#like it makes sense to me to just go there; be relatively honest about my limitations; gather info

[fingertipsmp3]

I got a job interview on the same day my current contract ends lol. Is my run of bad luck coming to an end or is it more of the same though 🧐

[plounce]

researching stuff for a post about misinformation regarding girl scout cookies and man this article (10/28/23) about this palestinian-american girl scout nearly made me burst into tears

In her short 17 years on earth, Amira Ismail had never been called a baby killer.

That’s what happened one Friday this month, Amira said, on New York City’s Q58 bus, which runs through central Queens.

“This lady looked at me, and she was like: ‘You’re disgusting. You’re a baby killer. You’re an antisemite,’” Amira told me. When she talked about this incident, her signature spunk faded. “I just kept saying, ‘That’s not true,’” she said. “I was just on my way to school. I was just wearing my hijab.”

Amira was born in Queens in the years after the Sept. 11 attacks. She remembers participating as a child in demonstrations at City Hall as part of a successful movement to make Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha school holidays in New York City.

But since the Oct. 7 attack by Hamas, in which an estimated 1,400 Israelis were killed and some 200 others were kidnapped, Amira, who is Palestinian American, said she has experienced for the first time the full fury of Islamophobia and racism that her older relatives and friends have told stories about all her life. Throughout the city, in fact, there has been an increase in both anti-Muslim and antisemitic attacks.

In heavily Muslim parts of Queens, she said, police officers are suddenly everywhere, asking for identification and stopping and frisking Muslim men. (New York City has stepped up its police presence around both Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods and sites within the five boroughs.) Most painful though, she said, is the sense that she and her peers are getting that Palestinian lives do not matter, as they watch the United States staunchly back Israel as it heads into war.

“It can’t go unrecognized, the thousands of Palestinians that have been murdered in the past two weeks and even more the past 75 years,” Amira said. “There’s no way you can erase that.” That does not mean she is antisemitic, she said. “How can I denounce one system of oppression without denouncing another?” she asked me. The pain in her usually buoyant voice cut through me. I had no answer for her.

Many New York City kids have a worldliness about them, a certain telltale moxie. Amira, a joyful, sneaker-wearing, self-described “Queens kid,” can seem unstoppable.

When she was just 15, Amira helped topple a major mayoral campaign in America’s largest city, writing a letter accusing the ultraprogressive candidate Dianne Morales of having violated child labor laws while purporting to champion the working class in New York.

“My life and my extremely bright future as a 15-year-old activist will not be defined by the failures and harm enabled by Dianne Morales,” Amira wrote in the 2021 letter, which went viral and helped end Ms. Morales’s campaign. “I wrote my college essay about that,” Amira told me with a slightly mischievous smile.

In the past two years, Amira has become a veteran organizer. Last weekend, she joined an antiwar protest. First, though, she’ll have to work on earning her latest Girl Scout badge, this one for photography. That will mean satisfying her mother, Abier Rayan, who happens to be Troop 4179’s leader. “She’s tough,” Amira assured me.

At a meeting of the Muslim Girl Scouts of Astoria last week, a young woman bounded into the room, asking whether her fellow scouts had secured tickets to an Olivia Rodrigo concert. “She’s the Taylor Swift of our generation,” the scout turned to me to explain.

A group of younger girls recited the Girl Scout Law:

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place and be a sister to every Girl Scout.”

Amira’s mother carefully inspected the work of some of the younger scouts; she wore a blue Girl Scouts U.S.A. vest, filled with colorful badges, and a hot-pink hijab. “It’s no conflict at all,” Ms. Rayan told me of Islam and the Girl Scouts. “You want a strong Muslim American girl.”

At the Girl Scouts meeting, Amira and her friends discussed their plans to protest the war in Gaza. “Protests are where you let go of your anger,” Amira told me.

Amira’s mother was born in Egypt. In 1948, Ms. Rayan told me, her grandfather lost his home and land in Jaffa to the state of Israel. At the Girl Scout meeting, Ms. Rayan was still waiting for word that relatives in Gaza were safe.

“There’s been no communication,” she said. When I asked about Amira, Ms. Rayan’s eyes brightened. “I’m really proud of her,” she said. “You have to be strong. You don’t know where you’re going to be tomorrow.”

By Monday, word had reached Ms. Rayan that her relatives had been killed as Israel bombed Gaza City. When I asked whom she had lost, Ms. Rayan replied: “All of them. There’s no one left.” Thousands of Palestinians are estimated to have been killed by Israeli airstrikes in Gaza in recent weeks. ... Ms. Rayan said those killed in her family included six cousins and their children, who were as young as 2. Other relatives living abroad told her the cousins died beneath the rubble of their home.

As Ms. Rayan spoke, I saw Amira’s young face. I wondered how long this bright, spirited Queens kid could keep her fire for what I believe John Lewis would have called “good trouble” in a world that seems hellbent on snuffing it out. I worried about how she would finish her college applications.

“I have a lot of angry emotions at the ones in charge,” Amira told me days ago, speaking for so many human beings around the world in this dark time.

I thought about what I had seen over that weekend in Brooklyn, where thousands gathered in the Bay Ridge neighborhood, the home of many Arab Americans, to protest the war. In this part of the city, people of many backgrounds carried Palestinian flags through the street. Large groups of police officers gathered on every corner, watching them go by.

The crowd was large but quiet when Amira waded in, picked up her megaphone and called for Palestinian liberation. In an instant, thousands of New Yorkers repeated after her, filling the Brooklyn street with their voices. My prayer is that Amira’s generation of leaders will leave a better world than the one it has been given.

i believe she recently got her gold award (which, if youve never been in girl scouts, is really difficult - way more difficult than eagle scout awards), or is almost done with it. i hope she's doing okay.

this article (no paywall) about muslim and palestinian girl scout troops in socal also almost made me cry (it's like 2am). i really really hope all these kids are doing alright. god. they and their families all deserve so much better

[planchettewrites]

See You in September

Prince Malleus Draconia (Twisted Wonderland)/GN!Reader

DESCRIPTION: Prince Malleus Draconia thinks of only one person during his lonesome summer vacation: the Housewarden of Ramshackle.

CONTENT: Slight possessive behavior (very little), pining, slight reader description (very general desc.)

A/N: Oh, how I love 50's love songs! This song was inspired by "See You in September" by The Tempos. My last TWST fic was a hit, so I figured I'd write another. I hope you enjoy it; I had plenty of fun writing this.

1.1k words | Safe!

Prince Malleus Draconia looked outside his window in the Briar Valley Royal Palace. As his grandmother ruled the nation, his mind was clouded with thoughts of only one person: the Housewarden of Ramshackle. 

He wondered what you were up to, who you were with. Were you staying at the College with that dire beast, or maybe with one of your friends at their home? The Prince wishes he knew. He thought of your hair, how it frames your face and your effervescent smile. He considered how your kindness has shaped the school into a better and safer environment. He thought of your gentle humanness. He almost had no way to put it—being human was different from being fae. Yet, your humanness made you shine. It’s like how Silver’s humanity made him who he was, but for you, you were a different kind of human. You weren’t from Twisted Wonderland. Your humanness didn’t make you inherently magical in the sense that you could use magic, but it made you magical in the sense that your presence was magnetic.

Something about you stirred something in him. You made his heart beat faster and his breath hitch. You made his cheeks flush and made his mind race. At first, Malleus thought that you had cast a spell on him, but after talking with Lilia, the type of spell you cast was purely chemical. It was something that transcended all known logic. He was infatuated with you. Dare he say he was in love with you? 

He wondered if you thought of him the way he thought of you. He had given you a letter encouraging you to write to him, and if he was honest with himself, he was really, really hoping you’d write him back. He wanted to hear all about your summer. He wanted to know how you were spending your days and who you were spending them with. As much as he wished you were kept company, he also hoped it wasn’t just the ghosts and the meddlesome direbeast. If he indeed had its way, you would spend your summer here in Briar Valley, where it was relatively temperate. He knew Ramshackle’s air was something to be desired, so he had hoped you weren’t in discomfort with the weather. 

But what if you were with someone? What would you be doing with them? Malleus did not know what most “average” teenagers did. Most of the students of Diasomnia were far from average. Most were fae who lived in Briar Valley, and a good came from the nobility or were the children of members of parliament. He had heard some students in other dorms talk about their summer plans as he prepared to transport back to Briar Valley, and those plans involved places like beaches and vacations to lands they’d never been to. Is that what average teenagers do? To his knowledge, average teenagers did not sit in their castles and ponder what their object of affection was doing. 

He still remembers seeing you moments before the mirror and how rushed you seemed to see him. 

“Malleus!” you called, rushing over to the Mirror Room. 

“Yes, Child of Man?” he responded, a smile growing. Malleus had to admit he was excited to see you. He would have to go three whole months without seeing you—and although that was the blink of an eye for fae, it suddenly felt like a relatively long period of time. 

It was then a loud voice came from behind him. “Lord Malleus! You shan’t let his human address you without your royal title!” Sebek Zigvolt boomed. 

“Nonsense,” Malleus chided. “They are a friend, Sebek; they can address me however they see fit.”

Sebek huffed, gathering the rest of the luggage, and wandered off to find Silver and Lilia Vanrouge. Meanwhile, you skittered up to Malleus. 

“Oh, Child of Man, I have something for you.” Malleus dug into his breast pocket and found what he was looking for: a brilliant ivory letter. He handed it to you with a smile. “Read this when you have the time.”

You returned his smile. “Thank you so much, Malleus.”

“Now, what did you rush over here to tell me? What matter of tale will you weave for me today?” The Prince asked, his curiosity now piqued. 

“I wanted to wish you a good summer vacation, and I can’t wait to see you soon.” you got on your tippy-toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Malleus!” Within seconds, you scurried away back to Ramshackle. 

For the first time in his life, the Prince was stunned into silence. However, it was a good kind of stunned. The type of stunned someone is when they receive a surprise present or when an old friend comes over without an invitation. Your ability to stupefy the Prince was astounding. 

Malleus touched his cheek, recounting the memory with a smile. It was like he could almost feel the kiss you placed. The more he thought about it, he loathed his royal duties. Must he be kept cooped up in a castle with nothing to do? It wasn’t often he was invited to the senate, nor was he invited to the gatherings the townsfolk held, so there he sat. Alone. 

His mind wandered back to something Lilia had said right after he had witnessed the small act of affection. Lilia said, “It seems the human returns your feeling, Lord Malleus.” Hopefully, you did. If you returned his affections, he would court you immediately. There was no purpose in not. He would make you his own for the rest of your life. The adjustment would be hard, but you had adjusted to Twisted Wonderland with relative ease, and he hoped that the same attitude you held adjusting to your school life would be the same as how you’d adjust to your life as a royal. 

How Malleus started counting the minutes and hours until he could see you again. Would he see you when school came back in session? His worst fear would be realized if Headmage Crowley had found a way to send you home. No, he wouldn’t allow you to go home to your world. He would do the entirely un-princely behavior of groveling on his knees and beg you to stay in this world. Malleus could already see poor Sebek attempting to pull Malleus to his feet, but when it came to his love, any groveling was a plausible behavior. 

Or worse, could he lose you to a summer love? There is danger in the summer moon above, and Malleus couldn’t stand to lose you to someone else. Who could it possibly be that he could lose you to? Would it be one of your underclassmen or maybe one of his fellow upperclassmen? Or what if it was a random civilian? Malleus wasn’t sure he could live with either option. He was barely half alive in his struggle to survive without you around him. 

For now, there was nothing he could do. He could only pray to the Great Seven that he would see you in September. 

