said you could lead tonight?".
Oh shit I'm so into this.
"N-no one..." her voice came out shaking with excitement, the prospect of the night and all the scenarios playing out in her head.
"That's right, you deserve a break" not as sexy as she would have wanted, but this is fine too. More than fine. She was tired of feigning leadership. Your hands fiddle with the waistband of her underwear, feeling around the skin of her waist. This feels like a torture to Jackie. "Please, I-..." she meets your hands and tries to grind into you. As teasing as ever, your touch skims right on her thighs, squeezing and stroking her skin. "Tsk, I thought you wanted to be taken care of. Maybe I should stop?".
"N-no! No, please I will be good I promise". Jackie settles back against the earth, her puppy eyes looking up at you with the fear that you won't touch her anymore. "That's what I wanted to hear". Finally your fingers dip under her waistband and pull, freeing her after what felt like an eternity. Now, the both of you are bare against each other. "What do you want me to do, Jackie?" after some thought, Jackie says, "I... I want to taste you... Please....".
Now you take her place, laying down on the earth. Jackie watches you with adoration while her fingers start to travel downwards. Her fingers part your legs and she kisses the skin of your thighs, just mere inches away from where you need her the most. You whisper her name, wanting her to get on with it, to please you. At that, Jackie dips into you. After months of desire, it feels like heaven on earth. Her fingers tease your clit, circling it multiple times before moving down. But you're not prepared enough for the intrusion. So, Jackie starts to suck on you. She's so attentive and shy it makes you want to cry. You ground on her face and hear her letting out a whimper, she's getting pleasure from this too. When you are wet enough, Jackie's ring finger teases your opening and enters. You have already done this before, but it pales in comparison on how Jackie is making you feel. Almost like a shock running through your body and a wildfire spreading in your limbs. And you are sure that if Jackie continues, you will combust on the spot. Finger flicking your nipples, tongue occasionally joins her fingers to lick up your slit, eyes always fixated on your face twisted in pleasure. You look under her to see her free hand stroking her length quickly, white wetness dripping from it. "I- I am about to..." but your words die in your throat. When Jackie comes up again, the lower part of her face is covered in your release, she's still stroking herself. "Please, please I need it, I need it" she continued as she came closer to you. "What do you need Jackie?" she whimpers, desperately humping into her hand "y-you please. Your... mouth".
You smile at her, reaching to tease her length but just a few movements of your hand are enough to send her over the edge. Jackie gasps when she comes undone, her hands tightening over your shoulder. "O-Oh God I, I usually last way more than this..." you snort at her, "Hm? Way more?". Her brows are furrowed, cheeks red with embarrassment "...ok, a bit more". You decide to stop teasing her and reach down, sucking the last drops of her release. Her moans encourage you to get on top of her, legs straddling her hips on both sides. Slowly, you began grinding down on her.
"Oh... I like this'' Jackie moans in your mouth, hands exploring every inch of your skin. After what feels like an eternity, you line up Jackie's lengt with your slit, sliding it from under you on purpose and meeting her hips. "Please... stop teasing..." she lets out a grunt, her hands rest steady on your hips and she begins to drag you down on her. You like this double sided version of Jackie. All her dominance goes straight out of the window when she enters you. It takes an unholy amount of strength for Jackie to not start pounding in you, and to keep herself from coming too fast. She pants as if she's shoulder deep inside a pool of cold water, shaky. It's the first time she has reacted this way to having sex. Usually, she could keep a cool, passionate demeanor but she's so excited to do this with you. It feels different from any other casual sex encounters she had.
You still above her. She has reached the deepest point she could, cuddled between dark and hot and wet. It feels too much to you and you rest your head on her shoulders, trying to catch your breath. She is so delicate with you, whispering sweet encouragements on how -"you take me so well", "You can do it" and "I like you so, so much"-. You're the one that starts to move, surprising Jackie who was still in the middle of her praise. Her breath hitches when she feels you move on her, slowly and methodically taking her to the tip and all the way back. This is perfect.
You rest your hands on her shoulder and hers rest on your hips, guiding you back and forth on her. The grip is tight enough that you can feel your skin bruise under her touch. "Fas-faster please..." you try to comply, bouncing on her faster than before, but your legs feel wobbly and uncertain. When she sees that you can't go any faster, Jackie trusts up into you and meets your hips with force, bouncing you up and down. "I-I'm sorry I' can't go slower..." it feels so good you can't really complain about it. Now you have regained enough strength to meet Jackie halfway, both of you lost in a frenzy of pleasure. She's loud, almost yelling and in the back of your mind, you are terrified someone might come and take a look, but another part of you is thrilled at the prospect of begin found out. You are a bit shocked when Jackie's hand comes down on your ass, but you don't complain. If someone walked past you, they would immediately understand what was happening.
The only sounds that can be heard in the forest are your whimpers, moans, the slapping of skin, wind and chirping and, a little farther, yelling and rabid howls of creatures that resemble humans. But that is not important right now. Your minds are too lost in pleasure to think that, in the dark corners of the night, something could wait for the chance to pounce on you.
Jackie starts to move faster than you can keep up. She moves so you lay your back against the dirt and face her. She brings your leg up and opens the space between your thighs more, allowing herself easier access. She begins to pound into you, faster and harder and sloppier than before. She has no rhythm left, no care, only pleasure and the need to relieve both herself and you in her mind. She grabs your leg hard, not letting go in fear that if she does, you might vanish into thin air. "I am close, I am gonna-" she doesn't want to cum, not right now: this moment should last forever. But she can't hold herself back anymore.
From the dark, a pair of brown eyes had spied on the both of you. Shauna was hungry and her hunger was so grand that it made her vision, her brain and the world around her blurry. She was chasing Travis, along the others but had been left behind when she heard sounds coming from behind some bushes. Her mouth had watered thinking it could be an animal but she got let down when she realized the sounds were coming from you. Her initial shock had been replaced by annoyance. She had so hoped to get something beneath her teeth, but to no avail. Then, hate had bubbled its way through her veins and into her heart. She hated you at that moment. The both of you. Shauna couldn't understand if she wanted to be with Jackie or in between you two. Sure, she thought of Jackie before, during the night hours but she hadn't dared to make the first move. And then, when Jackie had gotten with Jeff, she was hellbent on having all of her. She did realize that there was something sparking between the two of you after the first few games, but she kept quiet. She imagined herself, between bodies. Skin and sweat and kisses. She thought of taking Jackie's while kissing you, of guiding your head down, of bending Jackie over and-. Her stomach growled. It was loud enough she could clearly hear it, but not enough for you two to get suspicious of anything. That fantasy of hers would never happen. She retreated back into the dark.
