#the outside perspective is really refreshing and well done

[my-darling-boy]

Good morning, I hope you're doing well.

I just wanted to start by saying I deeply admire your work, and have found it beautiful, emotive and inspiring.

From what I know, you do reenactments in the UK and I've been wanting to get into reenactment myself for a looooong time, but I've always chickened out because I'm trans (ftm, pre T/medical transition).

It's super refreshing to find a trans person in this scene. I was wondering if you had any advice? Whether that's how to find safe groups, how to find costumes that fit, how to maybe start projects yourself. Any advice at all would be deeply appreciated.

The ww1/ww2 periods are really close to my heart and I would adore the opportunity to explore reenactments for these periods of history in a safe environment.

All the best,

🪖

Ah that’s awesome you’re interested in getting into reenactment, it’s a really fun hobby! Don’t think I’ve seen any advice posts for world war reenactors specifically in your situation; I think “modern” military reenactment with this in mind comes with special considerations, so I’ll do my best to give a loose Survival Guide below the cut if you’re wanting to start. This will be Long, but I’ve not seen another resource on this sort of thing from the trans angle so might as well be specific! These are just my own observations to hopefully give you a bit more perspective on whether or not it’s something you’re comfortable pursuing. That all being said…

★ In the case of being trans, especially without medical transition, I HIGHLY advise against doing this hobby completely stealth, it’s just not a good idea. For many events, you camp in the same tent/room with lads your age to men 60+ and may have to change in front of them. Even in the event there is space/bathroom to change, it’s sometimes only a single stall crawling with spiders as a lot of re-enactments are in a little village in the middle of nowhere. If it’s not your own group that could cause problems upon circumstantially finding out, it could be another reenactor or member of the public. If you bind or pack, you have to get the things on and off secretly around so many people you don’t know. Some events are in other countries. For a lot of events, there isn’t any cell service so in the off-chance something goes wrong and you have no one to help you…. You’re Cooked.

★ Transparency to some capacity is best. Whether it’s just a couple group members that know or the whole group knows, someone’s support is your greatest safety net. If you find a group you want to trial, I recommend first shooting an email rather than meeting face to face. Ask if they’re looking for new members, if they already are, that you would be interested in a trial. Add that you’re trans and you want to know if this is an issue, there’s really no other way to ask this. It’s complex, but really they’re not allowed to tell you no on grounds of discrimination, however you can gauge how accepting they are by their response. If they’re suddenly not looking for new members or they play email tag over weeks with no clear answer, pass. Being upfront about it if you’re pre-everything will save you wasting time on groups who don’t want to work with you.

★ Research local regiments/groups you want. Searching near your county may mean you won’t have to travel too far for events, but not always. And you don’t have to stay local, I find groups accept members from just about anywhere in the UK, even outside it sometimes! It’s also good to have some research done on the regiment/battalion you want.

★ Next, big, very important: World War re-enactment is a very Actual Military dominated hobby, and you’ll be exposed to all that entails. I say this to give you a heads up as to the social environment you’re entering into which not many trans people may consider. There’s no way to engage with this area of group reenactment that is completely divorced from the genus of the military as it exists today, even for historical education. The groups I’ve met as well as my own are comprised mostly of veterans, people currently serving, or those from military/first-responder families. In my own observation, world war groups feel more like off-shoot capillaries of the military as opposed to doing something like medieval reenactment or a Jacobite. They are run, funded, and supported in full or part by current/ex military members and organisations. Now obviously it’s not the real military, you’re not enlisted, you’re not going to get court-martialed if you do something wrong! However, these groups try to hold themselves to the same professionalism that you would get if you were actually in the forces cos you’re portraying someone in the military—albeit 1916–who would’ve held themselves to the same standards. There’s fun, there’s jokes, but you stand up so straight on inspection that it’s uncomfortable, eyes front, you never fool around with a weapon, you do what you’re told, and you try to help out every member as best you can cos you’re a unit. It’s a balance between being serious and fun. I know I’m silly outside it, but once I’m on site, it’s time for more discretion. You’re first and foremost an educational historical actor, and as such you’re required to conduct yourself in the public eye as a service member—someone’s ancestor—representing a real regiment that more than likely still exists. This is not a Ren Faire environment. A reenactment group does not exist in a vacuum and neither do the world wars. Not every group is as connected with the Real military as others, but this is just a Heads Up in case interacting with these entities contributes to making you feel “unsafe” in your position.

★ There is also that complicated grey area of how even the most progressive group still exists within a network of current systems which are traditional and affects the way that group must present itself to the public and their Real Military Counterparts they are inseparable from. World war reenacting is still deeply intertwined with current forces and old tradition because the wars and their decades are still within collective consciousness and still hot topics of discussion. Some people really take issue with trans people in the hobby, we all know this, so even as supportive as a group may be, many choose for safety to be on the DL when engaging with other hobbyists whom you don’t know (outside of your group). I personally don’t know any other trans men active in WW groups, though I know they’re out there. That alone should give you an idea as to how Quiet we keep it for safety, even if, bless them, our cis group mates would gladly tell someone off for being transphobic. Though having to be on the DL to anyone outside your group at events for someone who is pre-everything can be anxiety inducing. It’s why I say it’s for your own benefit that at least someone in your group 100% has your back.

★ Lads love teasing each other and will tease you, with love, but don’t be the doormat for anything transphobic. As is the case with the real military, jokes/teasing is an integral part of the camaraderie and as I said, lots of people doing WW reenacting are current/ex military. Short jokes @ me are common, they’re made with love, it’s not transphobic or malicious. While someone messing with you is common cis male bonding, don’t hesitate to tell someone steady on if they go over the line or they’re genuinely being malicious before you go to the sergeant with a formal complaint. It’s usually an immediate apology and then never doing it again. And as said, don’t let transphobic teasing slide. If there is any phobic joke that could fly under the radar to someone not privy, it would be jokes equating you with someone called “Bob” so if you ever hear that one—if you don’t already know what that means—definitely bring that up to someone!

★ A tip for cis male dominated spaces: self-confidence, optimism, and a general good nature will get you far. Being extremely, constantly awkward or aloof from dysphoria or fearing cis men will tend to get you “othered”. It can be hard to be more vocal or confident if you’re anxious not having had many dealings with cis male social groups, but my advice is to try to be as casual as possible, shaking hands with eye contact, going about your business, and Being Normal about guys walking around half naked in the mornings or accidentally catching sight of your mate’s bits. Generally, if you’re not Weird about them, no one’s Weird about you!