[reareaotaku]

Can I request Yandere gravity falls with bored reader who would jump to different alternative universe for the fun of it, unknowingly that everyone become very attached to them? (This can be romantic or platonic)

Reader is from the monster falls universe btw and currently visiting gravity falls (The og universe)

I hope this make sense👍

If my request too complex, you don't have to do it

Holy shit- I love this idea. I could literally write a whole story this

[I was going to have where reader jumps into the body of herself in alternate dimensions, but I decided not to...]

Pt II: _____ | Pt III: _____

All the people of Gravity Falls were monsters. At least, in your dimension they were. You weren't like that though- You looked... different than the creatures. You were a shapeshifter that's able to jump different dimensions. The shapeshifting was when you jumped into another universe, your body morphed to fit the dimensional plane.

You liked traveling different places. It was fun, while still staying familiar territories. You didn't stand out, so you can do anything you wanted and explore to your heart's desire. That was until you got to Gravity Falls- it was relatively strange... The creatures that hid in this Gravity Falls fit more in with the other dimensions you've been to then the actual people. They had no special abilities or anything.

You went exploring the town, but you had to be honest- This place was boring as hell. You sighed as you walked around the town, not watching where you were going and accidentally bumping into someone.

You were quick to apologize, before taking a good look at the man you had run into. He looked an awful like Dipper.

"I'm sorry," He begins, closing his book. "I wasn't paying attention." He puts out his hand, "I'm Dipper. You're not from around here, are you?"

"Uh, not necessarily. Maybe you could show me around?"

"Uh," He looks down at his book. Dipper realized that a pretty girl was asking him to show him around. He had to take this chance, especially since he knew the coolest things about Gravity Falls. "Yeah. I can show you around."

---

Dipper was exploring a pond that was located near the cave of the three-headed bear. He had realized that the pond wasn't normal. He looked at his reflection, but instead of seeing himself, he saw a creature- that looked like him, but also a deer?

He went to put his hand into the pond when there was a long CRACK. He looked back, but didn't see anything. He stands up and slowly goes towards the noise, only to be surprised when seeing a person crouched down.

He knew it was creepy to spy on someone, but this wasn't someone. This was different...

The creature stands up and h/l [Hair length] h/c hair flowed down and he realized it was a girl when she turned around. She looked just like him- Not like-like him, but human, though Dipper's monster radar was going off hardcore. He'd have to learn more about who and what this girl was.

---

"So, what brings you to Gravity Falls?" Dipper asks, while putting his book into his handbag. NOT a purse, but a handbag.

"Uh... What can I say. It reminds me of home," You chuckle at your joke, but Dipper was clearly confused. "I didn't tell you my name. I'm Y/n."

"Y/n? That's a nice name."

"It's definitely something. Is there anything fun to do in Gravity Falls."

"Depends. What do you like to do?"

You hum, before looking over at him, smiling, "Do you... Have any supernatural stuff?"

Dipper considered his words, humming to himself. "Well, depends. Am I looking at one?"

You turned to him not only confused, but taken aback by his bluntness. "I'm sorry."

"I saw you in the forest."

"Oh.." You laugh. "Yeah? What did you see."

"I know you're not... like me."

"How does that make you feel?"

He smiles, "Curious." He digs in his bookbag, before grabbing the journal he had been carrying before. "I want to know everything."

[helenofsparta2]

Percy, Nico, and Jason should have fallen into Tartarus together, while Annabeth should have remained with the rest of the Seven in House of Hades. Please hear me out.

1.

For one, this way Tartarus would have been much more intimidating. At least in my opinion, it has pretty much lost this aspect, especially after Sun and Star. Tartarus is the prison of the titans, a place so scary and so dangerous, that only the best of the best can make it through. Homer described it as being as far beneath Hades as heaven is above earth.  Overcoming it should be the ultimate challenge.

Yes, Annabeth is smart, incredibly so, but, I feel like, because Rick wanted her to be useful in Tartarus, he used a lot of cheap tricks in her POVs to get her and Percy over obstacles, which seem a bit too simple to really work against beings like Nyx. This took the heaviness away from them being down there and felt at times even anticlimactic. Don’t get me wrong, again, because I know this is a sensitive subject, Annabeth is smart, has a strong resolve and is great at hand to hand combat, but that’s it. And, in my opinion, that should not be enough to overcome Tartarus. If it would have taken a child of each of the big three working together to only barely make it out, it would have definitely reinforced that status, and also the gods’ belief that such children can become too powerful.

2.

Secondly, Percy not letting go of Nico’s hand, would have done wonders for the development of their relationship and for each character’s individual arc.

Imagine, Nico dangling from the edge, instead of Annabeth. Nico, who had only days prior pretended like he didn’t know Percy, who is so full of self-hatred, he thinks the entirety of camp half-blood hates him, who is already weakened by being imprisoned in the jar, and who is scared out of his mind by the idea of being alone in Tartarus again.

Imagine Nico staring up at Percy, clasping his hand, while Percy looks up at Annabeth, the love of his life, whom he had been separated from for months. Imagine Nico being convinced, that Percy is going to let Nico fall down to stay by her side.

But Percy refuses to let go.

He refuses to let go, even after Nico tells him he should do it, and decides instead to fall together with him into the worst place on earth, just so Nico doesn’t have to endure it alone again. It would have further reinforced Percy’s self-inflicted role as Nico’s protector which he already had in the original five books and his fatal flaw of loyalty. To Nico, it would have given him a worse inner conflict about having a crush on him, which could have been revolved while they were travelling together.  The confession scene would have been much more impactful and healthier, if it would have come from Nico himself, and if he and Percy would have had a more in depth talk about it.

And if Jason would have flown after them in a moment of desperation, it would have reinforced the sense of loyalty and protectiveness that he had already shown when he had saved Piper at the grand canyon. The scene with Polybotes could have also taken place in Tartarus instead, and him and Percy working together, and putting all of their differences aside would have been a much more interesting dynamic than the stupid, out of character, rivalry bit they’ve got going on in Mark of Athena.

And, to be honest, just having Nico, Percy and Jason go all out, would probably be one of the coolest scenes in the entire Riordan verse.  

3.

All the while, Annabeth could have really cemented her role as a leader. I love her character, but to say that she has more leadership capabilities than Percy is laughable to me after reading the original five Percy Jackson books. These books are, after all, about Percy’s hero’s journey from an inexperienced kid to a smart, powerful and wise hero and the leader of camp half blood.  Annabeth, in comparison, shows relatively little of that. (Obviously this makes sense, considering that the books are from Percy’s POV and revolve around him, but the complete switch-up to saying that Annabeth is the natural choice as leader of the seven just felt a bit out of the blue to me in Mark of Athena)

Her leading the rest, in a moment of such a tragedy and remaining strong would have really reinforced the strong resolve that she had already shown in holding the sky in titan’s curse and in remaining steadfast despite all the horrible things that happened to her with her father’s rejection and luke’s betrayal. Annabeth’s relationship to Piper, Leo, Hazel and Frank, which is painfully underdeveloped in the books, could have also been given some much needed attention. Like, I can’t remember a single scene where she and Hazel, or she and Leo really talk to one another, which is a shame, because they could have had really interesting dynamics with one another.

It also would have also been a powerful statement about Percy’s and Annabeth’s relationship, if they, while separated, still believed in each other and trusted that the other person would get the job done.

Without powerhouses like Jason and Percy on board of the Argo II, Hazel and Frank could have really shone as individual fighters. Hazel is probably the second, or third most powerful demigod in the entire franchise, but barely gets any attention, and for a guy, who is apparently so powerful his life had to be tied to a stick, Frank seems, outside of one or two scenes, also pretty underwhelming.  

Without Jason, Piper’s and Leo’s friendship could have also gotten some more attention, and generally the reunion scene at the end of House of Hades could have been much more impactful with these character dynamics. I mean, Hazel, and Nico being reunited, Jason, leo and Piper, and Percy and Annabeth, and Percy, Hazel and Frank.

One of the biggest problems, I have with Heroes of Olympus is the extreme focus on romantic relationships. Having some couples be separated from each other like this, would have also solved this and given the only couple still together, Frank and Hazel, more room to develop.

[pippin-katz]

Iron Burns

Something I'm super curious about is just how badly iron hurts when a ghost touches it. I posted a little ramble about Charles being chained and unable to help Edwin while she tortured him, and how we didn't get a reaction shot of him hearing Edwin screaming. And something clicked in my brain. I will preface this by saying that I can't prove anything, and could very well be completely wrong. This is just a possible explanation/option.

This was supposed to be relatively short, and that did not happen lmfao Here's your long post warning 😂

Charles VS Iron

This is Charles we are talking about. He is fiercely protective of Edwin, and let's be honest, can get physically violent when provoked. He was sitting there, listening to Esther, until she specifically brought up rescuing Edwin from her plans. It's only when she says that that he starts moving, and he very obviously intended to attack her.

It confirms in Charles' head that there is a specific reason why Edwin is separated from him, and that is bad. Very bad. He possessed Esther to get them out of their first fight with her; she very nearly succeeded in getting them eaten by that Forest Elemental. She is seriously dangerous, and he knows it. Whatever she has planned for Edwin, Charles knows it's vicious and vile.

That thought spurs him to physically attack Esther, without hesitation. Based on the fact that his hands are open, Charles was going to grab her rather than hit her, and, based on her proximity to him, by the throat. That is the only effective attack from his position I can think of; it's the only way he can completely incapacitate.

Logical reasoning aside, choking someone is a pretty common violent anger response. It's probably because it's the easiest way to kill someone with your bare hands; in shows, many characters use a weapon to hurt their adversaries. It's the bullet, the blade, the bat, or whatever that actually hurts them, makes contact with them. It feels different when it's literally you hurting them. Your hands are weapons on their own if you know how to use them. Ex: Vi from Arcane has boxing as her go-to fighting style.

Okay, I went on a bit of tangent there, but my point is that Charles is fucking pissed. This is Charles, who fears being like his father, wanting to hurt Esther.

Violence is the last resort for all of their cases and situations. Charles will take out his cricket bat if he senses danger, but it's more of an intimidation tactic than a true threat. Charles does not actually attack anyone with the cricket bat who is not already an established threat. He takes it out during their first encounter with Esther, when they meet the Cat King, in the Devlin House, when the Night Nurse first shows up, in the forest against David, and against the snake. Most of those encounters are not a matter of negotiation; the first fight with Esther, the Devlin House, David, and the snake were all situations where "talking it out" was not an option, so pulling out the cricket bat to intimidate them would have been pointless. When he takes the bat out in those cases, he's already fully intending to use it. When he takes it out against the Cat King and the Night Nurse, he waits. He holds it up to send a message. It says, "Don't make me hurt you, because I will if I have to."

Charles doesn't want to hurt people, and usually tries his best to find another solution; even when we see him having to fight someone, a military veteran no less, he apologizes and only defends against him because he knows this is a ghost who's cursed, and doesn't deserve it, despite his violent behavior. They attempt to talk the Night Nurse out of taking them for several minutes before she attacks him. She attacks him mentally and emotionally in a way the others don't see and can't fathom; you could even argue that it is a physical attack as well because she makes him relive being beaten by his father and stoned by his friends. The Night Nurse does not hit him, but she hurts him, hurts him bad. When Charles hits her with that music box, despite what the others see, he's retaliating, not initiating. Because again, Charles wants to find another solution first.

But with Esther? He is so far passed that. He is so furious that he wants to attack her. He wants to hurt her. And that is before she starts torturing Edwin.

When he heard Edwin screaming, do you realize just how angry Charles would have been? I can't comprehend how badly he would've wanted to break free and fuck Esther up for what she did. Charles is genuinely intimidating when he's angry; he would have been absolutely terrifying.