Jackie is moving fast against you, hips slapping repeatedly up on yours and hands reaching every little bit of skin she can. From deep inside her groin, she feels something snap. She's not gentle with you anymore. Something raw and angry has taken control over her brain. Jackie slipped out of you and snuck behind, her arm lifting up your leg before entering once again. In this position she can reach deeper and move faster. She's being too hard on you. A scowl appears on her face when you try to slow her down by slipping from her grasp, "You- you will, you will stay here a-and take-" growling, her fingers grip at your flesh again, harder this time.
A knot snaps inside your guts and without managing to yell a warning, you release on Jackie's. She feels you dripping down on her. Your coming prompts her to do the same: Jackie gives a final long and hard thrust and leaves you empty, releasing on the soil.
She falls on top of you, spent "O-oh wowza. That... that felt amazing". You laugh at her "Again, 'wowza'?! It's not sexy Jackie" she mumbled something back at you and then hid her face in the crook of your neck. You're silent, now left with the remnants of your lovemaking and the constant presence of death looming over you. A faint trace of cold is coming out of the earth and down on you. "What do we do now?" she asks, embracing and shivering against you "Did- did we do something bad? What's gonna happen now? We will all still die-" her voice hitches. She's crying: tears fall down your skin as she nuzzles on it. You take her hand, tracing patterns on it, "We will manage".
Days later, when Jackie finally confronts Shauna, secrets get spilled. Of affairs, of grudges that lasted years, even of your lovemaking with Jackie. She had stormed out of the cabin: just like she feared, everyone had turned on her. Jackie watches the fire, cold seeping in her bones and her mind getting groggy. Shauna walks to Jackie, hand embracing her best friend's back. "Come inside" you say, your features and voice replacing Shauna's. In the back of her mind Jackie wants to preserve her dignity: walking back into the house would mean to admit that she had lost the argument; but staying out here could kill her. Jackie follows you, gripping at your arm tightly. Everyone is asleep; you lead her to rest on one open spot near the fire, finally hugging her cold body to yours. "Rest easy" and she doesn't need to be told twice, falling asleep right away in your arms. Next morning, it was snowing.
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goldmanguyperson · 10 months
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a little message to my therian friends: Do not use the Therian Guide Forums.
The owner of the site, Dustwolf, is transphobic and supports it under the guise of “allowing free speech” as well as supposedly defending biology. Specifically, he is against and tacitly supports people who are against especially genders based around species, or who are otherwise outside of the binary and whatever could be considered in between. He did nothing about people arguing to me that they do not need to respect a person’s gender because of culture or (bad) biology.
He essentially told me that they deserve to have “free speech”. Told me that he was doing what he was to “protect the community”. Like, protect who? The bigots? Your small little bigoted group of therians? Really?
Other things—Sysmedicalism was endorsed by the previous owner (and also literal child predator and bestiality committer. he has since been banned but co owner Dustwolf remains as sole owner) LycanTheory. The wording he uses includes rejecting self diagnoses of disorders that go under the label of plurality, and asks way too much personal, even confidential information of systems—“why should we accept anybody’s claims of ‘plurality’ without a professional diagnosis or history of treatment”. r/systemcringe talking points get regurgitated there as well.
The forums also allow discussion of zoophilia while at the same time banning mention of consent, and i really hope i do not have to explain why this is pretty gross and dangerous.
Rejected and banned members on the forum get labeled as “human”. Disrespecting somebody’s identity for any reason is pretty disgusting. Don’t particularly care what theyve done to make people believe they should be treated that way.
Dustwolf and previous co-owner LycanTheory have advocated for therian seperatism and clearly look down on non-therians under the alterhuman umbrella. Dustwolf does so while simultaneously trying to dunk on feminism and “identity politics”.
I saw kids applying to be on these forums when i was first trying to learn about my otherkinity and found this website (it is considerably high up in search results relating to therian information). I am worried for them. Please warn people against using this website as best you can. The sense of community you might get there is just not worth the potential damage to your identity journey and emotional state.
A deeper look can be found at this link: https://invisibleotherkin.neocities.org/Resource-Masterlist/Therian-Guide-Beware
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randomfanner · 10 months
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It crushes me how much Gale Slander there is.
I know a bug made him horny and clingy but in my current play through Gale and Blanche(what I named my Tav) are bros and I have found it easy to avoid romancing him.
And how can you dislike Gale for being a bit pushy and hitting on you when literally EVERYONE HITS ON YOU!!! At the Tiefling Party, if you have medium approval with anyone you can start romancing them and they all want you to god dammit.
But if you actually romance Gale, he is pretty damn shy and hesitant. You can think you want to kiss him and he doesn't just kiss you, he is just stunned. He is not trying to jump right into a romance with you! He can get pretty forward once you, the player, have shown interest in actually romancing him. (Like when he says you are hot when you fight)
A lot of people dislike Gale for talking about Mystra when he is trying to romance you but we have to remember: Mystra means so much more to Gale than just being his ex-lover. Gale worshipped Mystra as his goddess before, during and afterwards their relationship. Mystra is magic, the literal goddess of what he ties all of his self worth too. I will admit I am biased towards Gale because I am the same way about my grades, and for Gale, the Goddess magic and the embodiment of his art took an interest in him and made him his chosen.
When he lost the favor of Mystra, he lost everything he had worked so hard for in his life. Was it partly his own fault? Yes, he fucked around and found out. However I genuinely think if Gale had only been Mystra's Chosen rather then Mystra's Lover, he wouldn't have.
Mystra approached Gale and from how we see Gale act when he is trying to seduce Tav, he didn't make the first move romantically either. Mystra had a lot of power over Gale and I don't blame Gale for wanting to become the equal of the woman he loved.