★ It’s also a mutual respect-based environment. As long as you’re mature, level, putting in the effort, are quick to learn, friendly, and doing your bit in the group, chances are you will get along with everyone fine and they will get along with you regardless of anyone’s politics or beliefs, which I think is most trans people’s fear for this hobby. Everyone is aware infighting and heated debates over anything can destroy a group or bring harm against yourself or your mates, which is why I’ve found if you simply say you don’t feel comfortable talking about something, people back off cos they respect that. Trans or not, if you’re abrasive or egotistical, just like any social situation, respect for you goes down.

★ People are more than happy to impart knowledge, there are lads who could easily talk for hours about one thing if you get them going so don’t be afraid to ask questions! If you’re nervous about asking someone for help with drill, kit, etc it’s less “How do you not know this?” and more “I’m SO glad you asked!” It’s sort of like having a group of brothers for the weekend, always teaching you something. I find reenactors can never pass up an opportunity to thoroughly explain something (myself included) and sometimes even unprompted will just point to something you’ve got and start telling a story about it. Everyone, even elder members, learn something new every event

★ In terms of clothing sizing, I’ve got stereotypical male proportions (bar my height) so I can’t speak much from personal struggle on this one. Most modern-made reenactment gear is quite amply sized, which is fine if you’re larger but is a pain if you’re smaller. Most groups will have spare kit in diff sizes you can borrow on trialling them, and there are good videos on YouTube to familiarise yourself with all the parts and how to care for them, and of course you can ask me here as well. If you want something yourself, everyone and their mums starts out with Soldier of Fortune these days, and owning your own trousers/tunic of course means you can tailor it if need be. You’re also looking at around at least £600 for a relatively complete kit, but tbh it’s easily over £1000 weapons and extras included.

★ On clothing, maybe it’s cos I’m short, but your grey flannel is your best friend if you have to get changed in front of someone and don’t want them to see your Downstairs. The greybacks are quite long I find, so as long as it’s on, you can change trousers and sometimes even undergarments without flashing anyone.

★ On getting changed: always try to be the first to get ready, it doesn’t look weird, you just look on top of things! Do a bit of recon when you can about changing spaces and the toilet situation cos you might be able to get creative where you change, including in your sleeping bag. It’s good to try to get at least an undershirt and bottom half on before the group wakes up, you easily put on tunic and boots and the rest alongside everyone else. You might even find you just end up sleeping in kit, sometimes we do that. Getting to the toilet first also means you not only avoid being late for inspection trying to sort yourself, but you’re not after the lad with the Least Desirable morning routine (and believe me, there will be at least one, if not more).

★ Though sleeping in the same space and getting ready around each other is usually expected, it’s not mandatory. For some multi-day events, it may be possible to go home and come back the next morning so you don’t have to sleep/change with the rest of the boys. It’s possible to show up to events already kitted and leave kitted so you don’t need to change at all. If you’re all staying in a hotel, you can get a separate room or if everyone is staying at camp, you can stay in a local inn if there is one. If you’re under canvas, you can always bring a separate tent and sleep by yourself. HOWEVER, because sleeping together (and drinking till 3 AM) and getting ready polishing brass or making breakfast is a Group Bonding Experience just be aware you’ll miss out on that bonding if you go off alone a lot or cut events short to go home/come back, if having more bonding is particularly important to you!

★ If you’re binding, it’s worth noting depending on what exactly you’re doing you carry anywhere between 20-50 extra pounds on your person. There is decent physical activity, you are with equipment on your feet for most of the day, and hobnail boots are not the most comfortable. Being in an entirely wool uniform on a baking, humid day in a binder would be absolutely bloody miserable. You would have to take the binder off after all that lest you hurt yourself. Also, if you join a Highland Regiment, it is not a good idea to pack. And I’m not talking about your kit bag. If your Swagger Stick falls out on a demo in front of hundreds of families, there is no coming back from that, there really is no room for Oopsy in that scenario, it’s not worth the embarrassment!

★ As for starting projects yourself… that’s a tricky one. If it’s like a little reenactment group, that’s a massive undertaking, I could write a novel about that alone and the money and insurance and complex social things that would involve. There are ways you can do solo reenactment for educational purposes, though this requires having a relationship with whatever venue is hiring you such as a museum. While doing a scout or medic would be easy enough, doing a fully kitted infantryman would be a bit harder. If you have weapons like a rifle or bayonet, you need a permit to carry them. Solo reenacting also requires you to know A TON of information, not just about the war, but the surrounding time period give or take 20 years, your entire kit, gear, and loads of other things.

★ In conclusion, as intimidating as this can seem to navigate around cis men as a trans man for (potentially) the first time in a very military, traditionally masc environment…. I think as long as you come into it with the same attitude as any young man would at the time, you’ve got pals to back you up, and you try to be cheery and do your bit, you’re likely to do just fine and have fun! I know reenactment can seem like the straight white old male phobic hardcore conservative hobby, but it is a really rewarding experience as long as you take some precautions, there are some genuinely lovely people in it, eager to pass on their knowledge. If you feel a group is not a good fit, you can always leave, and there will be other groups who will be more than happy to have you. While I can’t say I’ve met any trans men in my time doing it, I’ve at least met some other LGB reenactors who are really lovely and very supportive.

Hope something here puts your anxiety at ease, or at least doesn’t make anything worse! If it’s of any comfort, I think groups as a whole are becoming much more supportive of LGBT+ members. I think the coming generations that are starting to have more active involvement in this area of reenactment look to be making it better for LGBT+ people to participate in historical education and overall hobby engagement.

Cheers! x

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love, 

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

*

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

*

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

*

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

*

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

*

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

*

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[oonajaeadira]

here's what i think

An anniversary is a really good time to reassess.

I really hate the lead up to my yearly job assessment, but every year I leave my boss' desk knowing that I'm valued and I'm actually contributing and innovating more than I can see from my perspective. It's an amazing motivator and helps me to appreciate my work. I hate doing it, but so glad when it's done.

I very much believe that we should have to retake our drivers test every year. It reminds people how to navigate a four-way stop and weeds out people who are not fit to drive for whatever reason. Cars are murder machines and a yearly test ensures most people will think about the choices they make and remember the rules more readily.

On our anniversary, the SO and I take the time to appreciate our relationship and put on the table things we'd like to work on or change, things we'd like to do in the next year together. It helps to get it out at once, shine up the nice bits, sift through the things we don't need anymore. Clears the air, confirms we're on the same page.