Tiny Note: this is the best shot of Charles in the whole show. Let my boy beat the shit out of someone without getting judged for it, please! Let him go apeshit, please!! 🙏🏻

I struggle to believe that anything would have stopped him from getting to Edwin in that state, iron collar be damned.

But Charles doesn't. He doesn't break free. He tries, and continues to fail repeatedly. Almost every movement makes the collar burn him.

The thought I had was how little Charles would care about his own safety/pain if it meant saving Edwin. This boy willingly enters and traverses Hell itself for him. He tells the Night Nurse that if he goes, he can either succeed in bringing Edwin back, or get stuck in Hell so she knows where they are. Charles admits that he would rather be stuck in Hell with Edwin than spend another second without him. When Crystal asks, "What if something happens to you?", he has no response. He honestly does not care if something happens to him, but he doesn't want to admit that to Crystal's face cause that would hurt her, so he refuses to answer.

Getting hurt does not matter to him, so just how painful was that iron that Charles, at his angriest, and in his most desperate state, could not break out?

We see him pulling on the chain and struggling, but he's moving as little as possible because he's trying that hard not to touch the collar. He lets go because it hurts too much. Even when his bag is just out of reach, which is the solution to all of his struggles, he can't bear the burning long enough to get his foot under the strap.

Based on all of that, my brain told me this: the iron burning was so painful that Charles could not endure it long enough to escape, even in his angriest and desperate state, listening to the most important person in his world screaming in a way he has never heard before, and pleading for Esther to stop hurting him.

Like, that sounds crazy to me. Seeing how angry he got at the Night Nurse, and the intensity of his rage in that scene makes me wonder what was going through his head while chained up.

Edwin VS Iron

But my brain was not done with this information. One of my favorite details that I want to be explored in the future is how nonchalant Edwin is while his hand is burning.

He did not notice it was burning until Crystal pointed it out. He looks and sounds genuinely surprised when he sees it. His expression and the way he says he was careless makes me feel like he wasn't in pain and trying to play it off, but was upset with himself for making a very noticeable mistake in front of Crystal while trying to show off and prove a point.

Edwin's pain tolerance is so high that he does not even notice a simple iron burn.

The second time he gets touched by iron is when Esther knocks him across the garden. He looks down at the burn that's what's hurting him, but I don't buy it.

This boy just got swatted like a tennis ball across a courtyard into a small greenhouse.

We all know that Charles does the fighting/takes the hits, so Edwin getting hit like that is probably a new feeling. Since iron makes them tangible for a couple seconds, he probably physically felt it when he landed.

Being burned and crashing into things are two very different sensations, and one of them Edwin hasn't experienced in thirty years. The burn is localized to his hand, and it's a burn. It stings. Hitting a structure that fast and landing like that is going to effect your whole body. It's aching, it bruises every part of you, from your skin down to your bones. It's so much more uncomfortable and hindering than a simple burn. If you burn your hand, you can still operate day-to-day almost normally, but if you mess up your body in some way, you're not going to be able to walk without being in pain. If you asked me which one I'd rather have happen to me, I would take the burn so fast.

Point being that him looking distressed and hurt after that hit makes a whole lot of sense, despite his high pain tolerance. It probably surprised him more than hurt him. It doesn't last long either.

The only time we see him truly react to iron is in Esther's torture device, which is obvious but I'll talk it through anyway.

The cuffs restraining his arms are touching his bare wrists, tightly and constantly. His wrists smoke from it. Him gasping at that makes sense.

But the real kicker here is obviously the rods. Upon first glance, it looks like they touch down on his torso, zapping him or whatever you'd call that, on a surface level. But if you pay close attention to the shots where he's somewhat transparent you can see that those prongs are actually going through him, at least a little bit.

I took a screenshot, up-ed the brightness, and marked where it looks like the rods hit him, versus where they actually end.

Edwin moves around a bit, so there are definitely some shots where they are just touching his skin, but that's kind of the point I'm trying to make. The rods are not moving, they are static, so when Edwin's body moves around them, they stay put. That is fucking painful.

The rod is not moving, but Edwin's body is, and there is nowhere for his skin/muscles to go but through the metal, like it is cutting through him in reverse. If you push a knife down to cut through something, like a carrot, it cuts. But if you hold the carrot, and push it down on the blade, it still cuts.

That would explain even more why Edwin reacts to whenever Esther touches him, even when the device is paused. It would also explain why he was begging Esther "don't come any closer" during one of the cutaway shots.

If you think about it, that doesn't make any sense. Esther's proximity to the device doesn't determine whether it's on, off, or higher/lower. She walks around the room with her glass of ghost juice or whatever you want to call it. She gestures with her hand when she turns it on and turns the intensity up.

Esther getting closer to him wouldn't matter since the device is already on. That is, unless she was actively doing something to him while torturing him. Considering how sadistic she is, I wouldn't put it past her to mess with him whenever she got bored of just watching. Touching him, shaking him, whatever, would almost definitely make it worse. Edwin not wanting her to get close to him would make perfect sense if she was occasionally doing something like that.

So, we have iron making him corporal, burning him, and zapping him with some kind of electricity-like energy, that are also piercing into him, and yet Edwin doesn't scream from the pain initially. There's quiet moaning that you can tell he's holding back, but he doesn't gasp or yell. This is same metal that hurt Charles so badly he couldn't escape in his angriest state. It takes hours of prolonged exposure and gradual increasing of the intensity to make him scream.

The secondary question to this whole thing is just how high is Edwin's pain tolerance that he is able to endure that while withholding making noise?

I can't comprehend it, honestly. Though Edwin spent 70 years in hell being literally torn apart over and over again. We have no idea how long he feels the sensations of his previous body after he respawns or how quickly he does so, especially since the manner of death in this case wouldn't be instantaneously fatal. If his head and heart are in some capacity intact, he'd still be alive for at least a few seconds. As Dr. Alan Grant explains to that kid about raptors in Jurassic Park, you are alive when they start to eat you. It would be believable if Edwin is basically immune to pain unless it's a fucking insane amount of it. I mean, in the Cat King's words to Esther, "Edwin has been through more pain than you, or I, could ever imagine."

That would be pretty fucking crazy if this is all true/accurate.

Is it intentional? Probably not. Could I be reading too much into it, and unintentionally hyperbolizing it? Absolutely. I'm using observation and some information about their characters that I can't actually prove to be true. Maybe I'm just seeing things with the prongs and they're not going through Edwin. I can't prove that Charles would've been angry enough to break out of restraints if they hadn't been made of iron. Maybe iron effects all ghosts differently. Who the hell knows?

Even if I'm not 100% accurate, we do at least know for sure that Edwin has a way higher pain tolerance than anybody else based on the burning hand that he didn't even notice was burning, and how long he was in that device before he started screaming, and that's badass as hell on its own.

(ko-fi)

[shorthaltsjester]

trying not to set myself up to start spiralling back into c2 (i’m always like. a slight gust of wind away from it if i’m being honest) but i was confirming a quote from ep 141 and in general the conversation between fjord and vandran makes me insane, it’s truly some of my favourite rp from travis across all the campaigns, it has one of my personal top 5 cr Thematic™ quotes when fjord tells vandran “you showed me kindness, and love, and honour, and it meant the world to me.”, it has lore drops about vandran and avantika and uk’otoa, it has a silly sweet interaction of jester shouting out a greeting to vandran and fjord going “she’s wonderful.” and vandran saying “she’s a handful.” and fjord agreeing only for vandran to add “she’s perfect for you.” but beyond all that wonderfulnesss packaged into a mere 30 minutes, i am once again struck by how fjord and imogen are very interesting foils in terms of like. the absence of a parental figure who has knowledge of the curse you bear that your own curiosity for has led you through your recent life.

especially with (relatively) more recent imogen literally pretending to be her mother for utility versus fjord who took on aspects of vandran hoping to feel more assured in himself (featuring nightmares sponsored by a malevolent being intricately tied to said missing parental figure and occasionally featuring their presence). like both imogen and fjord start off their campaigns being like I Would Like Answers About My Powers (at any cost implied by the apparent possibility both of them had early on to be swayed away from the Good™ side) only for it to become clearer to them that the person who might have the most answers for their questions was not only their parental figure but was a parental figure they assumed dead only for that assumption to be undermined. and the fact that vandran and fjord stay apart so long because fjord is scared and busy and hadn’t even considered that vandran could’ve survived and because vandran made the same assumption that fjord hadn’t lived — but who also had a sense of hope that maybe that meant the cycle of violence had ended only to be met again with a fjord who tells him “despite your best efforts, your curse is now mine.” versus imogen and liliana who stay apart so long because of liliana’s choices, her insistence that imogen stay away from her even when imogen made it clear over and over that she wouldn’t stop without some answers or some clarity. the fact that fjord is reunited with his father figure and says i have so many questions and vandran gives him answers, even hard ones. that imogen has to beg just for her mother to actually hear her and not just the paternalistic idea of an infant she left behind decades ago. even fjord asking vandran if he wants to leave with them, and vandran making in clear he doesn’t intend on staying with them long term but whose happy to join them. versus imogen who begs her mother for help and to come with them and who ultimately can’t trust her to be telling the truth when liliana offers to come. i just think they should meet. i am always vying for a fjord cameo just because he’s my best friend but i think they should meet.

[zablife]

Now You Know the Truth (Part 5)

Summary: You don't understand why you're unsettled by your seemingly perfect life with Tommy until the family gathers together at Christmas.

Author's Note: There's one more part to come!

Warnings: pregnancy, flashbacks

Part 4

Tommy wrapped his strong arms around your waist and hips protectively, placing a kiss to your midsection. "You're perfect," he praised against the slight swell of your stomach, voice muffled in the plush velvet of your gown.

You stroked the shorn sides of his head and down his neck in slow, soothing strokes. However, the gesture was mostly to calm yourself. Unsure if it were the hormones or the house full of relatives waiting downstairs for Christmas dinner, your body hummed with nervous energy.

Sensing the slight tremor in your hands, Tommy placed his palm over your fingertips to still you as he murmured. "It's going to be different this time."

Pulling back from him, you stared intently into his crystal blue eyes. "What do you mean, Tom?"

Growing serious, he stood to meet your eyes, cupping your face in his palm as he instructed, "You're to look after yourself. Follow the doctor's orders to stay home and avoid exertion." He stressed the last part and you bit your lip as you nodded slowly in understanding.

“Yes, I know. The dizzy spells..." Looking away from him shamefully you added, "I know I shouldn’t have been on the stairs when I was unwell.” You recited the words you’d been told repeatedly since your hospital stay to prove you'd listened to the advice, even when it left a bitter taste on your tongue.

"That's my girl," Tommy beamed, offering his arm to escort you downstairs. "Now shall we announce the good news?" he asked jovially.

-------------------------

The shouts of congratulations had barely died down when Frances appeared with a message. "Sir Mosley is on the line, Mr. Shelby," she informed your husband quietly.

A look of bewilderment crossing your face, you objected, "But it's Christmas!"

"I won't be long. Open the champagne," Tommy said placing a kiss to your temple. Watching him stride away to his office, Ada distracted you by asking, "Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

"I hadn't thought about it," you admitted, fidgeting with your wedding rings.

"If Polly were here we wouldn't be having this discussion at all, would we?" Ada joked with a wistful laugh.

An inebriated John threw his hand up in protest. "Pol didn't always know best," he interjected. "Remember when we had the twins, Es? Two boys she said!" As he turned to his wife, you found yourself drifting from their conversation, eyes wandering across the hall toward your husband.

Watching him absently swirling the whisky in his glass, a sense of deja vu struck you like a bolt of lightning and your limbs suddenly froze. Your eyes slowly swept from his hand to his face as a distant voice echoed in your head like a faded record. "Pol didn't always know best. She wanted me to make an honest woman of ya... I wish I'd just gone on paying you for it."