Of course the problem arises because she is a Goddess and he is a Mortal Man who is overly ambitious. But I do not think the bases of what he wanted was too much to ask for.
Maybe I am giving Gale too much credit, I mean, look at how he reacts to the Crown and oh I do sigh at that. But his reasons are very complex for wanting the crown more then just power.
And the magic items. It is three magic items and you get so many thrown at you during this game. Not all of them are good for every run. An uncommon magic item is like what, 33gp?
When Gale actually comes to you about it too, it is either after you have shown you are a good person who likes to help people and he feels he can trust you to help him with the bomb in his chest that could wipe out a city. Or the alternative is he literally has to come talking to you lest he actually, literally explode and you are the person who is in charge. Yes he gets angry when you refuse but man has good reason, everyone's life is at stake!
Does he give you all the details? No! But the only people who tell you everything at this damn camp are Lae'zel and Karlach! Literally no one tells you ja
There are plenty of reasons to not like Gale. Gale is my favorite but I do see how parts of him, like how he can be sort of a classist asshole about magic(I do not think he intends to be and I think that is Gale's ~Touch of the Tism~ showing and being mixed with self worth issues)
Gale is such a genuinely sweet guy. He values life and people and magic. He may be over the top and get in over his head way to easily just wants to be at home with his cat and a good book and I am so sick of all the slander towards my boy.
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Rusty | Chapter 15 | S.R
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Summary - Spencer’s birthday continues to not go entirely as planned. An argument leads to Spencer’s biggest confession yet which in turn leads him to decide he is finally ready to take the next step in recovery.
A/N - @andiebeaword brought to my attention a scene from Hart of Dixie for which their stable scene is loosely based around.
Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader
Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI
Warnings - drinking, arguing, mentions of dissociation and self harm, swearing, detailed talk of past sexually assault and use of “rape”, making out, fingering, handjob, penetrative, unprotected sex, cock warming, oral sex (f receiving), cum play(?), self deprecating thoughts.
WC - 5.7K
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Chapter 15 - Heavens Just a Sin Away
Everything you had assumed would happen when the fuel of alcohol was added to the flames of your anger, did happen. The more you drank, the more enraged you felt towards Spencer and it showed. 
The band, the Lonestar Gamblers were average at best but it didn’t stop you from dancing along to their country western melodies, trying to encourage Spencer to join you but continuously being shut down by mumbles of “I don’t dance.”
The more you observed him, the more your resentment grew. He was subconsciously running his fingers over the arm sling as though he was in pain and trying to take his mind off of it. But if he was in pain, he had no one to blame but himself. 
And you couldn’t move past it, no matter how much you wanted to. 
Perhaps that was why when you felt a strange and warm body pressing up against you from behind while you danced, you didn’t question it. You let the person snake their arms around your waist, grinding against you from behind. 
You didn’t even mind when they turned you in their arms to face them. The man was fairly young and moderately attractive. He dressed as was the norm for these parts. He had blonde hair which was swept back off of his face and large blue eyes which were staring right at you.
“Howdy there little lady,” he spoke, his hands returning to your waist and swaying you in time to the music.
“Hi,” you replied, letting your body be moved by the man's strong hands. 
“You are far too beautiful to be up here dancin’ on your own.” He smirked at you.
“Well I ain’t alone anymore am I, stud?” You returned his smile, using the nickname you usually reserved for Spencer.
“No ma’am you ain’t.” He chuckled deeply, pressing his body flush against yours. 
The whole thing only lasted a minute or so before Spencer was at your side, gripping your shoulder and pulling you off of the blonde cowboy. It was all too reminiscent of Grant and your encounter with him.
“She’s with me.” He spat at the man. 
“Didn’t look like it to me.” The other man folded his arms across his chest in what was supposed to be an intimidating fashion. Spencer was not perturbed. 
“Well, she is. So hit the road.” Spencer scoffed. 
The blonde rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms with a huff.
“Whatever, ain’t worth the hassle.” He shook his head, soon turning on the heels of his cowboy boots. 
Once he was gone, you turned to Spencer with an unamused look on your face.
“What the hell was that about? I was just having a little fun.” You growled at him.
“Trying to make me jealous?” He cocked an eyebrow at you. 
“Not everything has to be about you.” You suddenly pushed past him, making a beeline for the front door.
Spencer ground his teeth before following you, this situation all too familiar to him. You pushed your way outside and Spencer was hot on your heels. You didn’t stop, just kept walking in the direction of his ranch.
You were tipsy but not so drunk that you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t sway on your feet or stumble. If Spencer didn’t know any better he would think you hadn’t been drinking at all.
“Would you slow down?” He called after you, impressed you could walk so fast in your high heels.
“Nope.” You spat over your shoulder, and if anything you picked up your pace. 
Spencer grunted, hurrying after you like a lost puppy. Even when he caught you, you wouldn't look at him. 
“This is still about what happened yesterday, right? My dissociation, my self-harm.” He watched the side of your face as you both continued to walk. 
“You’re suicide attempt you mean?” You bit back, eyes trained straight ahead. 
“Accidental.” He corrected you.
This gave you pause and you suddenly halted in your tracks and faced him glaring wildly at him.
“I don’t care if it was accidental or not, Spencer!” You raised your voice. “I am never going to get that image out of my head. I tried to put it aside to give you a good birthday but I can’t ignore how fucking angry I am!” 
“You aren’t the only one.” He scoffed. “You think it didn’t make me angry seeing you dancing with that guy? On my birthday?” 
“I can’t dance with someone?” You played innocent.
“There’s dancing and then there's dancing, Y/N. What you were doing was more just than dancing and you know it.” Spencer rolled his eyes. 
“Well with any luck he might not be as much of a fucking mess as you.” You spat, causing Spencer’s eyes to turn dark. 
“Fuck you,” he growled with a shake of his head. “You think this is easy for me? To find out I opened my home to a goddamn murderer! I’m going to have to leave my ranch to keep you safe, do you know that? As long as Luke knows where I live, you aren’t safe. We’re going to have to flee and I’m going to have to leave everything behind that I’ve been building for the last two years. If I can give up my entire life for you, the least you can do is cut me some slack over my goddamn mental illness!” 