Birfdays should be the same. I like to walk through my day as normally as possible--well, maybe with a few treats--and just appreciate what I have, listen and look at the world around me and realize what life is and what's in it--that I"M in it. Try to clear my head of the mundane and see creation for what it is--one big damned miracle.

In a perfect world, I think we should be able to go to a life expert once a year on our birfday and just tell them what we think about anything and everything. Maybe just recount our blessings, talk about what we've learned in the past year, how we've grown spiritually or bodily. Maybe even just be quiet or say, "Yeah, it's good, I'm pretty content." However long or short it takes. Then they say, "Great. Today you are one year older. Would you like to try for another?" And most of the time people will say, "Yes. I will keep having this adventure" or "Yes, I would like to try a different tactic this year" or "It's hard, but I don't think I'm done yet" and they are sent on their way. The point being that they have to say out loud to another human "I am alive and here's how I feel about it and I'm going to live at least one more year if I can." But on the flip side, say you've been suffering illness or you're old and hurting, I think you should be able to say on that day "I've seen some pretty neat stuff and laughed a lot, but I'm not going to get better and every day will hurt a little more. I can't see myself going through another year of this. I think I'm ready to just call it in." And then you would have a medical team to help you shut it all down with ease and dignity and mercy. There's some nuance to every situation, of course. In a perfect world, I'm saying. A world that doesn't and can't exist.

A year is a very short time. It's long enough to forget rules or that things exist outside of routine. I always pop my parking brake when I stop for gas because if you don't use it--if you don't shake it up now and then--it can rust in place and get stuck. It can lose its function and reason for being.

I like to use anniversaries to "pop my parking brake" and "look through the owner's manual." Just to refresh. Just to make sure the system is functioning. And maybe remind myself on a tip or two of how to drive this thing.

Yes, life is very nice. I am enjoying it a lot. It was a good year full of friends and stories and dogs and seeing the world. Yes, I think I shall do another.

[catnatch]

another souyo fic rec list!

this one is exclusively for fics that have never made it off the badbadbathouse/livejournal (to my knowledge/memory). I have my big ass list of every single souyo fill, but this one is curated with summaries, so hopefully it'll be useful to new p4 fans or anyone who doesn't know where to start with p4 on lj!

(these are all from bbbh, so the main post text for all these will be somewhat suggestive, but I will separate sfw fics from nsfw)

SFW fics!

Sunday, 7:43: I've mentioned before but my absolute fav P4 fic <3 even the prompt is the sweetest: a ficcy about the precise moment Yousuke realizes he's in love

Domesticity: Yosuke gets a gray hair :^)

Name That Tune: after Yosuke gives him a mixtape, Souji surprises him with the song he likes the most-- it goes exactly where you think but the buildup is still so good :') this one I feel like I did see on AO3 but I can't find it again if it is

The Frog in the Well (or, Yosuke and the wind.): character study of Yosuke's connection to his element (okay not so souyo but it's got such fantastic use of language...)

Sick Day: good old fashioned sick fic :') actually more of a ensemble fic rather than purely souyo, and the peeks of characterization therein are choice [warnings for vomit]

Cook the Food, Not the Kitchen: teaching the IT to cook- another ensemble fic! but souji def has plans for Yosuke in this one ;) unfinished but very amusing nonetheless

Façade: in order to go out on a public date, Souji elects to disguise as a girl. i like fics where they work thru their issues... but it's still quite fluffy! this one miiiight be on AO3 or ffn

One Way to Start the Morning: Yukiko and Yosuke talk about being in love with their best friends... as much as Yosuke can admit it anyway. realistically awkward but genuine Yosuke and Yukiko friendship, hooray! [warnings for one use of slur]

Whisperwind: Yosuke gains telepathic powers and it's too much (a sorta Carrie au). very surreal but well done horror fic (there is souyo but as you can imagine, it doesn't end well) [no smut but it is very gory so think maybe R? instead of NC-17; major character death]

Contact: souyo's relationship through touch. wonderful sense of tension and space throughout this fic, and i love viewing their progression thru one specific lens

Breaking Up is Hard To Do: Yosuke confesses... the night before Souji leaves. once again the genre is souyo/working on their issues. excellent, naturalistic dialog and not too angsty...

[untitled]: souyo told purely from other character's perspectives. unfortunately unfinished; we really need more outside pov fics !

A Special Report: "I like my women like my coffee" ngl rec-ing purely for Souji's answer ;D (nothing explicit but as u can expect from the prompt, suggestive jokes abound) also sports club trio ftw!!

NSFW fics below cut!

Play Time: Souji likes Yosuke's dick- even outside of sex! i am SUCH a big fan of casual, almost boring intimacy. adult in the best way, funny and so so domestic

The Last Breath We Take: sometime after Yosuke dies, Souji is sure he's being haunted. more bittersweet than outright sad :') (also the nsfw is very indirect and light) [warnings for major character death]

A Night Like This: Yosuke's dad finds out Yosuke's dating Souji and does not take it well. Yosuke isn't a complete pushover (but he is still a sad boy) so that's refreshing! [warnings for abuse]

Bruise My Head: Souji gets a bit fat and meets up with Yosuke years after. flashbacks (one is the short nsfw in this fic) are interspersed in this future fic, and it's an interesting examination how they might change and what stays the same (and how there's always something to work on) [warnings for eating disorders + brief self harm mention]

Technique: Yosuke totally knows what a blowjob is. totally. (smut that doesn't go perfectly >>>>>)

Its a Hard Life: Yosuke falls on hard times, becoming a prostitute and gets a regular who looks very familiar (it's Souji's dad). listen, I'm not gonna pretend that this one isn't carried by pure DRAMA and whump [warnings for dubcon + noncon]

Unfortunate Timing: souyo are having phone sex when Nanako has the WORST timing. Souji's dilemma is supremely entertaining, and we love bratty!Yosuke [warnings for Nanako? she's not a part of/aware of the sex per se but she's in the vicinity if that squicks you out]

Experience: Kanji learns a thing or two from established souyo. the Kanji pov is an interesting angle to view souyo and how well they work together [warnings for dp]

I HAVE NO DUNGEON, AND I MUST TROLL!: Yosuke has a personal blog- very personal- that starts getting hate from one anonymous Souji. this fic is unique for presenting the lj/comments true to life and there's a lovely floaty style to the offline sections; this fic is also an interesting look into Jerkji, who we don't see often in fan characterization anymore [warnings for manipulative!Souji; eating disorders (adjacent); dubcon; suicidal actions]

and finally Sympathy Crime even though pretty much everyone already knows about it AKA the fic where Adachi manipulates Yosuke into a relationship and it takes a tole on the investigation. heed the warnings of abuse, rape, torture, and suicidal thoughts/attempts seriously as the fic goes in depth to depict these, the horrifying effects, and then recovery. It does not pull any punches. The fic really understands how anyone can be susceptible to abuse and how important a support system/lack thereof is. It is incredibly well written- and that is in part because it has a message about horrendous acts of abuse. Additionally, it's a 200k+ (i think) word read so it is A Lot. Sympathy Crime is 100% not for everyone, but if you think you can tolerate reading the subject matter, there is a reason why this is a monolithic fic in P4 fandom history

[bluespiritshonour]

One thing ATLA could've done really well but missed—I say this with utmost love because ATLA's track record with writing is very solid—is differentiate between love and attachment.