You inhaled a sharp breath as a rush of memory came over you all at once. You felt your pulse quicken, heart knocking against your ribs as you recalled Tommy's humiliation of you in the parlor followed by a frantic rush to pack and then the confrontation on the stairs. Doubling over, you clutched the back of the sofa to conceal your unsteadiness. However, you couldn’t hide the look of horror in your eyes as you relived every hateful word, stomach lurching with the final memory of crashing down the stairs. "Even if you die, you die mine."

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Ada asked, touching your forearm gently.

"Just a bit dizzy," you mumbled the half truth.

"Oh, that's right. Your condition. Have you found anything that helps?" she asked, viewing you with sisterly concern.

"I think I know what to do about it now," you said, cutting your eyes back at Tommy and feeling the spite grow within you.

Part 6

----------------

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[ch3rry-wink]

Michael Stone (AU)

Pairing: pornstar!Miguel x f!reader

Summary: Someone reveals Miguel's secret to you.

CW: +18, angst, annoying reader

Author's Note: "Happy New Year! I decided to start the year by writing smut with some suffering. I'm not good at content warnings."

The first time you met Miguel, he told you he was an actor, but not what kind. You were excited until a particular friend interrupted your happiness, mocking you when you showed a picture of you two. He simply sent a name, and you searched it online.

Michael Stone was his stage name, and his videos seemed quite popular; a doctor, a plumber, or just him in an amateur-looking video had hundreds of thousands of views. You began to question how you hadn't noticed this.

At one point, everything started to crumble within you. You became angry for going to that café and meeting him. You grew jealous because he looked at and kissed you the same way he did in the video with another girl, implying you weren't special. You became suspicious because he only gave you half-truths.

You started to ignore his calls, messages, and avoided him at all costs, even stopping going to your favorite places. It had been relatively easy (painful, but easy) for you to distance yourself from Miguel. However, for him, it was the other side of the coin. Due to work-related issues, relationships weren't easy, and when you disappeared, he knew something was wrong. Knowing you wouldn't do that because you were someone who tended to talk too much, he decided to go find you and ask for an explanation.

Miguel stood at your apartment door, repeatedly asking you to come out, but you didn't want to face him.

"What did I do wrong?" His feigned ignorance irritated you, and after being holed up in your apartment, you came out.

"I don't know what you did wrong, Michael Stone," you said sarcastically, showing him his profile on the adult website.

"Now you know?!" His expression changed to pure concern. "I swear I was going to tell you," a sense of shame appeared on his face.

"When?" Miguel went blank. You wanted an answer, and he didn't want to give it, thinking you wouldn't find out. He was afraid the relationship would end with the girl enduring for a few weeks and then leaving. "Didn't you think someone would recognize you?"

Your neighbors started peeking out of their doors and stopping in the hallway. Although you were upset, you decided it was better to continue the discussion inside your home than for everyone to hear your problems.

"Give me one reason not to tell me the truth." Miguel's thoughts were so scattered he couldn't find the right words. "You thought I was an ignorant hillbilly you could take advantage of."

"You were different, had that look in your eyes that made me believe i wasn't just a piece of meat." He approached, and you stepped back.

"No, if I had known what you were, I wouldn't have even looked at you."

You still didn't know if you were upset because he had lied to you or because you genuinely didn't consider him a decent man. However, Miguel had been a better man than the others who had invited you out when you arrived in the city, wanting to live the fantasy of the farmer's daughter.

"Tell me it's not true." Your words hurt more than all those failed relationships.

He approached you, lifted your chin to make you look at him, and immediately knew you weren't sincere. Still, you didn't want to admit it. He gently touched your lips with his fingers and planted a kiss on your forehead as a farewell. Your heart sank; you grabbed his arm and didn't let him leave through the door.

"I care about you a lot, but it hurts that you lied."

"You would have stayed if I had told you the truth." You didn't respond. "I knew it."

"Let's be honest, the girls who were before me also ran away."

"They didn't want Miguel O'Hara; they wanted Michael Stone, the version of me on screen." Tears welled up in his eyes. "But you want my real version, and that gave me hope."

"You're right; I like Miguel, but I don't want to think that accepting him means having Michael." Laughter echoed in your head from your friend mocking you.

"You have Miguel." You didn't want to continue this conversation.

"I want you to go, don't come back, don't call me, don't look for me.”

"Could you give me one last kiss" he begged, you agreed. Miguel was such a good kisser, you hated to admit it but he made you so horny, you didn't want to stop him.

A kiss turned into a long kissing session and that led to your hips ending up on the edge of the couch, your feet on Miguel's shoulders and his face between your legs, he drags his tongue through your folds and you in response tangle his hair between your fingers to keep it there.

Everything about this situation was obscene Miguel holds you by the hips, his jaw is constantly moving, you can see the sheen of your fluids on his face and his eyes are still fixed on you.

You can hear your heart beating, your breath hitching and feel the heat emanating from your body.

Miguel continues with his face submerged in you, his nose rubs your clitoris while his tongue has sunk inside you, this unleashes an overwhelming sensation that clouds your senses and puts a pause to everything, it's just you screaming and full of spasms of pleasure.

He adjusts your legs so that they are open on the edge of the chair and returns to licking your clitoris, this time his fingers begin to move near your entrance and from one second to the next his middle finger is inside you, you have tears in your eyes of pure pleasure and he continues with his work.

A new finger is inside you, he feels you squeeze around him and suddenly you see him smiling with satisfaction, you start to feel the same as you did a while ago, however he stops and you see him trying to settle in for what is coming now.

"Holy God" the position you had been in had not allowed you to see Miguel in his entirety and you almost choked from the shock, he was huge.

He is still on his knees but now higher, he pulls you towards him and rubs the head of his cock against your folds, he positions himself at your entrance and introduces his member slowly and surely, it feels amazing there is no space inside you that is left uncovered and at some point he bumps into something that stops him from moving forward.

Your eyes roll back in your head, he takes a while to start moving, however when he does he sets a relentless pace, his hips collide with yours and his fingers play with your clit, he bends down awkwardly and gives you a kiss that is interrupted by a moan from you.

Miguel knows exactly the right spot to hit, again your body starts to spasm and you know you have finally come, he slowly withdraws from inside you and a moment later you can feel something warm falling on your abdomen.

You question the weirdness of the situation, the set is decorated like a classroom, a voluptuous girl wearing lingerie that imitates a school uniform greets you cheerfully, the director tells her where she should be, she obeys and then Miguel enters the set wearing a white towel attached to his waist, he approaches you to kiss you, when the kiss ends you give him a smile that would only be described as uncomfortable.

"3, 2, 1 action" Miguel kisses the girl in the same way he kisses you, she goes down to give him head and you know you won't resist the situation a moment longer, you discreetly open the door and leave the set. You had put yourself in this situation by insisting over and over again to try to get to know his world.

"Curiosity killed the cat" you said to yourself.

It was time to say goodbye even though you liked Miguel you knew you could not live with his profession.

[jolapeno]

x. oh, just to be with you

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

He's aware of everything. 

How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.

Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory. 

He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win.

Then came you.

Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you. 

Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed. 

It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar. 

Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing. 

All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired. 

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him. 

His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight. 

you have nice handwriting  I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more.  I like how you wrote baby Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now? Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it. 

Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle. 

He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat. 

Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go. 

Naturally, he asks about you. 

It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.  

“You should get some sleep, Pop.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”

Your lady. 

Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering. 

now youre back in reality you sure about us  Never been more sure about anything, baby.  just wanted to check  You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying.  left a mark on me  Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.  

“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.” 

But Javi isn’t tired. 

Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.

For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return. 

Now, it’s different.

There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town. 

You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.

Fuck, he misses you.

Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.

Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...

Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is. 

How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control. 

He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.

Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.

He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.

Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep. 

But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you. 

why aren’t you asleep?

Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.

I miss you too. 

I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip. 

told you that you’d miss it once it was gone

I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.

youre right

One day, right?

if I could make that tomorrow I would

You really missing me that much? 

not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby 

Gonna make me cry. 

dont cry I can’t wipe them from here 

So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home. 

did the person you sit next to seem to mind 

They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better. 

so they thought you were broken up with 

I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying. 

fuck you like me a lot 

I like you a regular, normal amount. 

I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount 

That’s the tiredness talking. 

you know it isnt 

I feel the same. I really miss you. 

I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow 

Okay, but so do you! 

ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people 

go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned 

You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.

Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart. 

Javi hates that you’re right. 

It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre. 

"Mijo."

He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.

His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins. 

“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.” 

Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison. 

Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.” 

“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."

The tapping.

He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.

"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.” 

Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck. 

If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it. 

To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise. 

Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot. 

He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery. 

“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”

“Hmm.” 

Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame. 

Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.

Because he heard the song in the diner with you. 

Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you. 

“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.

He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.

Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit. 

Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.

When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager. 

“Our song?” 

“Yeah.” 

Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?” 

He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.

You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough. 

“You tricked me.” 

“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.” 

Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:

“You have a beautiful voice.” 

“Fuck you, baby.”  

Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves. 

Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage. 

And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing. 

Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.  

“I—I miss….”

You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”

Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”

He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day. 

He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended. 

“How was yours?” 

Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.

“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”

Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.” 

“Won’t tell you then.” 

“No. Please. Tell me, baby.” 

He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?” 

Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain. 

He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch. 

“Fuck—“

“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.” 

“Hermosa…”

His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck. 

“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.” 

Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about. 

“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.” 

Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…” 

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.” 

Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.” 

“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.” 

Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking. 

“Want an extra clue?” 

“An extra? You're spoiling me.” 

He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“ 

His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.” 

“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“

“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?” 

“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.” 

Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.” 

“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.” 

“Off me.” 

It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt. 

Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?” 

“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.” 

Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.  

AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.

[spookilyjaded]

ೃ⁀➷Distance Surprise'sೃ⁀➷

AIZAWA X GN!READER Fluff!

A/N: It's been a lil so here's a bit of somethin’ somethin’. Also Pre-war but after the USJ attack! Not proofread. 

For the texting portion: Red is you, Blue is Aizawa :)

Warnings: Not much! Just fluffy with some happy tears, maybe a pinch suggestive but not explicit. 

Requests, Masterlist

Word count: 2.2k

Shouta sighed as he entered the teacher's faculty room. He was about to slide into his sleeping bag before he heard his phone buzz. He raised a brow and opened it, his eyes falling on your text.

“Hey Sho, hope your day is going well :)”

Shouta smirked as his tired expression softened a bit, quickly texting back,

“It was... boring before you texted me. Now it's more enjoyable. How are you?”

“Bored as well. I've been running through meetings all day. Finally got off!”

However what he didn't know was that you were actually outside the Musutafu airport, waiting for your taxi. You had decided to visit him for your guys’ 2 year anniversary. You guys weren’t always long distance which made it harder to stay away, however when an amazing job opportunity comes along, you can't turn it down. Shouta supported you through all of it and encouraged you to take it on to strengthen your career. It was a sour goodbye but you guys made sure to keep your relationship alive, whether that meant video-chatting, texting, sending each other gifts etc, etc..

With another glance at your text, he texts back quickly.

"Well, I have a bit more time on my break. I can talk a bit if you'd like. Also, how are you feeling?”

He sits up on the break room couch and stretches out his shoulders a bit. He glances over to the window, watching the sun beam through the blinded glass.

Your taxi finally arrives and you put your luggage in gingerly, getting into the vehicle yourself thereafter. You text him back eagerly, 

“Feeling pretty good actually. I had a pretty good day but it think a conversation with you could make it way better :)”

Shouta smiled underneath his scarf a bit as he read your text. He always enjoyed listening to your day, even if it wasn't over call. He lets out a yawn, leaning back and enjoying his given breaktime.