He was yelling loudly, thank god there weren’t any people on the street. You scowled at him as angrily as you could but inside you wanted to cry. You should have known he would use that against you, throw it back in your face. Spencer liked to act like the nice guy, the caring guy, but ultimately he was just the same as everyone else, wasn’t he?
“Go to hell.” You snarled. “You don’t have to do anything. First thing tomorrow I am outta here, on my own. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone.” 
You turned to storm away again as you felt the first rain drop hit your exposed shoulder. You’d barely taken three steps before the heavens opened and it started pouring.
The sound of the rain as it slammed against the asphalt assaulted your ears as the water almost instantly soaked you through. You looked back at Spencer as he was reaching towards you. 
You let him grab your wrist and soon the two of you were running a little way down the street. There was an old, slightly dilapidated stable up the road which you’d passed countless times but never paid much attention to. 
Spencer let go of your arm so he could wrench open the rickety door. He moved his hand to your back and hurried you inside before he followed, quickly closing the door behind himself.
It was immediately clear that the stable was disused. All the paddocks were empty and all they remained was piles and piles of hay and a lone rusty pitchfork hanging on one wall. 
Spencer grunted as he got the large door closed and turned to you. His overgrown hair was drenched, hanging limply around his face as water beads dripped onto his shirt. 
His shirt was wet through, clinging to his body the same way his jeans were. You could feel your dress also bonding to your skin with the water. 
The rain beat heavily on the tin roof, almost aggressive in its downpour.  The two of you stood a few feet apart staring at each other for several long minutes, lost in the sound of the rain. 
He moved his good arm to his neck when he unfastened his saturated sling, peeling it away from himself and dropping it onto the floor.
He flexed his fingers a few times, his face creasing in pain.
“I really think you should keep that on.” You huffed. 
“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt too much.” He shook his head in defiance. “I guess there’s a storm coming.”
“No kidding.” You rolled your eyes, running your hands over the sopping fabric of your dress. 
Spencer exhaled, straightened up and dared to take a half step closer to you. 
“I don’t want you to leave.” He croaked. “Not without me. I love my ranch but I love you more.” 
“What happened to you?” You asked, seemingly ignoring him. “Why are you like this? Trust me, I know all about prison being stressful but there is more to it than that. You need to tell me right now what it is you’re keeping from me or I swear to god Spencer, I will leave and never look back. I love you but I have to know what I’m up against here. You almost killed yourself and I deserve to know why.” 
Spencer averted his gaze towards the dusty, hay riddled floor and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. He knew that he owed you an explanation but it didn’t mean he readily wanted to give you one. But he knew it was time. 
He knew if he wasn’t honest with you, you were going to leave him. You may even leave him once you knew the truth. But at least if you had all the facts you could make an informed decision and maybe, just maybe you would choose to stay despite what he’d been through. 
He looked back at you and you could see a wealth of sadness hidden behind his eyes. You already knew what he was going to say was going to be huge. He took a long breath in, held it for five seconds before exhaling it and then he spoke the words he wished to never have to say out loud again. 
“I was sexually assaulted in prison.” He said, ripping it off like a bandaid. “Technically I was raped. Three different men forced me to perform oral sex on them. Because of the crippling fear, I got an erection and they berated me for it. 
“I have not had sex since. The most intimate I have managed to be since has been with you. Before I met you I couldn’t even get erect, let alone orgasm. I couldn’t kiss Luke without feeling sick, nevermind anything else. My dissociation seems to happen the most often after intimacy as it leads me to think about what happened to me.
“We, uh…were amorous and then you left. What I needed was comfort, just someone to be there so I didn’t go off of the deep end like I did. But you couldn’t have known that because I didn’t tell you and I should have. I should have been honest with you the first time we kissed and I pushed you away but I didn’t. I couldn’t. 
“Talking about what happened to me is the hardest thing I have ever done and the only other person I have told is my therapist. Luke knew, he said he saw my prison medical records, I’m sure you heard that when you were eavesdropping on us. My old boss knew too for the same reason.
“But saying it out loud is…there isn’t a good enough word to describe how difficult it is. I was raped. I was assaulted by three fellow inmates who saw me as weak and subservient. That’s why I have PTSD, that’s why I dissociate sometimes and that’s why there is some part of me that apparently wants to die, okay? Now you know.” 
He became irate towards the end, pacing back and forth in the stable and not allowing himself to look at you for fear of what your reaction might be. 
For a minute or two after he stopped talking, you were silent and you digested his words. You’d had your suspicions about what had happened to him but hearing the words out loud caused you to wince. 
You watched him pace, trying to think of any words that might help him but knowing there were none. You had no idea what he was going through, no idea of the damage that kind of trauma did to a person. 
You cautiously stepped closer to him, stepping in the path he’d been walking back and forth which forced him to halt in his tracks. His eyes flit up to yours, full of unshed tears. You reached for him, careful not to touch him before he gave you a soft nod. His flinching at unprovoked touch made so much sense now.
When he nodded, giving you the green light, you raised your hands and placed them on either side of his face. Skin on skin, help keep him tethered. He seemed to relax at your touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds as he exhaled through his nose. When he opened them again, the tears hidden there previously were gone.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Spencer.” You whispered, only just loud enough to be heard over the onslaught of rain on the roof. “I wish I had the magic words to say to make it better for you but I don’t think there is any such thing. What happened to you is horrifying, no one should have to go through that. I’m sorry I forced that out of you.”
“I figured I’d have to tell you eventually, I just…I hate saying it out loud, it makes it so real.” He swallowed, nuzzling into your touch. 
“I’m sorry.” You repeated, at a loss for what to say. “And you know we never have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with or that you’re not ready for.” 
Spencer nodded, nuzzling further against your hand. His stubble was getting long and was less scratchy than it was previously on your palm. 
“I don’t want to keep letting them win.” He sucked in a breath. “I can’t keep letting them win.” 
Before you could respond his hand was on the back of your neck and he drew you close before crashing your lips together. 
You gasped at his sudden kiss and his tongue plunged between your parted lips. He started moving you backwards while keeping a firm hold on the back of your neck. 