Detachment doesn't necessarily mean cutting yourself off from the material world—while I bet monasteries certainly do practise it that way—purely going off of theory, being an ascetic doesn't mean going hiking in the Himalayas. No, seriously, it doesn't.

One thing I loved about ATLA was the fact they showed the airbenders as very chill people in general. Goofy and humourous and able to have fun. Sure, the air nomad council really puts a damper on that when they seem to disagree with Gyatso's way of raising Aang. But you can see that the children are chill. And they have fun. And the only reason Aang was going to be stripped of his childhood was the war—it was custom not to even reveal the Avatar's identity until they were 16. I guess it was practised across the nations.

When one thinks of monasteries, the first thing to come to mind is rigidity and harshness. It was refreshing to see air nomads not being written that way and I thought to myself: they understood the assignment.

Except when Aang goes off to unblock his chakras and refuses to give up his attachment to Katara. At that moment, I totally understand that he wasn't ready for it—But he also said something else: “[insert number 'cause I really don't remember] chakras ago that was a good thing.”

Except, that was about love, not attachement. Attachment is never a good thing, it can even come in your way of doing your duty towards the very people that you love.

Aang just turning away from Katara with an apology and giving up on her to unlock the Avatar state in the Crystal Catacombs never made sense to me. What would have made sense is Aang learning the distinction. He can love Katara with all his heart and still not be attached to her—believe me, even from a shipping perspective it wouldn't have been a bad thing. It would've made their relationship even stronger. And Aang better a man for Katara. It's actually a basis for a healthy relationship.

Of course no one in real life practises these things to that extent, but Aang being a monk—and the Avatar—finding a balance would not have been far-fetched. Like Yangchen said, he can't afford not to participate in worldly affairs—and he managed to find a balance by neutralising Ozai without killing him. (That's another thing I like from a philosophical perspective, especially eastern philosophical perspective: being involved in the material world doesn't necessarily mean you're not an ascetic. Being an ascetic is completely in your head, it's not something that's influenced by outside sources).

So yeah. Him finding the distinction between attachment and love would've made for a nice character arc, would've strengthened his love for Katara and gotta admit... I didn't like that the show kinda implied that love and attachment are the same. They're not.

Aang did find a way for the Ozai dilemma, managing to engage in worldly concerns without sacrificing the teachings of the monks—he could have done the same with personal relationships too.

[inventors-fair]

Your Favorite Commentary: Show and Tell

It really is always a joy to see people expressing what they're passionate about. The entries were exactly as eclectic as I would've expected, and I've had a great time seeing all these varied takes on varied archetypes. More than ever, these entries are deeply personal, which means there's only so much I can critique from an outside perspective. All the same, I've got my fair share of things to say, don't you worry. It is interesting to see not only a variety of archetypes, but a variety of approaches to supporting them. After all, almost everyone will have a different opinion about what exactly the missing piece in any given strategy is. The bias of being a personal favorite will also inevitably color whatever you come up with. And I'm not saying that as a cautionary tale or anything, I think that's great. With that, let's get nto the meat of this, shall we?

~

@bergdg — Ignite

Double down is immediately an interesting idea, and while a pure burn spell is perhaps not the most exciting way to showcase it, it's a very solid way of showing the merits. I love the idea of interacting with the graveyard as sort of a bizarro-world Spellshaper, but I wish the restriction was a bit more...specific? Like, it should require a certain attribute of card to be exiled, like something that shares a type or a color, and not just any old card in the yard. Especially because the rate on this card is currently way too good. It's trivially easy to get a single card into the graveyard, and 6 damage for 3 mana on a single card would be excellent even if you couldn't split it two ways. You're definitely heading in the right direction with this concept, this iteration just falls a teensy bit flat. Keep at it, though! I'd love to see what can be done with the mechanic.

~

@big-golyat — Blessing of Etlan Shiis

Well, uh...wow. The double whammy of World and tide counters is certainly a blast from the past, but I think this may be a bit too much flair and not enough substance. First of all, World already essentially enforces a more stringent version of the legend rule, so I don't see much reason for this to also be legendary besides occasional favorable interaction with legends-matter and also cool factor. For those who need a refresher, World means there can only be one permanent with the supertype anywhere on the battlefield, period. I do actually like the idea of an anthem that oscillates in strength, but it really shouldn't vary on a per creature basis; that just sounds like a living nightmare to track when it's applied to every single creature at all times. If you maybe made this only affect your creatures and give a buff of varying strength depending on the tide instead of a buff or a debuff, I could pretty easily see it. Although, that would likely necessitate the color shifting to white.

~

@bowtochris — Zhalfirin Veil

As you mentioned on your submission, this is a colorshifted Teferi's Veil, a card that I do hold a lot of affection towards myself. I can definitely see your reasons, too: phasing has moved squarely into white's wheelhouse in recent years, and the color's more aggressive leaning would really appreciate the protection, as we've seen with cards like Nahiri's Resolve. The additional effect over the original Veil is where I'm really impressed, though. Keeping your creatures safe in moments between attacks is all well and good, but it tends to leave you terribly exposed to being attacked on the crackback. Not so here, as you're able to constantly threaten the entire army returning at a moment's notice. It's also a funny counter to phasing effects targeted against you, and can even save a creature from an indefinite phasing such as with The Pandorica. There is a minor wording mistake here, though: given that phased-out creatures don't exist, you don't control them as such, and you'd need to specify something along the lines "phased-out creatures you control" for it to properly affect them.