"Oh really? I'm glad you're feeling good today. I'm always happy to chat with you."

A smile graces your face as you read his text. Your taxi reaches what used to be your shared home. You get out with your luggage and step up to the door. Pulling out your key, you open the door and enter, seeing that most of the personal items you had left behind were still present within the space. Shouta had usually kept his rooms vacant and never really harbored any personal belongings other than clothes. It seems that over time, his scent had taken over the place, blessing your senses as you took off your shoes. You respond:

“Same here. How're you feeling?”

Walking into the bedroom, you noticed it had stayed relatively similar to when you had left, a few items moved here and there but nothing drastic. You set down your phone and lay your luggage on the floor. While unpacking, you hear your ringer go off and frown at his text,

"Like I need a cup of coffee and a nap, to be honest. It's been a long day and I'm not getting any less tired."

“Aw damn. Hope you get some good sleep tonight! Also coffee sounds so yum right now.”

Shouta smiles at his phone, thinking about how you guys had your first few dates at the coffee shop Hizashi had recommended to him. The way your smile radiated whenever you drank the caffeinated liquid would always be engraved within his mind.

"I can't wait to get coffee with you again my love. How are you holding up? You said you were busy with meetings all day today, right?"

You feel bad lying to him. It wasn't technically lying however, since you did actually have many meetings that week. It was all worth the surprise he’d be met with later.

“Mhm, things are taking off in the office so i had to meet with some clients. You know how it can get with the more non-compliant ones. Tough stuff.”

He furrows his brows slightly. He’s always been able to make sure that you are not overworking yourself too much. It was a bad habit of yours but the thought of Aizawa making sure that you’re okay was a heart-warming reminder of how much he actually cared for you.

"I bet that was tiring. Dealing with clients all day, especially troublesome ones, is very tiring. Are they new clients, or returning ones?"

“No no, don't worry Sho! Returning but we have a lot of new ones flooding in as well. Nothing we can't handle :)”

As you finish putting away your luggage, you plop on the bed, exhausted from your flight. However, the excitement that bubbled in your chest was just enough to keep you going. Only about two hours until he got off of his shift.

Shouta smiled at your confidence. He knew you could handle yourself and found that extremely attractive. Knowing you were strong enough to uphold a position such as yours, it made you all the more admirable.

"Ah... That's good. I'm glad you're not dealing with the meaner ones though. You don't deserve to deal with those kinds of people. You're too good to deal with them, dear."

Your heart flutters at his compliment. His vague compliments to you were one of your favorite things. Just knowing what he's saying even when he doesn't exactly articulate it. This tends to remind you of all the wonderful moments you two had shared together before the departure. While he wouldn't be a PDA type of man, holding a pinky or two until you both were out of sight was just a small display of his affection to you. You bringing him his lunch during lectures after he had forgotten it and him taking it from your hands, gliding over yours for  a moment one would find too long. Your impatience grew stronger but you held strong, knowing he’d be home in only about an hour and a half.

“Aw well thanks Sho! And I know, don't worry I can handle them :) Y’know, I really do miss you..”

Shoutas own heart swelled with content, knowing you still missed him as much as he missed you. It was hard to shake the feeling of loneliness away when you’ve been with the person so intimately before their leave. 

"I miss you too. It's been awhile since we've seen each other, my love. It's boring going back to an empty apartment all the time. Trust me."

You grin at his confession and chuckle to yourself at the ironic position you had placed yourself in. Splayed in his bed without him knowing that the one thing he desired most was waiting for him in his bed. 

“I know dear, it's unbearably lonely without you around.”

"It's lonely without you in bed with me at night. It's so cold, especially at this time of the year without you to keep me warm."

His words sent your heart flipping in your chest. Usually you’d just fawn over his addressed wants but knowing you can have that now is…thrilling. You roll on your side, feeling the plush mattress fold under you softly, your eyelids growing heavier by the second. No, no you have to stay awake, for him.

“And I wish I could have you by my side, to have you hold me in sleep again.. Sounds delightful Sho ;)”

The thought of sleep doesn't sound too bad to you at the moment..what if you just close your eyes..for a nap..

The smile on Aizawa’s face never falters as he reads your text over a couple more times. Just imagining your arms draped around his lean stature as he plays with your hair idly. Just as he was about to text back, the bell signaling next period rang throughout the building; subsequently ending his break as well. He groaned, knowing he couldn’t even get a nap in, texting you back hastily,

“Very much so. Bell rang so I guess our conversation is interrupted for now. Stay safe and good luck with your meetings. I'll text you after work, or when I have time. Talk to you later, darling."

Your phone buzzed from his fleeting message, however, your sleeping body was not perturbed by the notification. You laid on the made bed with your hands wrapped upon

one of his few pillows, hair splayed on the plush surface gingerly. The only sounds to be heard within the room were your soft breaths as your mind deepened into slumber.

Some time had passed, Shouta was now reaching the steps of his home, exhausted from the day that was bestowed upon him. He unlocked his door and pushed inwards, taking his shoes off haphazardly until he almost tripped over something. He looks down to find a smaller pair of shoes sitting there in his place. His eyes widen and he quickly becomes alert of his surroundings. He sets down his work bag and makes his way through the house, nothing seeming to be misplaced. He noticed that the bedroom was slightly ajar, opening it, he looks to find you in his bed, snoring lightly as your hand gripped the pillow. He froze, taking in the situation as beastly as he could. You were here. In his bed. Sleeping. 

What was he supposed to do? Was it rude to wake you up? Should he wait for you to wake up? No no, you obviously came here to see you, he couldn't even keep his hands off of you for that long knowing you’re in front of him. Aizawa walks over to your side, sitting on the bed and carefully running a hand over your hair so as to not wake you, just taking in your peaceful figure. As soon as he finally comes back to reality, he is leaning down to hug you in a tight, greedy embrace. That's when your eyes flutter open, taking in your surroundings. 

You turn to look at the figure above you. Your eyes widen as large as dinner plates as the sight of a slightly disheveled Shouta comes into view. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around him even tighter than he held you. His head rested in the crook of your neck as he took it all in. You could hear soft sniffles coming from him, stroking his hair with vigor as you tried to take him in as much as you could. His presence was intoxicating and if you two were putty, you’d be meshing together at the velocity of your grip.

His sniffles cause you to become emotional as well, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. The reality that you hadn’t seen him in months finally set in and you had noticed the toll it took on both of you physically and mentally. He pulls back half-reluctantly, holding one side of your face in his hand as the other rests on your back. Your eyes meet briefly before he captures your lips in a swift kiss. Something that felt so demanding but so empathetic at the same time. Hands found their way around each other's bodies eagerly; his grip had tightened as he moved onto the mattress further, allowing you to tower him and for him to lay down. Departing for air was such sweet sorrow, however the sight before you was more than you could’ve hoped for. Shouta lying beneath you as his hair fell back, revealing his stunning features. Eyes half-lidded, lips apart, and the scruffy stubble that adorned his jaw. Your hand met his

cheek, running a thumb over the healed scar under his eye. You met his forehead with yours, noses slightly grazing one another. “I missed you so much..” He smiled genuinely at your remark, “So much that you fell asleep?” You chuckle, not in the state of mind to fight back. “It's your fault for having such a lavish bed, Sho.” You lean down and peck his lips for more contact. He pulls back after a moment, “Oh? The bed that you picked out?” His signature smirk adorned his face, noticing the embarrassed expression on your face.

You picked out this bed when you and Shouta had agreed to move in together and go furniture shopping seeing as he didn't have much. Looking back on those memories seemed less sour now that your love was under you, gazing at you longingly. “Touché” You accept defeat in the moment and giggle as you touch noses with him once more. “But seriously Shouta, I don't think I could've gone another day without seeing your face in front of me. You’re all I can think about anymore.” 

“I can assure you I feel the same, y/n. More than you can imagine I bet.” He reaches up and runs a hand across your face, wiping away stray tears. The smiles never falter from your faces as you rest into each other's touch, basking in the moment that was your love. To leave Shouta was to leave a part of you behind, and now that you’ve rejoiced with him, you feel whole once more in hopes to never leave this fleeting moment.

[gothicayomi]

Edit: I made a post about Alex’s reponse: Here

Okay. The Alex callout is so fucking wishy washy that I’m genuinely getting whiplash. When I first read Ven’s callout document several days ago, I honestly skimmed it because I’m the type of person who has always just assumed callouts are fully honest. And siding with the victims immediately is always a must, especially if it’s about grooming minors, or severe abuse. At that time I was also under the impression DB was a minor, thus I automatically denounced Alex Kister. However, last night I wanted to see any updates regarding this development and I’m so glad I saw Ven’s tumblr post before he updated it, because it provided vital information (such as reminding everyone DB is an adult during all this) and I was able to see people’s responses to it. I decided to reread the document with this new, updated information in mind and I’m very upset with how badly this has gotten. Particularly about how feeble Ven’s doc is and how some of the things they said rubbed me the wrong way. For now, I’m just pointing out some things that really stood out to me with how much it didn’t make sense or it was particularly antagonizing toward Alex.

So… in the tumblr post Ven made, they were saying that the point of the doc wasn’t to say Alex was a groomer. And yet they made it VERY CLEAR that Alex’s gender identity was, in their opinion, a way for Alex to “lure victims”. Basically calling a transfem a predator cuz she expressed her gender identity AND sexuality relative to her gender identity to her partner and not minors. but Ven was also backing up from that claim, which clearly was the whole point of the doc???? But it was never stated in the introduction of the document. So first of all, I thought that was weird. It just said “Alex’s predatory and manipulative behavior.” Here we go.

So. Apparently a content creator wanting to make friends and connect with people is parasocial? Sure, content creators have to be aware of their “high status” or whatever, but i think people are also weird for idol worshipping in the first place. Alex (which I’ve seen stated uses any pronouns) has been self aware about parasocial relationships from the beginning and he’s not saying he never was aware of it. 😐 but several screenshots of him explaining himself tells that he never even thought about the potential power imbalance— he wanted some fucking friends.

These screenshots would show someone expressing their discomfort and assert their boundaries. And Alex always seemed very genuine in their apologies and would acknowledge the person’s feelings wholeheartedly. None of it was brushed off by her in the screenshots. She never downplayed anything. And yet you guys are still offended???????????????? Let me get this straight. You want someone to own up to their mistakes and apologize for making you feel weird, but when they do, you’re somehow still upset? Hm. Make it make sense. Like what the fuck you want, blood from a rock??????

By the way, what’s transphobic to one trans person might not be transphobic for someone else. As a gender-fluid person, I’m not going to be pissed off if a different gender fluid person “”“changes their gender every day”,””” (i say this particular thing because I’ve seen people act very upset over it while others aren’t) because it’s not my fucking business and it doesn’t affect me or my daily life. If they’re comfortable and happy, that’s all that matters. I have no say in what other trans people makes them comfortable with themselves. What’s transphobic is invalidating another trans person’s gender identity, expression, and sexuality, (which CAN co exist by the fucking way) and demonizing it just because you don’t like that person or you don’t want to try and understand them. Just so you know. :) that’s like misgendering someone on purpose just because they’re a terrible person, or saying neopronouns are invalid.

Here’s the thing: when you’re exploring gender identity, you’re not going to get it on the first fucking try. From what I’m seeing in the docs, this was Alex around the time they were first stepping into that comfort zone. They were trying new things. Wanting to feel comfortable. Wanting to be validated. Wanting to connect with other trans people. That’s what every trans person wants. You seriously shamed her for that? To the point where Alex admitted they felt so ashamed of their gender expression that they lied about saying it was joke? All to reassure everyone and make people feel better? Fuck you. You don’t fucking get to say what someone should and shouldn’t do regarding their body and gender— he wasn’t saying explicit things to the minors. Not stuff similar to what was said to Ven or D8 so why the fuck is anyone tripping??????