He kissed you fiercely, moaning into your mouth like you’d never heard him before. He continued to move you until your legs hit something and a second later you were both topping backwards onto a bundle of hay. 
Spencer kept his lips on yours while his hand that had been on your neck moved between your bodies. His body weight was pressing into you, his left arm too weak from his fractures to hold himself up. 
His hand glided down the fabric of your dress before disappearing under the hem, shimming the garment up your legs and soon his fingers were brushing over your panties clad core. 
You hissed into his mouth and he tore his lips away, resting his forehead against yours instead. His eyes were full of a combination of lust and fear. 
“Sp-Spencer,” you moaned as he stroked you through your panties again.
His lip quipped into a smirk as he pushed the material aside and with no warning plunged two fingers inside of you. 
You moaned so loudly it rivalled the sound of the rain still drumming down on the tin ceiling. The sudden movement caused you to jerk on the bed of hay, scratching your arms but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. 
Spencer’s fingers buried inside of you, brushing up against your cervix as your walls fluttered around his digits. He was already painfully hard just from the feeling of you around his fingers. 
You were already soaking, coating his hand in your arousal but the rain drowned out the sounds as he moved in and out of you, scissoring his fingers. 
His wet hair fell in his face, framing his sharp features. The bulge in his slacks was even more noticeable through the rain drenched fabric. 
You reached for him but stopped short before you touched him. He roughly thrust his fingers back inside of you, jerking you on the hay bale again whilst nodding his head. 
You fumbled a little with the button of his jeans as wave after wave of pleasure flooded your body. When you got it undone you reached straight inside the wet fabric and pulled his shaft free. 
He scrunched his eyes close as you hand wrapped around him, his fingers stilling momentarily. You watched him take a few deep breaths and his lips moved ever so slightly as though he was talking but no words come out. 
In his head he repeated the words he’d penned in his therapy session some eighteen months ago. 
I was sexually assaulted, but I am not a victim. I was coerced but I am not weak. I am in control of my own body, of my own mind. I will not let them win, I will not let them ruin my life. 
I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I am a good person. I am a strong person. I will move past this. I won't let them break me. I am still worthy of love and affection. I am still whole.
I am still whole. 
I am still whole. I am still whole. 
His eyes shot back open and he looked down on you, withdrawing his fingers. You whined as he did so, worried he was imminently about to freak out. 
Instead he parted your legs wider, took his shaft from your hand and held it in his own as he moved in closer to you, moving your panties aside once more. 
“Spencer,” you panted as the head of his cock moved between your legs. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to rush you.” 
“I'm ready.” He spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. “I am still whole.” 
You let your legs fall further open as he pressed his thick head at your slick entrance. He kept his eyes on you, manoeuvring your hips a little and you arched your back, allowing Spencer to glide inside of you swiftly. 
His eyes widened and the most feral sound you’ve ever heard left his lips as your slicken walls caused him to plunge all the way inside he was entirely sheathed in your cunt. 
You noticed his stomach clench through his shirt, his weight balanced on his one good arm but it was shaking. For a moment or two he didn’t move, simply stared down at you in incomprehensible awe. 
His breathing was heavy and rapid, his chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. His eyes suddenly glossed over with tears and you felt his cock twitch deep inside of you. 
“Oh my gosh.” He spoke, his sentence punctuated with heavy pants. “I…I…” 
“It’s okay,” you cooed, reaching up to brush his damp locks out of his eyes.
“Y/N, there is not a single word that exists in any known language to accurately describe what this feels like.” He whined as he spoke. “The closest I can think of would simply be…heaven.” 
You smiled at him, hand now on his cheek. You let him take his time, grow accustomed to the feeling and gather his emotions. 
Every now and again his cock would pulse and cause you to clench which would in turn make him moan. 
For a while you just laid there listening to the sounds of his heavy breathing and the rain that continued to fall outside. The bed of hay was uncomfortable and itchy but you barely noticed. 
After a while you shifted slightly, wrapping your legs around his lithe waist and locking yourself in place at the ankles. His hips rolled in a slow and steady movement as he readjusted himself. 
“I love you,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.
“I love you too.” You spoke in equally hushed tones. 
Steadying himself on his good arm, he gradually pulled his hips back until barely an inch of him was still inside of you before leisurely thrusting again until he bottomed out. 
He did this a couple of times, careful, calculated movements and each time you whimpered when his blunt head tapped against your cervix. 
He slowly started to increase his speed, delirious from the way you stretched around him each time. It didn’t take long for his hips to start working of their own accord and soon he was snapping back and forth, pounding into you harder and harder. 
You moaned with every thrust while Spencer was making grunts of appreciation. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple and your legs tightened around his waist. 
He kept his eyes on you, not looking away for even a second. You arched back off of the hay bale and he growled at the new angle, somehow managing to get even deep inside of you. 
He was heavy and thick between your legs, forcing your body to accommodate him in ways you’d never experienced before. You were bending to his whim, and it made him dizzy. 
Hips still bucking back and forth now somewhat rampantly as he chased both of your highs, he could feel you clenching around his length and his legs buckled slightly. 
He was panting so heavily you could barely hear the rain anymore. The slick sound of your arousal as he dove in and out of you echoed around the empty stable. 
He bowed his head and kissed your jaw sloppily, never letting up on his ministrations. 
“I’m, uh, embarrassingly close.” He panted against your skin. “I'm so sorry, it’s been so long.” 
“Hmm,” you hummed as he slammed inside of you again. “M-me too.” 
He lifted himself on his one good arm again so he was hovering above you. He could feel the tell tale pinching and coiling in his stomach, the tightening of his balls as his body prepared for his release. 
Suddenly your eyes rolled back into your head with a particularly hard thrust and your lips parted for a string of moans and curses to escape. 
You reached for him blindly, grabbing hold of his good arm and digging your nails into the damp fabric of his shirt. He could feel you clenching harder than before. He knew what was happening and that was confirmed when you screamed, “fuck, fuck I’m…oh god!”
The pleasure rippled through your body, causing you to convulse on the hay bale beneath you. Seeing your own orgasm flood your features was enough for Spencer to allow his own cord to snap. 