~

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion — Cruel Remedy

Right off the bat, this card is clearly intended as a callback to Tainted Remedy. And...that's really all the card seems to want to be, unfortunately. Redundancy can be a powerful tool when it comes to supporting decks—Soul Sisters immediately come to mind, just to name one off the top of my head—but something about this card's status as "Tainted Remedy Plus" doesn't quite sit right. It's also pulling in a bit of different direction than the original: while lifegaining your opponent to death is a bit of cheeky fun, the card was originally designed as a counter to life-gaining strategies. Similarly, the ability to place a lifelink counter on an opposing creature to turn it into a double-edged sword is cute, it smacks of being more needlessly clever than intuitive. Plus, allowing the card to support itself kind of muddles the idea of the strategy, which is that specific cards that do little on their own need to work together. Or that's my interpretation, anyway. I think you identified this, based on the extremely high cost to place a counter, but I'm not sure that solves the problem as much as makes the card so specific that there's not really any place for it outside of the dedicated strategy.

~

@curiooftheheart — Doco, Inky Familiar

I was not previously aware this was a pre-established character, so immediate points for the deep cut. This is a really neat compact package of effects. The pseudo-heroic trigger pairs perfectly with Killian, and the aggressive body makes Docco itself a fantastic target for the kind of spells it wants you to be casting. The trigger itself seems a bit low-impact when you have to spend cards to get it, but the previously mentioned efficient body and the fact that it blankets your board and can therefore stack with similar triggers does plenty to justify that. Just great all around, I really like this little guy!

~

@dimestoretajic — Occupied Battlements

I enjoy a good defender support card, although I do worry this one has slightly missed the point. First of all, I don't really see any reason for this to be legendary. Maybe having two copies of this would be strong, but I can't see it being particularly backbreaking. Plus, nothing about the name or flavor text really scream the uniqueness and singular nature necessary for a legendary card. The bigger issue as I see it, is that with the way defender strategies are now, you really don't want defenders dying. That's usually a symptom of losing, and at that point I'd rather have a card that prevents them from dying in the first place than something that gives a consolation prize. In addition, defender decks are chock full of cards to allow them to hit with their toughness, so swapping that toughness to power hardly feels like an incentive to sacrifice them yourself.

~

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Irradiation Elemental

We've seen a card grant demonstrate before, but The Twelfth Doctor is more specific, more expensive, and more limited. Demonstrate is a powerful ability, and I think giving it out this willy-nilly is probably a step too far. The high toughness is also extremely annoying to deal with, as it enables you to sling burn with nary a care of the elemental being removed in retaliation, while you're hammering opponents with doubled spells. The bigger problem is how many cards there are that your opponents really don't want to be forced to cast. In particular, forcing a redless opponent to cast a Pact of the Titan more or less ends them on the spot, and Glorious End becomes a turn skip that also kills someone. I just feel like this is crying out for some sort of conditionality to enable what is a really powerful effect.

~

@milfannihilator — Echoing Scream Trap

As cool as they are, I can't help but think that Traps kind of defy being an archetype by their nature. After all, they're all designed to counter something specific, and there's only so many activation conditions your average opponent can reasonably meet. Being able to toolbox out the ideal Trap for the situation sounds like a way to remedy that, but...it's not really a Trap if you have to reveal it to your opponent, is it? It's not a dealbreaker, of course, as you can just search a Trap that's already met its condition, but it pretty severely limits the applications in an archetype whose problem is limited applications. There's also the issue of the other modes, which don't really feel like they add much of anything, especially for what is a fairly difficult condition to meet. Modality applies a tax, of course, but even if the spell always cost 2 mana, the first two modes would only ever feel mediocre at best.

~

@nine-effing-hells — Cultist of Polukranos

Calling out X spells by name is always a fun time, and this very much picks that up and runs with it. Cost reduction to allow you to hit ever-larger X values is nothing new, but I do like the unique way this goes about it. There is a slight concern that the reduction is just a mite too strong on cards that are balanced around having to pay into multiple Xs before the effect can start scaling (Doppelgang, anyone?), but those are pretty few and far between. That and the restriction to make sure you can't abuse X abilities too much shows an eye towards balance that I can appreciate. I'm not sure I'm a big fan of the inclusion of the mana ability, though. Cost reduction and mana production are an odd pair, and although I like how one pays for colorless costs and the other colored, it ends up feeling a bit like the same ability twice with different words.

~

@real-aspen-hours — Kathuur the Skyweaver

On the surface, this is yet another iteration of the Young Pyromancer effect, but I find myself really liking the twist here. The shift to temporary tokens does fundamentally change the gameplay here in a way that I find immediately engaging. And while on paper this seems equivalent to adding 1 damage to every cast, there's so much more you can do with a token that you can't with a ping. Making this a magecraft trigger that deals immediate damage does run into the same problem as Witherbloom Apprentice, where copying a spell an arbitrary number of times makes for easy OTKs. It's especially concerning for a card actually in Fork colors. Additionally, I can't help but wonder if the more aggressive intention means that the tokens should have a "can't block" rider, so they can't also function as surprise blockers. Still, very cool!

~

@tanknspank — Fragmenting Memory

This definitely tickles my neurons as a serial self-mill player, although that's hardly the only way to approach this card. "If it wasn't cast" certainly is an odd bit of text out of context, but good on you for remembering that instants and sorceries go straight from the stack to the graveyard. It's interesting that although this looks at everyone's graveyard, forcing you to choose which type of card it's tracking can often force you to focus on one deck in particular. After all, the ratios of card types will always vary between decks. I feel like you'll often name whatever card type you sculpted your deck around and focus on your own deck, given that's the one you have best knowledge of. I'm not sure if I entirely agree with the reasoning in your submission to not use Clues, that they've received enough support. That said, I am a big fan of the flavor you've managed to create by using Shards, so I can't say it's that big of a deal ultimately.

~

@the-gboi — Familiar Informant

Artifact tokens, artifact tokens, artifact tokens. They're just about everywhere these days, and while I'm generally all for it, they're most certainly not for everyone. This card follows roughly the same blueprint as Nuka-Cola Vending Machine, where you put one type of token in and get another out. Just like the vending machine, it's pretty broken paired with Academy Manufactor, but that's hardly a unique status. While this is a fine enough effect, I'm just...not sure I get the card? Like, I'm struggling to see the thematic connection between the flavor and the effect, and the lack of flavor text definitely isn't helping clear it up. Maybe they're giving you tips if you buy them a meal? But then, why do they bring a Food with them? It just doesn't quite resonate in a way that I can't really fully express, and just leaves the card feeling a bit muddled.