I will say that I understand why Ven would be concerned about this in the first place since when they dating Alex, Alex did make sexual comments about wanting to wear their clothes and look like them. I get it. But Ven, you were his partner, obviously when you guys were comfortably having intimate discussions that he’d be willing to share vulnerable desires with you regarding gender identity woven with sexuality. But why did you automatically, outside of your personal conversations with him, try so desperately to search for that in his convos with other people? When they had nothing to do with you I understand wanting to be concerned and looking out for other people but this was so blown out of proportion that it’s insane.

Alex trusted you so much. And one thing I was really disgusted by was the creepy ass way of you posting screenshots of his sexual fantasies. If Alex does decide to post YOURS you sent to HIM, you have no fucking right to be upset over it, okay? :) fair’s fair, my dude.

So this screenshot being posted after Ven writing in the document “venting to a minor about his sexual frustration” all I have to say is Ven what the fuck are you talking about? being touch-starved isn’t Inherently sexual. Why the fuck is Ven saying this is sexual frustration. ?????????????????????????????????????????? So it’s sexual when it’s said to a minor? Oh okay, good thinking, Ven. /sarcasm. I didn’t know cuddles and hugs were bad. I guess grown adults shouldn’t cuddle their children, or adults can’t hug their child family members. Idk what to say about the “I wish you lived closer thing” tbh because i don’t know what the person said— it could have been taken out of context. Which brings me to my next point.

Ven stated there were people who came forward with their own screenshots of what Alex said. But if someone is going to crop them into tiny little boxes and obscure what the victim said before and after, it’s going to be pretty fucking difficult to even make a proper judgment on whether or not the context is inappropriate, or if it was said to the actual victim themselves in the first fucking place. Sure, the screenshots aren’t fabricated, but we don’t know who the fuck they were sent to. That’s on y’all.

Btw I’m so fucking convinced none of these ppl have ever experienced normal, healthy friendships or relationships, oh my fucking god. No fucking basis for proper judgment, imo.

One thing that also pissed me off was Ven targeting Alex’s mental health and symptoms throughout the doc. They targeted Alex’s paranoia and suicidal tendencies. First off, I’m pretty sure everyone part of tmc + the fandom know that the most prominent themes of tmc are SUICIDE and religious trauma. I once saw Alex post a tweet about various poetry written during his high school years venting his depression and suicidal ideation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been struggling with depression and suicidal ideation way before that. I’m gonna be so honest, after seeing the way Ven twisted a lot of this around, when I look back on Ven saying “Alex said he’d kill himself if I broke up with him” makes me think Alex could have said something like “you mean a lot to me and I’d be devastated if we split.” like. I can’t be the only fucking person who thinks this. Alex has always been self aware. I know he’s really struggling right now.

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOO BITCH YOU ARE SO STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!!! You either genuinely don’t know what paranoia is (symptom of mental illness) or you, of course, are genuinely trying to demonize an aspect of someone’s symptoms they can’t control. All to justify your bullying against Alex. Maybe research what paranoia is, and you’d be more understanding of Alex.

Mental illness doesn’t fit into your neat little boxes, by the way. And everybody experiences mental illness differently, so don’t act like you 100% know what someone is going through. I understand wanting to see the people you care about getting therapy and professional support. But you don’t have the right to demonize them when they aren’t being outright shitty.

Not to mention, every single fucking time Alex would explain their feelings and perspectives, Ven, you would shut them down in the doc. Invalidating Alex’s feelings. That’s the sort of thing manipulative people do, just so you know, Ven!! The same type of person you claim Alex is!!! Don’t throw stones in glass houses. That’s coward behavior, and projection is damaging to both parties.

Im gojng to be so deadass right now. If I could nitpick every single little detail in Ven’s document that I found weirdly uncomfortable or suspicious or confusing, I’d be making my own goddamn google doc which would be two or three times as long as Ven’s.

This entire matter genuinely could have been dealt with privately. Alex even expressed that and Ven shut him down!!! Do you know how fucking frustrating that is? And no, Alex never shut you guys down so don’t even try and twist the blame back onto him. You wanted him to own up to what he’s done and said, but y’all don’t want to do the same. Sigh!

Also, what the fuck is the takeaway supposed to be? Y’all said he isn’t a groomer. Ven said somewhere in the doc that people aren’t trying to be transmisogynistic. But clearly you are fucking using Alex’s gender identity against her. I hope you burn in hell. Also, since none of the minors were being groomed, what the fuck are you trying to prove?????????? That wanting friends is fucked up and evil???? That you and D8, grown ass adults who were consensually engaging in sexual conversations with Alex, were fucking manipulated? Evidence shows you guys were comfortable with expressing your discomfort and asserting boundaries, but like I said, y’all are still pissed off Alex took accountability. You’re adults. Act like it.

I could go on and on about this shit but these are the key points I wanted to bring up. I saw the post that donut made and I read through it thoroughly but since there is no evidence suggesting Alex was grooming minors, and he was genuinely apologizing for making Donut and other people uncomfortable, it honestly came off as a kid (kids shouldn’t even be in online without a fucking parent’s supervision anyway) being a kid: immature. So I genuinely do not give a fuck. Have your parents watch what people say to you online.

I’m a 23 year old adult who’s been in both toxic and healthy friendships and relationships with people and I can honestly say y’all are fucking stupid for even writing these dumbass callouts. I’m looking forward to Alex’s response and I will be supporting him unless there is substantial evidence showing Alex is a bad person. Ok?

Feelings and perspectives are valid and important on both ends. You don’t need me to tell you that. The point of this post is that the doc was very feeble and lacked proper documentation at numerous points. you shouldn’t purposely misconstrue Alex’s words and actions just to make him look bad, especially if your evidence (screenshots, in this case) isn’t consistent or fully exposed. I will mention what I said earlier: plenty of people here, from what I saw, were able to express their feelings and assert boundaries just fine and Alex was completely open, and whoever needed that help definitely got it. Despite everything that has happened, I’m glad people did have others who understood what they felt.

I may be editing this post if I find I think certain things need to be (re)addressed or corrected. Because like I said, there are various things I want to point out. Stay updated or not!

[alwaysforevermaybenever]

YANDERE FARMER BOY: INTRODUCTION

× cw: general yandere stuff; getting lost; large families; implied scary relative; stalking; manipulation; murder; cannibalism

× note: kenji my beloved

⌗ A country bumpkin who just moved to the big city with his father, mother, four sisters, three brothers, grandparents, other grandparents, uncle, aunt, six cousins, dog, cats and cow. His family isn’t big at all, it’s normal sized! Your family is just pretty small, you know?

⌗ He was lost, wandering in the busy streets when you found him. He looked so pitiful and innocent: who in their right mind wouldn’t stop to help him? In the end, you directed him back to the apartment block he lived in with his family. (They brought up the entire floor.)

⌗ His family was so thankful they gave you their home grown watermelons - they’re super delish, and completely natural, unlike those supermarket fruits with nasty preservatives. 

⌗ From then on, you keep seeing this farmer boy everywhere! The park, the mall, the shopping centre, even in your neighbourhood! He must have a terrible sense of direction, huh? Either that, or he’s stalking you. 

⌗ But that can’t be it! Who’d think that? He’s a sweet summer child, with not a single mean bone in his body. Sure, he may be a little naïve, but he’s an honest and compassionate person. He treats everyone he meets with kindness and respect, and gains a lot of friends as a result. In fact, he’s already quite popular with the local community!

⌗ You think that after four months he’s pretty used to the city, but he still insists on you visiting him at his apartment - his siblings miss you! (So does he.) Everywhere you go, he’s right behind. You’re going to buy some groceries? What a coincidence: he’s been sent on some errands as well! Visiting the post office? He’s free right now, so he’ll accompany you!

⌗ If you ever try to excuse yourself from his clutches, he’ll attempt to guilt trip you into staying. His grandparents have been waiting to see you for a week already! His grandma even made your favourite snacks - won’t you visit? If that doesn’t work, he’ll resort to sticking to you like glue. It’s okay if you don’t know he’s there. He’s just protecting you, okay?

⌗ He loves to spend time with you, because you’re the person who noticed him and helped him! Everyone else ignored him because he looked poor, but you didn’t care about any of that! You’re such a blessing! He’ll be sure to treasure you forever and ever.

“Hehe, thanks so much, [Name]! You’re always so nice to me! I’ll be sure to repay you in every way I can.”

⌗ He may be from the country, but he’s no fool. He comes off as naïve, but that’s because he believes that he should only retaliate when the other person hits first. That way, it’s self defence!

⌗ Humans are scum. Of course, the only exception is his family and you, whom he loves with all his heart! He'll be overjoyed if you’d become part of his precious family too!

⌗ If anyone bothers you or even looks at you wrong, he’s already onto them. He may not be able to really read the room, but he still knows when someone holds hostile feelings or thoughts. After all, he knows plenty about hostility. The villagers were full of that hateful feeling when they drove out his family. That’s why they came to the city, y’know? But it’s not all bad; he met you!

⌗ Humans are like cows. They’re fat, and they make a lot of noise. They’re also quite dumb. Whenever a cow misbehaved in his old village, he would just give them a hearty slap. If that didn’t work, he’d knock them out. And if the cow continually made trouble, it became dinner’s beef. There are lots of similarities between cows and humans, actually!

⌗ Don’t worry if the beef patty tastes a little tough or gamey. Him and his mother assure you that it was just a really active cow. It mooed a lot, and ran around everywhere too! It was too bad the cow was getting too big, and too expensive to feed… Indeed, what a shame. 

⌗ His family can’t wait for you to move in with them! You practically sleep over with him everyday, why don’t you just stay there permanently? He’s a very (abnormally) strong boy, he can help you move all your things into an empty apartment! They have an empty unit anyway: it’s perfect for you to live in with him! 

⌗ His younger siblings are absolutely in love with you - each and everyone of his siblings claim that they’ll marry you when they grow up, but he’s quick to scoop you up in his arms and proclaim himself as your future husband! Wouldn’t that be a dream come through? Oh no, now the cousins are here too! They’re all clamouring for your hand in marriage! In the commotion, he whisks you away to kiss you feverishly (he’s jealous).

⌗ His parents live in the first unit with his youngest brother, and his brothers and sisters live in their respective apartment units. His uncle and auntie have their own apartment, as do his cousins and their two units. His grandparents have a unit, and his other grandparents have one too! With you and your lovely farmer boy sharing a unit, that makes nine units in total!

⌗ But wait, doesn’t this apartment complex have ten units per floor? As long as you don’t inquisitively ask about unit ten at the end of the hall, or the rotting stench that seems to waft from it, everything will be fine and dandy! You don’t need to know about the family’s extra beef stash.

“You make me super happy, [Name], and I’d love to spend the rest of our lives together. You’re always helping me, so I’ll make sure to repay that a thousand times over. Imma make you so happy, you’ll never wanna leave me!”

[crash-and-cure]

Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)

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.

Taglist

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[soulprompts]

THE ART OF TIME SLIPPING. ( A PROMPT LIST! )

an absolute genius of a nonnie requested these, and i had a weekend off, and i wanted to write these because, i mean. time travel is a tasty concept on its own, but ACCIDENTAL time travel???? exceptional! anyway, my beloved nonnie, i truly hope that these are what you were looking for! and i hope everyone else enjoys them too! as always: DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST OF PROMPTS! and do not claim them as your own!