With a couple more rough thrusts he reached his peak and fell on top of you as his cock twitched inside of you as he filled you with his seed. 
His hips continued to lazily buck as he rode out his release, expelling every little drop of himself inside of your still fluttering walls. 
When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull out, instead he peppered kisses across your jaw and cheek before finding your lips. 
He kissed you messily, tongue roaming your mouth with no real precision or finesse. You returned the kiss in much the same way. 
You wet clothes clung to each other and your legs fell from their position around his waist as though you were a rag doll. He still didn’t withdraw, he was starting to slowly grow flaccid inside of you but still didn’t move. 
You could feel the combination of both of your arousals leaking down your inner thighs, pooling on the bed of hay beneath you. 
Spencer pulled back from your lips and buried his head in the crook of your neck, breath tickling your sensitive skin. 
“I just wanna stay like this forever.” He mumbled sleepily. 
“Me too.” You agreed, stroking his messy hair. “You’re okay?” 
He exhaled, slowly lifting his head so he could look at you. He had a tired smile on his lips as he nodded his head.
“I think so,” he rolled his lip between his teeth. “I feel more free than I have in a long time. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have a slight guilt gnawing on my chest.” 
“I imagine that it will take some time to lift completely.” You smiled a little sadly at him. “But you don’t…regret it or anything?” 
“Not in the slightest.” He was quick to reply. 
“Good.” You nodded, wiggling a little beneath him as he became soft inside of you. “You’re gonna have to move eventually.” 
“Hmm, probably.” He agreed with a small chuckle. “You just feel so fucking good.” 
You drew him close for a kiss and while his tongue was traversing the planes of your mouth he cautiously slid out. You whined against his lips as it caused more of his arousal to drip down your thighs. 
He sat back and unashamedly glanced between your body, seeing the slick coating your skin. He tucked himself away and buttoned his jeans before surprising you by dropping to his knees on the dusty floor.
He grabbed you by your ankles and tugged your body closer to the edge of the hay bale. You gasped when his tongue flattened against your inner thigh, lapping up the mess he’d left behind.
You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could get a good look at him. He glanced at you through his lashes as he moved his mouth to your other thigh and offered it the same treatment. 
You squirmed as his face ebbed closer to your core, your panties still pushed off to the side. You stared down at him, chest heaving. 
“What are you…what are you doing?” You panted. 
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He sat back a little, smirking at you dangerously. “I’ve gotta clean up the mess I made.”
He quickly leaned in close again and shifted your panties so they were completely out of his way before he tongue dove between your folds. You moaned so deeply the walls shook, wriggling and writhing beneath him at the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive area.
Spencer didn’t seem to notice and collected all of your combined arousal on his tongue before wrapping his lips around your swollen bud. Your legs hung next to his face, shaking at the overstimulation.
“F-fuck Spence So s-senstive.” You whined, still staring down at him in shock. 
You felt him laugh causing a vibration to tear through your whole body. His tongue was rapidly moving against your clit in desperation to bring you another orgasm. 
Before long you felt two fingers between your legs and he plunged them inside of your throbbing cunt making another rampant moan leave your chest. His fingers moved in and out of you needily, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit. 
You were especially responsive, every tiny flicker of his tongue and thrust of his fingers causing your body to jerk and shudder. It didn’t take him long at all to bring you to orgasm for a second time, already incredibly tender from the previous one. 
He knew it was happening before it washed over you, your walls clamping around his fingers and your body thrashing on the pile of hale while you moaned under your breath, “S’too much. S’ too much.”
When you came a second time your skin blanched at the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through every nerve ending of your body. You tried to push him away when he didn’t move, but he remained stalwart, determined to clean up every last drop of your arousal. 
Eventually he relented, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at the mess he created. You had a few tears rolling down your cheeks, your face blotchy and flushed. You were breathing so heavily you looked as though you’d run a marathon.
Spencer smiled to himself as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He got to his feet and took hold of one of your hands in his good one, pulling you to a sitting position on the hay. 
You crumpled almost immediately, your body collapsing against his chest and he was quick to wrap you in his arms. A twinge of pain spread up his left forearm as he wrapped it around you but he ignored it. 
You seemed so small and fragile at that moment. You rested against him, he was the only thing holding you upright. Your body heaved in his arms as you tried to catch your breath. 
This was without a doubt what heaven must feel like. You were the angel waiting at the pearly gates, he was sure of it. What he felt for you right then was bigger than simple love, he couldn’t put a word to it, but love wasn’t enough.
After a little while he felt your breathing start to return to something akin to normal and you forced your head up to look at him. 
“You okay?” He asked with a soft smile. 
“I t-think so.” You nodded slowly. 
“Sounds like it's stopped raining.” He nodded his head towards the door behind him. 
You inhaled, focusing your hearing and it was only then you realised that the downpour on the tin roof had ceased and all you could hear was your own breathing. 
“Maybe not a storm after all.” You mumbled sleepily.
“You think you’re going to be able to walk home?” He took half a step back, helping you up on your shaky legs.
“Hmm, I hope so.” You chuckled slightly. 
He stroked your hair back off of your face and kissed your forehead gently. 
“First thing tomorrow I am going to put the wheels in motion for us to leave Bandera.” 
“Spencer…” you chewed your lip. “I don’t want you to have to leave your ranch because of me.” 
“I meant it when I said I love you more than my ranch. And there is no way I am letting you go, not now and not ever. We’re going to have a clean break, a fresh start. Just the two of us.” 
His words wrapped you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. You knew no matter what, you would be tied to Spencer forever. And honestly nothing had ever sounded sweeter. 
***
Later that night, long after you’d fallen asleep, Spencer sat on the side of the tub in his bathroom, staring at the wall. 
He should feel relieved for finally being able to take that step with you, giving you a piece of himself he thought he could no longer part with. He was partially grateful to have finally gotten over that hurdle but at the same time he didn’t think he deserved to feel that way. 
The guilt spiral hadn’t come which was something of a miracle. Instead he was left feeling numb to it all. 
He should feel guilty, shouldn’t he? How could he let himself get close to someone in that way? He was dirty, broken, used up; it wasn’t fair for you to simply have the scraps left over from those men. 