~

@yourrightfulking — Necrotic Recycler

Reduce, reuse, revenge! True to the name, this really is a frightening efficient value piece. Creating tokens on death (or sacrifice specifically in this case, which is slightly unusual) is an old hat, but I love the second ability feeding back into your nontoken creatures. I would maybe argue that the counters should only be placeable on other creatures, to better incentivize you to keep something alive and removing the easy option of just piling everything on the Recycler itself. The use of decayed tokens is pretty genius here though, I must say. For one, it does decrease the power level of the tokens so that can be invested somewhere else. More importantly though, it gives the tokens an inbuilt way to sacrifice themselves to keep the loop going, which goes a long way towards making the card feel that much better to play. My biggest complaint is that this is crying out for some sort of flavor text or art direction. You've set a truly grisly scene here, and I'd be fascinated to see how a zombie described as a "recycler" looks or functions.

~

With profuse apologies for the delay, thanks for tuning in! I'll see you all some other week. @spooky-bard

[mejomonster]

(The tldr is this is about gender and then versus now) I was listening to the podcast Enterprise Incidents on youtube. The Mudd's Women episode. The podcasters are 2 fans since the original airing, and I like them generally because they're really well informed in screenwriting and directing choices and so to some degree their analysis touches points I find a chunk of star trek type commentaries tend to miss: that optimisitc vision of the future, that star trek's goal was to be progressive but it also at times had flaws of its time (something Im painfully familiar with regarding Rick Berman and DS9 and TNG, so its nice hearing older watchers aware of those flaws from ToS). Now. Its not perfect. In my ideal podcast Id like to find some day (lol) a guy podcaster is capable of acknowledging the influence the spirk premise/fan perception had in some ways (from The Motion Picture thyla, that "i imagine love of men in that time" quote from Rodenberry, the Asimov suggestion to make them a team to help Kirk be accepted more by audience and Spocks individual popularity tying to Kirk was partly a bid to link their popularity). And I dont know that for all the great ideas they have, that they have any idea of the spirk fandom perception (like that quote in academia about slash fiction being the end of the Wrath of Khan if the glass were removed) or how the canon goal of making a duo unit at least created the dynamic that led to that fandom interpretation. But they do touch on many a good thing some less layer-looking people miss. They notice Kirk's actual personality (should be easy but often failed due to cultural perception versus The Show itself), Nimoys acting choices and spocks development into the character he became, the show itself deciding its identity over time and its ventures in various angles until then, what worked and what didnt regarding the progressive future versus the biases of the time it was made. They miss some nuance but theyre doing really in depth so its a treasure trove overall.

Now in Mudds Women, they miss some nuance of a story about beauty and worth that I think... i dont know. I think yeah the writers failed to hit the goal story meant to be told, but i also think outside a women perspective it can often be a miss in such storytelling (yoko taro doing the Singer in Nier Automata is the first time a guy telling a raw story about beauty and its impossible standards, invasive toxic expectations, and self destructive pressures, managed to feel totally on point and realistically managed). So i sort of yeah expect mudds women to need to be viewed Generously to grasp the message, and i sort of yeah expected guy podcasters to at best recognize where the story failed (which they did) but unfortunately not realize all the story was aiming to do (because it does Approach many topics i feel women and beauty standards and ppl who grew up in certain enviornments would recognize as Trying to be a reference to a real problem - the episode does say a fair bit if ur used to looking for those points, but not Super well done so i can see why an audience less used to relating to such points would notice them much less).

But the podcast said something this episode i found so refreshing. They mention how mudd explains how the venus drug works: it makes you "more of what you are" makes men more strong and aggressive, women more soft and feminine. Basically its a line about idealized traditional gender roles when ToS was made. And the podcaster mentions yes as a teen first watching (when we probably most feel a pressure to fit in, still most likely to believe society expects us to meet it and rewards that standard) it sounded like the drug made u better. But that in the life he lived, with the family he had, he had never been raised to think he had to be strong or women had to cook or any of that strict expectations. Then they talk about how the discussion of gender has grown so much in these years, and trans people of course can live more openly, and they say the question in society is like what does it mean to be a certain gender anyway.

And the guy says. Well i always thought and strongly think, when i say im a man, it means nothing. Because a man can be anything. Anyone can be any way, like any things, do any things, look any way. Being a certain gender means nothing beyond "im that gender."

And god how refreshing that was.

Growing up, in the 90s, yeah i felt to some degree those gender roles and expectations somewhat pushed as a teen: when girls start being pressured to wear makeup (by ads, movies, peers, trying to please crushes, avoid insults etc) and boys start being pressured to be strong (bullied for not being, attacked for being perceived as less strong by any number of reasons they get singled out by peers, movies and ads telling them their lack of strength is their reason for any failures etc). But like. There was ALSO a big push growing up, that i saw, of girls can do anything. Girls can cook or do construction, can wear dresses or play sports, can wear makeup or none at all, can have long hair or chop it off, can go into STEM or childcare, can marry or never marry, can be the career head of home or a stay at home parent, basically: anything, all of that or none of it or anyrhing in between. That was the direction of progress anyway. Guys were a bit behind (and oh of course bullying with their own peers limited their options of what wasnt ostracized) but we were seeing more acceptance of intelligence as equally desireable and acceptable to strength (at least for adult men), more media glorifying the nerds, more examples of a bigger variety of men with more niches that could still be considered ideals. And the result of that in some ways was good, i saw more guys my generation more accepting of their love of painting, cooking, wearing makeup, more guys who didnt body shame themselves as much, who didnt feel belittle themselves if they were stay at home dads or made less income, more who talked about their emotions than my parents generation ever did, more genuine friendships than we ever saw during toxic-teenage-pit when the strict standards weighed heaviest. The ideas were moving toward what is a man? Anything he wants. What is a woman? Anything she wants. What is a person? Anything they want to be. What is your gender? Whatever you feel it is. And it doesnt need to match up to Any preconcieved notions or box to be "justified" because no gender has specific strict traits it must include. Yes we still knew society had "ideals" for genders that it pushed, and that traditional and conservative thinking people held themselves to. But for people in general? What is your gender? What I feel I am. What must you do to Be that gender? Nothing. Anyone can be anything as any gender.

And god it was so refreshing hearing someone say that again. What does being a man mean? Nothing. Because a man can be anything. Anyone can be anything. Theres no box a person fits into, no box of traits any gender must conform to in order to be valid. A person can be anything and do anything and have any traits interests looks, and be whatever gender they are.