FROM THE ACCIDENTAL TIME TRAVELLER:

“ look, i get it. I do. you have no reason to believe what i’m saying. but i promise you: i’m from the future. “

“ how many times do i need to tell you?! i’m not even born yet! you won’t see my birth records for months/years/centuries yet! “

“ wait… hold on a second, what year is it? “

“ you don’t even have the first idea what this feels like. i just found out that i somehow missed the last [INSERT TIME SPAN HERE] of my life, and in the blink of an eye. “

“ listen, this is going to sound mad, but… you’re my mother/father/parent [OR OTHER RELATIVE]. i can’t prove it, but you are. It’s the truth. i swear. “

“ i don’t understand how i came to your time. but i do know i need to get back to my one. “

“ i seriously wish you’d all stop asking me these questions! i don’t know how i got here! i just… slipped! it just happened! “

“ it’s so weird. all this stuff that’s going to happen between now and my time… i don’t even know if i should tell you about it. “

“ all the times i wanted to be alone, or i wanted to just be somewhere that nobody knew me… this isn’t what i wanted. “

“ i just want to go back to my own timeline. okay? I didn’t want any of this to happen. i never meant… this is so messed up. “

“ wait, you believe me?! i just told you a completely wild story about being from another time, and you just… trust that i’m being honest?! “

“ the wildest thing is, i didn’t do anything to get here. you know? i didn’t drive super fast, i didn’t turn a hot tub into a time machine. i just… i was home, then i was here. “

“ i guess there’s a risk it could happen to other people in my timeline, but i’m more concerned about me right now. “

" if i don't go back... there's no knowing what could happen. and if there's the slightest risk that you might stop existing if i choose to stay, then i don't wanna stay. your world needs you. okay? "

" hey. no matter what happens now, i want you to know that i'll never forget you. you believed me and my unbelievable story about time travel. that's not something that gets forgotten easily. "

TO THE ACCIDENTAL TIME TRAVELLER:

“ prove it. prove that you’re from a different time. then i might think about believing you. “

“ …sure… you’re from the future, yeah? okay pal, i believe you. so tell me, when was the last time you slept? “

“ this is some kind of dumb prank, isn’t it? wow. well done, well played, you nearly had me. jeez, time travel… that’s just next level insanity right there… “

“ i don’t know why, but… i think i’m going to believe you. it doesn’t make a single bit of sense, but fine. you’re from the future/past. “

“ how did you end up here? or should i say… now? “

“ haven’t you seen a single time travel movie? if you stay in this time, that could mess up the entire world! “

“ i… imagine this must be very weird for you. right? or is that the dumbest understatement of the millennium? “

“ if you’re from the past, then that means we should probably keep you away from the history books. it feels like a solid rule not to spoil your future for you. “

“ look, i can’t watch all those cheesy sci-fi flicks and then ignore the possibility that people can travel through time. “

“ no. no, i don’t believe you. i don’t believe a word of what you just said. but i figure i have nothing better to do, and i kinda wanna see where you’re going with this crazy story, so… let’s go out on a limb and say you’re telling me the truth. “

“ hey, i’m asking the questions here! you don’t get to just zap into my back yard and then assume you get to ask all these questions! who are you, and how did you get here?! “

“ did you live here before? or… like, in the future, i mean? “

“ the way i see it, there’s a lot of far easier lies to believe before you could ever expect anyone to swallow the whole time travel schtick. which probably means you’re telling the truth. “

" look. you wanna get back to your own timeline, right? that means we need to replicate everything that happened the exact second you showed up here. so let's go. "

" this is completely absurd! how did you end up here?! science? magic? how! this completely destroys any and all theories of quantum physics! you just... blinked into the past/future! it's just not possible! "

" from what you're telling me, it sounds like you could end up destroying the universe just by staying here too long. so let's find a way to get you back home. "

" you don't get it! if you're from the past, that means you need to stay there in order to keep this timeline safe. right? like the butterfly theory. if you're not there in the past, then you can't do your part to secure this timeline. we could stop existing if you don't go back! "

" i mean... would it really be so bad it you stayed? sure, a new timeline would exist, but... it'd be our timeline. where you and i get to stay together. that's not so bad, is it? "

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran and Saeyoung Birthday Art Analysis 2024!

I don't know if anybody grasps how insane it is to have an image of Unknown and MC in a romantic light. Do you know how many of us clamored for one of those in 2016? The fans are finally getting what they've been asking for all along!

You would think that they would have more images together because he's an antagonist and there are so many endings where you fall into his clutches, but they just don't exist. If we're speaking strictly about the game itself, there were only two images before last night where Unknown and MC were in the same frame.

Zen's Route and the Christmas DLC.

The only other photo we have apart from these two in game is the one from the Secret Ending where SE Saeran is next to MC. I do not count it even though Unknown and SE Saeran are the same person.

Because we use the names SE Saeran and Unknown in the fandom to distinguish between them—where they are in regards to the timeline is relative to white hair versus red hair, you know. I knew we didn't have many pictures with him, but when I went back to double check myself, I was put in a position where I felt floored.

All these years, and these are the only pictures we have in the game of Unknown and MC? I don't know why I briefly thought there might have been more than that.

I am so happy regardless of the quantity because the quality of the picture we received last night was beyond my expectation. I didn't think we were going to get separate pictures. I think most, if not all of us, assumed the boys would be together and there would be no sign of MC. That's the way it's been for the past 2 years, after all.

In favor of doing less art, they decided to put the brothers together instead of separating them. I can't fault them for that because it has to take a long time to do art for them! It's a surprise when we're able to get more than one, though!

I think the thing that stood out to me almost right away was the use of purple. Now, Ray, Suit Saeran, and GE Saeran are depicted with the color pink. But, do you know who was depicted with only purple before that? Unknown.

I know this may not be something the newer fans are familiar with, but, in all of the merchandise that used to be created for Unknown, his accent color was a deep purple. I can give you a few examples to look at. I knew this was Unknown when I looked at it, but the fact the artist went out of their way to use purple told me they knew what they were doing.

I like seeing him with purple because it's an homage to the beginning and he's been watching us from the start. To be completely honest, I liked the idea that the Saeran hearts would be his purple. I was all too surprised when they gave him a magenta color, which is a blend of a nice pink and purple.

It makes sense for his character in Another Story, but when I think about Unknown and SE Saeran, I can't detach them from purple. I'm certainly not complaining, purple is my favorite color. These ribbons are close to my favorite shade of purple, which is lilac, so it's lighter than his traditional purple, but close enough to make my heart swell.

Actually, I know what you guys were waiting for. You came into this post to ask me questions about flowers and by God, I'm going to tell you guys about flowers. So, I'm going to lay down the flowers that are depicted in the photo and you guys are going to listen to it.

The flowers that are in MC's hair could go one way or the other. I'm going to present both options and leave it up to you to decide. They could be camellias or peach blossoms. Visually, they do share some similarities but in a photo like this where artistic choices have been made for minimalism, it's hard to figure it out one way or the other.

Pink Camellias.

Pink camellias can symbolize longing, especially for someone who is missed. They can be given to friends or romantic partners in both platonic and romantic relationships. For example, they can be a good choice for someone in a long distance relationship.

Peach Blossom.

In Chinese culture, it is believed that its delicate and pink petals have the power to cleanse the spirit and attract good luck and fortune. The blossoms are often used in traditional Japanese art and poetry to symbolize the transience of life and the importance of cherishing every moment. In addition, peach blossom flowers are also associated with the spring season, which represents new beginnings and growth.

Okay, the rest of these I'm sure of and don't think I'm wagering a wrong guess.

Red Roses.

Red roses are a classic symbol of love, passion, romance, and devotion. Red roses have been used as a way to express love for centuries, even when verbal expression was considered inappropriate. During the Victorian era, lovers used the language of flowers, or floriography, to send secret messages.

The shade of red can also have different meanings: Bright red: Symbolizes passion, love, and desire Dark red: Represents deep emotions, longing, and devotion

Red Alstroemerias.

Red alstroemeria, also known as the Peruvian lily, can symbolize love, passion, romance, and intense feelings. It can also be a way to say "I love you" without using red roses. The alstroemeria flower is the flower of total happiness. It symbolizes the sheer pleasure of being together, in friendship, as well as in love.

Pink Roses.

Pink roses can symbolize sweetness, femininity, appreciation, and admiration. They can also represent grace, gentleness, and joy. Pink roses are a delightful way to express gratitude for someone, for any type of relationship, romantic or not. Lighter hues of pink reference joy in relationships. This can symbolize the beginning of a new relationship with blossoming feelings towards one another, or simply the beginning of a great friendship.

Unknown falling in love with somebody is something that happened slowly, not all at once. You need to respect his boundaries. It is beyond important to help him feel like he's his own person, to allow him the opportunity to look in the mirror and not feel sick at the person he sees. You help him realize there's more to life than what he gave up on, and he can dream of a better world. He's grateful to have known you.

He adores and admires you but he can't always say it. It's hard to say he loves you. It's hard to say those specific words. It puts him in a vulnerable place. It takes him time to say it because no matter how much he tells himself that you won't hurt him when he confesses his vulnerability, there's always a fear in the back of his head.

That fear never goes away even if he wants it to. He doesn't want to think that way, though. He doesn't want to be afraid, either. But, that is one of the reasons why it takes so long to get close to him in the first place. You need to break down his walls and he needs to let you break them down to begin with. You need to show him that he isn't being forced to trust or even like you. You only want him to trust you because he wants to.

You want him to have self-autonomy.

You sit together at first, then you start holding hands little by little, and it builds from that point. You steal glances at each other, you smile, you laugh, and he sighs, not because he's annoyed, but rather because, he's happy. He's happy to see you smile and by God, he's so happy he can smile after a lifetime of apathy. He doesn't need to kiss you to show you he loves you... and even if he takes forever to say the three little words, you almost don't even need to say it.

That's how good you are at being able to communicate with each other silently.

There's something very deeply beautiful about Unknown or even SE Saeran holding hands with you. It's the way I've always imagined him to express his affection.

Even if he can't say it, he can show it.

I'm going to cover this in this post because I've talked about it all day at this point. I'm aware of the AI accusations for Saeyoung's artwork in particular. Please read this post I made about the subject since it needs to be spoken about in some capacity. I'm aware of people who have already reached out to Cheritz for clarity, so we're going to have to wait and see what they have to say about the matter.

[Post]

I can't say if AI was used one way or the other in the image. I can say I understand why people believe that portion of the image was created with AI. I think the artist was forced to go on a time crunch to get out the image out by this Thursday no matter what.

As far as we know, there's only one artist doing all this art. Counting the four images released last night, that makes a total of five images for the month of June. That is a lot of artwork for anyone to do, much less to complete in a month. July is also the anniversary, which leads me to believe that this artist probably was told they needed to get the art done for this month so they could get started on that image since anniversary art has almost always had a lot of characters.

This is PURE SPECULATION but it's possible that the time crunch and deadline they're on had Cheritz make them use AI to touch up or even finish the image they drew to meet the deadline; And, if it wasn't AI, there's also REASON TO SPECULATE, that they rushed the artist to get it out even if they made mistakes.

Because, I noticed one error in the Unknown artwork that could be an artist mistake, one that a lot of artists make. That's the fact that one of the water ripples is just above the frosting on the cake? I swear I've done things like that before. I'll have the layer in the wrong place and I won't notice until I post it. I hate it when that happens, but, hey it's a mistake a lot of artists make accidentally.

I don't want to believe that Cheritz would use AI in Mystic Messenger art because they said they wouldn't but words are just words. They're not powerful when Cheritz used AI in the past without so much as a second thought. Once you break that trust it is damn near impossible to win that trust back. I can't blame people for speculating when they see something off in an image. But, I hate that it's come to this and it isn't fair to anyone.