How could he allow himself happiness, a moment to feel whole when he was fractured and scarred from their abuse? 
What was so wrong with his mind that he couldn’t just let himself revel in the euphoria a little longer? Had they broken him so badly that he could only allow himself to be consumed by the numbness? 
At the very least, it was better than how he’d reacted in your previous intimate experiences. He should be thankful he wasn’t crumbling or dissociating. 
Maybe numb was the best he could let himself feel. Perhaps he’d never be able to cling to that high after the moment passed. 
Those men had ruined him one way or another. Even if he didn’t succumb entirely to the darkness they’d stripped him of his ability to retain happiness. 
And you deserved more than this. You deserved more than he was able to give you. He loved you but he was never going to be able to give himself fully to you. 
He’d thought that once he’d moved past that final stumbling block he would be free of it all, to hand his mind, body and soul over to you. 
But he realised now with startling clarity that there would probably always be a piece of himself that he couldn’t give to you, a piece that still belonged to his three attackers. One he would never get back. 
He sat wallowing in the nothingness for some time before forcing himself back into bed. He slid beneath the sheet next to your sleeping form and watched as you breathed gently in and out. 
A whisper of light slivered its way through the blinds from the moon and cast its glow across your face. You were most certainly an angel sent from heaven but Spencer wasn’t worthy of you. 
You seemed so peaceful and he was a little envious of that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that kind of peace. 
He couldn’t walk away from you, that much he knew for certain. No matter that you were too good for him, he couldn’t leave you if he tried. But that made him selfish. 
He should let you go, let you find someone who was more than a broken jigsaw with a missing puzzle piece. It was the right thing to do, the fair thing to do. 
But he needed you, you were the only one who was able to quell his darkness even if it didn’t seem that way. He needed you no matter how much it hurt. 
It was cruel of him. And yet he would cling to you with everything he had. Because without you there was no telling what kind of depths he would succumb to, what kind of misery awaited him. 
He stroked your hair back from your forehead and you stirred briefly but quickly stilled. His heart was entwined with yours, so deeply entrenched there was no untangling it. 
But there would always be a piece of him he couldn’t give you, a fragment of his heart which had been sorely removed by those men. Physically he’d given himself over to you, but emotionally there would always be a part of himself he couldn’t bestow upon you. 
He hoped that it would be enough, that he was enough. And perhaps one day he would finally be worthy of your love. 
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@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling
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grendel-menz · 6 months
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I agree with what anon said about the song and your voice! I was thinking a gravelly, higher-pitched alto… my jaw dropped when I actually heard it! Made me wonder if you like your voice? Do you feel like it matches you? I wonder if it hinders people’s perception of your gender identity or like, makes it more difficult for people to perceive you as masculine because of it?
And I agree with the other stuff too—you sound like a natural singer! I think there are definitely people who would listen to your music, me included!!
Ooo this is such an interesting question!
I think as a kid/teenager I definitely had some anxiety and dysphoria about the way I looked and sounded - I thought a lot about going on T and having surgery and all that, but both because of where and how I live and being broke nothing like that ever ended up happening. At first I was upset and bitter about it, but then I began to build up more confidence in myself as a person and more sure in my identity. Honestly, I'm like 5' and the men in my family can't grow body hair or anything so even if I had done something with my hormones or top surgery I don't think it'd have been worth it for me personally.
Then when I was 20 or so I started researching precolonial ideas around gender and presentation and how things were seen and really became content with myself - my identity became based on my philosophy and politics and the role I want to play in my communities rather than my physical presentation. I don't care if people see me as a girl or whatever else because it's not going to change whether or not I hold doors open for women, etc etc.
Also it's like! I'm so lucky to have the body I have and the life I have, and I have better things to do then nitpick my own self how other people perceive me. (Also this is just my approach to myself, not everyone will have the same journey and all that!).
Also thank you ;_;... I am not confident in my singing or song making but I wanna do everything ever so I am in the process of putting some of my music up on spotify.
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twig-tea · 9 months
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Top 5 Couple Fights
Oooooooh this is fun! Thank you for a relatively easy category because so often the fights in these shows are unearned and it is very frustrating. I'm still limiting myself to 2023!
Wen and Alan, Moonlight Chicken
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This fight felt real, it felt lived in, and it felt heartbreaking even though we only saw some of it. These two men love each other, but love isn't enough to keep them together, and that realization is as heartbreaking as the fight itself.
My Personal Weatherman
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I am obsessed with the fights in My Personal Weatherman because the characters often don't know they're in one, or are in two different fights at the same time. This is all tied to how much I love how well the miscommunication is done in this show. These fights are legible based on what we know about these characters and what they've seen, even when they're completely unnecessary, and I adore that. Of course the best one is the ending fight and not just because Segasaki ties up Yo's wrists in his shirt.
Jack O'Frost
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[Not enough gifs of this actual fight and I need to finish this list so this is what you get]. The fight at the very start of this show escalated so quickly, at first I wasn't sure about it even while I appreciated the performances and the intimate way it was shot. But when we get the backstory and we finally understand how much has been withheld and said vs. not said between them, and where their anxieties were rooted and the source of these big feelings, this fight makes so much more sense. This is a show that really benefits from being watched more than once.
La Pluie
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[for some reason tumblr is giving me this link to Shan's blog rather than @liyazaki so tagging you, friend!]
Patts was pushed and pushed and pushed, and he lashed out in his insecurity, and when he asked for reassurance (this lineeee) Saengtai refused to give it to him and instead lashed out out of his own insecurity. This was a painful fight that was fully earned; all of the characters and their choices were legible even as they were infuriating. And it led to a critical awakening of Saengtai who was so caught up in his own sad boy narrative he hadn't realized how much he was hurting everyone around him.
My Beautiful Man S2
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Kiyoi and Hira's communication issues continuing past S1 is very believable. I said elsewhere that Hira's work on his self-worth is more like a spiral than a straight line and that's very relatable and realistic. Kiyoi being hurt by Hira not valuing Kiyoi's feelings was such an important lesson for Hira to get more than once. Again, so earned, and resulted in the characters self-reflecting and moving a little closer to whatever a healthy relationship means for these two lol
Laws of Attraction
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How much do I Love Tinn seeing right through Charn and Charn being big mad at him for Perceiving him so well? All of their fights are so good because they're about boundaries and mutual respect at their core, and they actually listen to one another and are based on how well they know one another (rather than what so often happens, when the characters seem to forget who the person they're in love with actually is). This barely counts as fight but I love it and it's my list so it stays.