I dont know if its the way the worlds medias been shifting (so opinions we get stuck hearing more of), or cause i see trans people so often expected by society to conform to those stricter gender ideals with this weight of threat and isolation if someone in the majority finds reasons to attack (but in the end they always might, the whole thing is theyre fucked for attacking to begin with). But its like. God i miss when gender meant in my head only: what am i? What do i feel good calling myself? What feels like home. Cause im me, and me is not changing to appease some strangers. (Though i am to some degree, we all do even cis people do, because those stupid old ideals are widespread enough all ppl face some punishment or threat if they deviate from the strict boxes, despite no one fully fitting them). But like. If im me and i can do anything, what feels like home? Thats all it is to me. I miss seeing it that way. I miss when i didnt see quite so much of the looming strict standard pushing so hard on everyone to conform more. To try and force all people to cut themselves down and confine themselves to roles that serve what anyway besides littling all of us, oppressing all of us in limitation. (I mean. I know why it spreads. Maybe conservative voices are louder now about their ideal gender roles then when i grew up, or maybe its louder cause im an adult now. It doesnt mean they have any point.)

You are a person. You can be anything. Your gender is whatever you feel it is. Your gender does not inherently define your life and what you can do and be. Whatever forces we feel, remember whatever brings you joy is okay to be. Its okay to be you.

Like. Yes a person of a specific gender can define it very specifically in what that gender means TO them. How They define it for themselves. But that definition isnt universal and there is no limit to the definition of what a specific gender's people can be. A woman can look any way have any life any interest any traits any values. You can't define a woman as specific things and not others, a woman is as broadly defined as there are so many unique women in this world with so many varied unique experiences selves lives. Any gender is not universally always a confined list of traits, because theres all kinds of people with all kinds of traits of specific genders. What is a man, anything. What is a woman, anything. What is a nonbinary person, anything. A genderqueer person, anything. Any specific (or unspecific or undefined) gender person, anything. People are so varied they have too many unique traits to be always these X Y Z things and never these A B C things. Youre the gender you are cause its what feels right to you. But your definition of your own gender For u isnt universal to all people of your gender, cause people define their gender all kinds of different ways and people of your gender can have any traits in this whole spectrum of being alive.

This is the podcast btw:

And if you do know of a podcast that is aware of spirks influence on/from tos please send it my way.

[cerastes]

I’ve been taking my girlfriend through the DMC series recently and bc it’s come up a few times, what’s your thoughts on an Arknights spectacle fighter?

What group would it be about? Who would be playable etc.

I've thought about this myself, it's really such a permissible setting and cast for it, too.

I personally think it should encompass not one given group but rather a smattering of Operators, serving to give them depth outside their usual suspects (something I wish was done more often, and something I like about IS2 Monthly Squads).

The one's I've thought about, mainly regarding gameplay, are:

Ch'en -> One look at Ch'en and she's lab-grown to be a character action protagonist: Regular sword, Forbidden Sword, and the regular sword charges the use for the powerful Forbidden Sword specials and supers. I think she'd work pretty well as your Mario in Mario Kart, the purist, classic character action protag, good all around stats, moveset and utility, not a master of anything, very Raiden With The HF Katana MGR style.

Amiya -> On the other hand, Amiya would be a really good fit for a Dante style as opposed to a Raiden style, someone that's ultimately about unleashing some nasty combos but has ranged options (Arts blasts, Chimera, etc) as either combo extenders and finishers. Sword and quick Arts blasts would make for a nice, Luigi In Mario Kart all rounder that's a bit different from the Raiden-type. With these two, you have your "Learn to play the game, easy to learn, hard to master" characters. (Irene would be the Dante usually but from a design perspective, I can't do Amiya like this)

Blaze -> Now we can actually get into the fancier stuff. Blaze seems to me like she'd be a resource management kind of character, and the resource, of course, would be her Health. As Blaze burns her blood as fuel for her Arts that enhance her physical capabilities and let's her use fire, I imagine her base form to be about wide, slower, stronger chainsaw swipes with some basic finishers, and she's all about racking up number of hits to build her Blaze Meter rather than dealing damage in this form. Once your gauge is 75% filled or more, you can go into Blaze Mode, which changes her moveset and gives her the S2 Chainsaw Extension Module. Her attacks are much faster and she has a lot more varied combos in this form, including finishers, specials, etc, but each attack spends a certain amount of Meter and a certain amount of Health. Health lost this way remains visible in her lifebar as silver health (let's assume the normal bar is green, like in AK proper). Once you are between 20 and 25% of gauge left, you can use a special, explosive finisher a la Blaze S3 that deals a lot of damage and also put you out of Blaze Mode. If you exit Blaze Mode like this, your regain your silver health. If you just let the gauge run its course and miss your chance, you lose that health. I envision her as a more difficult, technical character. Mastery of her allows you to deliver truly savage beatdowns while also keeping your health.

Phantom -> Phantom is one that really excites me to think about, because the clone and the fast-redeploy style opens a lot of possibilities. Phantom would be a high skill character that can dish a lot of damage but you have to play a whole other ballgame with him: He'd be about being able to chain combo finishers. The longer you spend doing a regular combo without throwing in finishers, the weaker he gets as he loses S2-style stacks that comprise his main damage, but a finisher restores all stacks, so in true assassin fashion, he'd be about short bursts of damage. Now, how do you reset from there? The clone. After a finisher, you use the clone (a toggle sends the clone and lets you control it) to catch the enemy after a finisher, you do another short combo, and hit a finisher right back to Phantom. You sort of do a ping pong match with yourself with finishers, refreshing stacks and managing the attacks of two characters. Depending on the finisher used, the clone spawns in a different way: A finisher has Phantom uppercut the enemy into the sky, the Clone button right after this finisher makes the clone appear behind them midair with a spiral flurry of knives, and then you continue your air combo, clone's finisher sends Phantom back up and the both eviscerate the enemy, you're back on Phantom, you continue the air combo, and so on.

Mostima -> I think it's really damn cool when you have a non-traditional fighter as the lens of an action-focused title, such as a caster. In fact, I think magic in general is woefully underutilized when it comes to Sick Shit you can do with it. I mean, we have Gun Kata, we should also have Magic Krav Maga, if you ask me. Plus, you throw in the time powers, and you could have a real banger of a character. I like the idea of point-blank magic blasting a boss halfway across the room, doing an input, and rewinding their physical position to back to me so I can point-blank magic blast them again, or extend the combo like that, or slowing their descent after a hard knockdown to create otherwise impossible follow-ups or combos.