[Another Rant about AI]

I hate that the current environment has people on edge. I hate that people have to prove themselves. I hate that people can't trust each other. I hate that we have to deal with art theft. I hate that we have to see artists suffer. I hate that art theft nearly killed this fandom in the first place and THAT art theft is not only art being reposted without credit now, it's art being STOLEN and USED TO TRAIN AI.

I hate that Cheritz even remotely thought it was okay to use AI in the SSUM. I hate that people look at what could possibly be a byproduct of an artist being rushed to meet a direct deadline no matter what is seen as AI. I hate the possibility that AI was actually used in the art to get it done, no matter how much AI was used, whether it just be for a cake, or the entire image itself.

I hate that art is being fed to soulless algorithms for some heartless people to churn out bullshit because they don't want to learn how to draw and they don't want to pay actual artists what they're worth.

Because no matter what, AI or not, it hurts me to know that AI itself caused this conversation to begin in the first place. Even if there's no AI involved, like I said, rushing an artist to meet a deadline isn't it. We could've waited another week. All you had to do was say, "We need a little more time! Sorry folks!"

Transparency is what makes a world of difference for people.

Cheritz broke the trust of their fans by using AI in the first place, and once you break someone's trust, they might never trust you again. It's painful but it's true. So, AI or not in the birthday artwork, the reason I have to say something about this at all is because they used AI in the SSUM and now the smallest error in a drawing makes people want to speculate and tear the image apart to find out if it's AI or not.

It hurts me because I look forward every year to being able to write and analyze the artwork we've given. I love being able to find details that show me the artist really put their heart into it. That's something AI can't do. It can make a concept all day long, it can even make the art look "pretty", but it's making it with our stolen artwork and that's what makes it soulless.

It stole the hearts of wonderful artists and their hard work to create an amalgamation of "self-gratifying" bullshit by people who just don't care about the time and effort that goes into creative pursuits. I don't want to sit here and talk about how much I hate AI, I want to sit here and write about how much I love Mystic Messenger and what it has done for me and my life. But, I can't avoid the elephant in room when I talk about this art because the less we talk about what's happening, the more of a damn problem it is.

Until we see some clarity from Cheritz, we won't know one way or the other about the mistakes in the artwork. I want to believe the artist in this situation was rushed to meet the deadline and that lead to some mistakes slipping through the cracks. If that's not the case, then I will have to come back to this post and edit it to say, "Wow, they used AI for sure. It's no longer speculative."

I'm disappointed either way that we have to live this way.

I just don't like having to live in a world where we have no real choice but to analyze and speculate for AI all the damn time. The world is a bad enough place as it is at times, even if we all try our best to find a sense of good in it, and I'm so exhausted. So, hang tight, hopefully it is just a mistake of the artist being rushed to meet the deadline. That is my hope. It may be a naive and childish hope, but I'm so tired and I just don't want to hear them say they used AI again.

We'll see.

Moving on because I want to talk about what I noticed in the cake that didn't set me off.

So, I'm going to break your hearts in a matter of seconds. Prepare yourself for this one. So, in the birthday illustration from two years ago, Saeran and Saeyoung have a cake with both strawberries and blueberries.

That look on Saeran's face seems to imply the cake was a surprise to him. Saeyoung is winking as he looks at the cake, which tells me he's recently figured out his brother likes strawberries and blueberries on his cake. When I was analyzing that photo two years ago, I suspected that maybe Saeyoung liked blueberries.

But, that went against the core headcanon I've had for years about Saeyoung loving cherries. I've shaped a lot of his interest around his love of cherries in my mind, so to see him with a cherry cake stands out as an important reference and a brief moment for me to say that I got it right, hehehe! It makes sense, Dr. Pepper has cherry flavor in it.

But, do you notice something else interesting about that cherry cake? It's from Saeran! That tells me he wants his brother to have something that he enjoys for his birthday instead of always doing something for him instead. He needs to stop diminishing his own needs in favor of Saeran's.

Which, if anybody was going to make a point of telling him to think more of himself, I think the only person he would listen to would be his brother and to some extent, his MC. That man never thinks about what he wants. He would rather take the clothes off of his back every time if it means somebody else gets to be warm even if it makes him cold.

You know what, MC appreciation moment because I love the dress MC is wearing. It feels in style for them because it looks a lot like the dress from the proposal scene!

Did you guys know that there are flowers on the cake? You have to let your eyes look beyond the cherries! Right there! Did you know those flowers are also depicted in two other places in the game?

One place is in the common gallery where we see the bookmark that V tried to give Ray, and the other place we see is a birthday image from a few years ago with Saeyoung and MC, where they're wearing a set of matching rings. They are the same flower depicted time and time again to represent Saeyoung, well, outside of baby's breath. His Christmas CG was a baby's breath bouquet, after all!

Those flowers are geraniums.

Red geraniums are representative of a wish for good health. They are often gifted as a house-warming present to ward off negative energy from approaching your loved ones.

If you ask me, these are the perfect flowers to represent Saeyoung.

Who is he if not someone who has wanted to gift peace and protection to his brother? That's his dream, but I think in many ways, it's important he learns how to accept that he is also deserving of happiness and protection. Saeran wants his brother to be happy and healthy, too. It isn't fair for only Saeran to know peace and prosperity.

Saeyoung is just as worthy.

I think it's important to point out that the apartment drawn in this picture is not Rika's apartment. This is what her apartment looks like and we've got two angles to work with.

And this is the background in the new image. There is nothing similar about these backgrounds whatsoever!

Why is it significant? Well, I ask you to think about it a little bit harder than that. The bunker is the place he created to protect himself from all the monsters and demons that could ever think of hurting him and his family. He would never leave that bunker willingly unless he knew his family would be safe without a shadow of a doubt.

So, given the fact that he is in an apartment that's not Rika's—that means they've moved out of the bunker and they have a cute little apartment in the city.

An apartment where he doesn't have to feel like he has to live underground. He gets to see the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, buildings, people, and the rest of the world. He gets to have the world at his fingertips.

Can you believe that? Can you believe that this man whose face is a depiction of what it means to be paranoid in the dictionary is living in an apartment without fear? I can hardly believe it because I've always thought of him to be somebody who is terrified of what comes next.

I can't blame him for feeling that way because all of the monsters and demons he's afraid of are real. They're not something he cooked up in his head. They are real people who can hurt everyone he loves. So, for him to be in this apartment tells me that there is no longer a reason to be afraid.

His father and anyone from the agency who might come after him must be taken care of now. He doesn't have to be afraid and it means he gets to build the kind of life he wants to live. Better yet, he gets to have a normal life and it's a life worth living.

The cake is from his twin brother. I know I already talked about this earlier in the post, but I feel like it's an important distinction to bring it up here.

The only reason why he would have a cake delivery from his brother is if he wasn't with his brother on their birthday. I know, I know, I can already hear a lot of you trying to tell me that the boys shouldn't be separated. I don't think they should be separated either, but I do think this means SE Saeran gets to live separately from Saeyoung and MC.

I think that's the healthiest outcome after he's had time to heal and there's no more demons threatening their livelihoods.

He wouldn't want to live with his brother but that doesn't mean he wouldn't want to see his brother. That's why his sending a cake to his twin brother is such a big deal. Sure, they might have a celebration for their birthday together, but it's ultimately okay to have individual celebrations, too.

It's okay to enjoy the day by yourself.

Saeyoung is undoubtedly guilty of smothering his brother in this timeline. Many of us understand why he does it, and if you would like to read more about why he tries so hard in the first place, [I should point you in the direction of this post I wrote not too long ago about parentification.]

We know why he wants to do everything he can to make sure his brother stays alive and gets to experience life for what it is. But we also know that his methods aren't always the healthiest. He does the best with what he has but that doesn't make it okay, you know? His smothering of Saeran is... well, we know why he does it, but it doesn't make it the right choice.

His willingness to let his brother live alone is a huge step not only for his paranoia but in working to heal the relationship between them after everything that happened in the Secret Ending and Saeyoung's Route.

I don't think they would live far apart from each other, but I do think there would be enough distance so they could breathe. They need to be able to be individuals just as much as they need to be a family in my opinion. See, this is one timeline where I think it would be for the best if they didn't live together.

I want them to live together post-RAE. But, the only reason why I can see that working is because they're in a different position and it's easier for them to talk about their issues in a constructive way. You can't have that in the SE, per se. It's not tainted forever but it's not easy for either one of them to come to terms with everything.

I know things are going to get better for them in the future, but it's never going to be the way it was when they were kids. It couldn't even be like that in the RAE. There's just a different and unique sense of loss in the Secret Ending that isn't present in the RAE. It's not a bad thing, it's just different and that can be hard to stomach for a lot of people, I know.

Different lives, different choices, and different experiences led to different paths.

But, you know what gives me hope?

The fact that Unknown (or, who we could presume to be SE Saeran after dying his hair back to white) is wearing a cross. There is no real reason whatsoever for him to be wearing a cross. He's not the type to love church. Side eye at Mint Eye for being also being a byproduct of Rika's religious trauma.

He is not the religious type. I don't know for sure if he believes in God, but I know he believes in something, not sure what exactly, because he doesn't want to believe in nothing. I can't see him wearing a cross as it isn't something that brings him peace. But you know who it does brings peace to? His older brother, Saeyoung.

So, if you ask me, I think his brother gave him the cross because that was a way to make sure his brother was always protected.

"Could you wear this for me? It's okay if you don't want to wear it, I just... I want you to hang onto this for me while we're living apart. I... want you to have a piece of me with you. I know that's asking a lot of you... Something to always remind you that I'm thinking of you and that I never stopped thinking of you. This kept me safe and even if it's not the same magic for you— I want you to know you this is a part of me that is undeniable. You'll never have to doubt yourself. You'll have a piece of Saeyoung-hyung with you this time while we're separated. Not forever... we can see each other whenever we want now."

Because Saeran had no proof his brother existed outside of his own memories until Mint Eye gave him the chance to peek into the RFA servers.

Even if it's silly, Saeyoung wants his brother to have a piece of his soul to keep him safe. Saeran being ultimately willing to wear a cross is a big deal, and being willing to wear the same cross his brother has worn for years is an even larger deal. Saeyoung believes in that cross.

The cross kept him safe and he clutched onto it tightly when he prayed for Saeran's happiness.

That cross is filled with years of Saeyoung's belief and hope for a happy tomorrow.

It's just as much proof of as the images on the floppy disc are. The church is what helped Saeyoung find a way to help himself and his brother, and even if it didn't work out the way he planned, that still means something to him.

Saeran's wearing something his brother gave him to keep him safe and he's not mad about it. He didn't steal that cross, either. It's not a show of power to mock Saeyoung. The image that is reflected at the top of this post is not one where we are meant to be at the cusp of an elixir bathtub.

It's a staged photo shoot.

It's one where Saeran is looking at the camera.

His face doesn't seem like the typical one you'd expect for someone rotting away in Mint Eye. He seems more at peace. If that is the case, then it makes sense that he's wearing something of his brother's to give him peace of mind. It's a token he took not because he wanted his brother not to smother him—but because it's something he took as he finally understood that his brother just wanted to protect him even if he hasn't always done it the way Saeran might have liked.

After all, it's not Saeyoung's fault that Rika and V failed.

Something something, these bracelets remind me of shackles after the chains have been broken. Unknown is no longer bound in chains. He's free. What more could anyone want for him? In conclusion, I will say that I love him very much and I'm going to keep staring at him for a while to feel better after this long day. Oh, wait, I have one more left in me.

MC'S DRESS LOOKS LIKE A BIG FLOWER AND UNKNOWN IS THE CENTER PIECE.