Bonus entry that's only for me (shh stop counting the above):
Mr. Cinderella S2
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Nobody but me and like 2 other people watched this show, but I'm actually obsessed with the couple fight in Mr. Cinderella s2 so thank you for the chance to rant about it on main some more. I need to start by saying: this plot is ridiculous and the ending sucks. But within this show, Dung and Khoa have an established relationship that has been tested in S1 and is being tested harder in S2, and to a point, they actually stand together and weather the storm, and it was rewarding to watch. And then slowly everything happening ("everything" here being an ABSURD amount of melodrama) starts to wear on Khoa, who sees himself as the one solely responsible for everything, and he unlearns some of what he learned in s1, he stops relying on Dung as his support, stops telling Dung what's going on because he doesn't want to burden him, and stops trusting Dung's word about what is happening. And so, when the jealousy plot hits, it's actually believable that Dung would be mad at Khoa, not for cheating, but for not respecting Dung as a partner in their relationship. It's well done, I wish so much that it were in a better show so that I could actually recommend anyone watching (I don't). I've seen this trope (assumed cheating) done so badly and so unearned in so many shows, this was so refreshing.
Extra bonus: Best couple fight scene of all time?
Gameboys S2
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[I give up on gifs of this scene; have them upset for other reasons instead!]
What I love about the way they fight in this show is that, beyond it being earned etc. etc., the dialogue is so raw. They repeat themselves, they just yell over one another, they get rude, they try saying something to de-escalate and it gets worse instead. This is not a carefully crafted speech, or a single perfectly delivered devastating line; this is raw emotion. I recognize this fight, I've been in this fight, this is what I sound like when I fight lol And we see them really fight at least twice, and the way they fight in ep8 has changed as a result of the earlier fight is also SO good.
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astroyongie · 6 months
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Why Am I This Way - Psychology Answers
Note: hey guys! This will be a little series post mainly based on psychology. In order for me to congratulate myself for finally achieving my masters in clinical psychology I have decided to create these mini posts that will contain different questions that we often ask ourselves. In these questions I will provide psychological answers in which they will hopefully bring you a sense of understanding on yourself! Enjoy!
Note 2: This first Why Am I This Way will be based on the “How Am I” Section. Other sessions will include “Why do I behave this way?”, “How Others see me”, “What's Happening” and “How can I get better?”
This section will have the following parts: “I know I shouldn't but.. can I have another piece of cake?”; “I love to be alone.. am I weird?”; “Why do I procrastinate so much’”; “ Am I really a good person?”; “ I was just joking!”, “Why does it always happen to me?”, “Why do I hate working so much?” and “Should I be more egocentric?” 
With that said, let's dive into it! 
“How Am I” Section
“I know I shouldn't but.. can I have another piece of cake?”
What happens in the unconscious brain: 
Based on Freud’s work, these type of questions that overwhelm us are usually thoughts linked with pent up guilt that is unconsciously working its way out
One thing is clear. Often, we don't realize the things that we think and we don't always understand our actions and our behaviors. When we stop to reflect on it, we are usually stuck in a sense of guilt for doing things that are against our values and morals and yet we cannot understand why we have done things that way. 
Based on the most known theories of Freud, the ID and the superego (based on ID, EGO and SUPEREGO Theory) are actually the ones that are behind these guilty feelings of  “should i do this or not, even if i know that i will regret it later”. 
ID is the mind that is first formed when we are born. It is something rigid on our unconscious, something that is based on the principle of pleasure. The ID is constantly seeking gratification and pleasure in order to smooth our anguish within one self.
The superEgo is different, it is the last thing that is formatted in the unconscious (after the Ego) and it works on the principle of the world’s rules. Basically it is a part of us that comprehends the world around us and it tries to follow the rules and the interdictions that were instructed when we were younger. 
Now this is why many of us struggles with this. Having craving desires about something, and that guilty feeling coming from the Superego because we have internalized that what we want is wrong. 
Someone that has had a harsh childhood, who has been neglected or has seen their rules being too strict will often struggle with this, because they need to have their ID smoothed but they cannot bear the guilt. 
This is what happens: ID wants to be fed with something comforting. Chocolate! so it stays in your head “let's have chocolate!” and the superego will whiplash right after “are you crazy? Having chocolate? you cant even fit in your pants and you want chocolate! you should be ashamed of yourself!”
This is basically how overthinking your worth will work, how one often develops Eating disorders for example or bad relationships with food, but this also happens with social relationships, addictions and any reward system. 
The fear of the outside world usually unleashed that overwhelming anxiety that will after turn into guilt if you give in to your ID or it turns into restrictive punishment if you follow the Superego. 
Many of us will put so much effort into controlling impulsive destructive thoughts  and behaviors in order to muffle the critics of Superego but that often results in depression, anxiety and an affinity with other psychological problems. 
So what can we do?
understand where those desires come from. If your ID is making you crave something, either food, social contact, a new dress, a new drink or anything that it is, ask yourself where this feeling comes from? Are you bored? are you sad? are you upset? Are you overly excited? understanding that process and allowing yourself not to be psychorigid is already a big improvement. find balance between rewarding yourself and being true to your rules. Also stop punishing yourself, You have done nothing wrong. You deserve to be happy and smoothed the same way you deserve to go beyond your addictions
Understand in which you fall. If you are the type to crave in in your desires it means these possibilities: Early trauma ou neglect, environmental stressors, maladaptive coping mechanism,, substance abuse, personality disorders, lack of emotional regulation skills and cultural and social influences 
If you fall in the fragil superego, if you are too strict with yourself, it means these possibilities: weak parental influence, traumatic experience, overly harsh and permissive parenting, lack of role model, cultural influence, early childhood experiences like rejection and personality disorders. 
For those who have balance between giving in desires and restraining, then congrats! You are a rather healthy being
Now that you know this, you have a start on where to work to become a better version of yourself 
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