Specter & Laurentina -> Another concept I'd love to see is the sort of superdurable fighter that, instead of dodging, times an "endure" to the enemies attack to tank through them unscathed and get a tasty reward for it. I think Specter would be perfect for that. Specter's Taunts don't build rank or combo, but instead work as a "parry" of sorts, that lets you power through the enemy attack while styling on them. After enough successful Enduring Taunts, you build enough resources to temporarily transform into Laurentina. Specter moves a bit slow, and her attacks are strong yet simple, and don't account for too many options, but she has the Enduring Taunt, whereas Laurentina is a time-limited super mode of sorts, moving much faster, attacking harder, but losing the Enduring Taunt, instead being able to hit immensely hard, repeatedly, and very very stylishly. We know she's got moves from the Stultifera Navis PV, after all! When you run out of time, she has the option to blast out a gently brutal song that lifts the enemy and slows down their descent, and switches back to Specter, leaving a combo option on the ready.

Indra -> We need a brawler in here, of course, and I think the ability to deal Arts damage with punches would translate into some really cool visuals. The concept I'd like to see explore with Indra specifically is "short meters". Instead of building and keeping a gauge, I'd like for her gauge to fill very fast, but also deplete just as fast if not used immediately, so you are in a constant flux of normal attacks -> empowered attacks -> repeat, constantly depleting resources since they build and fade so fast, something frantic and wild. Upgrades would give her more meters, and attacks that can only be used as part of a combo if you did a specific, meter-consuming attack before. Go big, go wild. I think she'd also be perfect for counters, and a counter gives you a full meter if pulled off proper. A rhythm of hit hit hit, boss superarmors after some attacks, swipes at you, COUNTER, you have more resources, hit hit hit. Frantic.

There's definitely more (Texas, Lappland, Hellagur, Gavial, Saria, you name them!) but those are the ones I've thought about.

[bowtiesnmusicals]

Here is my recap of the Things Get a Little Harry with Harry Shum Jr. Episode of the podcast.

Today they have a very very special guest. Kevin said its a long one so lets get to it.

They have the one, the only, well actually the second because he is Harry Shum Jr but the one and only Mike Chang.

Kevin said get ready for some wisdom. Jenna said he is such a golden nugget of good thoughts. Kevin said what’s it like to smart. Jenna said I’ll never know. They have to combine their brains to make a barely whole brain.

Kevin said as the years have gone by one of the biggest voices of reason amongst all of them is Harry. He is low key about it. He is a calm and steady force. He said maybe as Harry has gotten older he just speaks his mind and is always right. He has always just had really profound, wise thoughts. Harry said for people that are listening he made that scrunch face kind of like what, where are you every single day of life when I am making completely wrong decisions and saying wrong things. He said he doesn’t know what to say to that. He said maybe because they are on a podcast and speaking more and so their ratio is going to be different.

Jenna said I don’t even know where to begin with you because he started with them. They had such a journey. Harry said we had quite a journey on a rocket ship. Jenna mentioned he has been multiple shows as a series regular. She congratulated him on getting on Grey’s Anatomy. She said she is so happy for Harry and he deserves everything. Also Grey’s was one of favorite shows back in the day. Harry said he thought about her when he got on because Jenna would obsess over the show. He said she would say she has to go. She would DVR it but wanted to watch it live. He said he got a lot of what the vibe of the show as from Jenna. She said your welcome. Harry said you did my homework for me. Jenna said she has to go back because she stopped watching a few years ago. She said she always comes back. It’s still so good ever time she comes back and she definitely watch the new class with Harry. She asked if he having a good time on the show. He said he is and it’s amazing that they brought on five new interns and taking good care and putting effort in getting to know them. He said being on a show that is going into its 20 season and still working at a high level and everyone is gracious and still trying to make it the best it can be. He said they have all been on projects where at a certain year it’s like alright lets get it done. Kevin joked what are you talking about. Jenna was laughing really hard at this point. Hurry said he feels very fortunate and it’s a constant reminder that you can constantly refresh yourself. It’s a really cool thing to be a part of.

Kevin said he remembers hanging out with Harry at Amber’s Masked Singer party and talking about how Harry told him that they were giving him actual medal classes. That he would go to USC and talk to real interns. Harry said they got to see surgery and talk to doctors and interns. He said it was incredibly helpful. He said the importance of the medical stuff, advancing it, and questioning it and also trying to look at it from completely different perspectives while also dealing with the relationship issues and why doctors marry other doctors. You don’t have time to look outside of work to find romance. Kevin said it crazy to have a show that after 20 seasons the show is still grounded and have people coming in with the resources like that. Harry said the medical director, Linda Klein, and she has been with the show since the very beginning. He said she is a beast and knows anyone and everyone in the medical field. He said it’s really amazing you can go to her saying you have an issue who should I go see no she will be like go to this person. Jenna said Kevin needs that. He said this has turned into a Grey’s recap podcast and he’s not mad at it. Jenna said that was her full intention was to only talk about Grey’s Anatomy.

Jenna asked how did being on shows like Glee and Shadowhunters helped him for where he is now. Harry said he things every project helps you in some way. He said he looks at the things he doesn’t get right while he is on the show. Failure is just a discovery of something that doesn’t work. He said to him every time you are on a show you are figuring out what wrong things you don’t want to do it again. He said instead of getting it right because when you get it right you don’t know if its right. A director might say yeah but you don’t know if that is the best thing you could have done. He said he has always wanted to be bicoastal and it was his dream. Going to Toronto to work on Shadowhunters but having family in LA, he was like oh this is rough. He understood what it felt like for someone to move from New York to LA and have all their family on the east coast. It’s hard. He said you get put in a different headspace because like in Shadowhunters he is playing a 400 year old warlock. It’s completely different then being on Glee. The biggest conundrum was does he take off the nail polish off or leave it on because he has to come back tomorrow and will have to have it put on all over again. He said he thought is this what women think about like do I take of my mascara, I am told to take it off because it’s gross. Jenna said a lot of people don’t. He said he had moments like why would I. It’s kind of like why take a shower you are just going to have to take it again. Kevin said the things you learn. Jenna said it’s a heavy mental load.

Jenna thought that he and Shelby had their daughter while he was working in Toronto. He said, no, not yet. Jenna said that would have added a whole mother level of madness. He said sometimes he gets two days off and feels like he hasn’t seen her in a week.

Jenna told Harry they were just watching Duets. They just recapped it and Jenna already forgot about the chicken feet. She said she has no memory.

Jenna asks Harry to remind everyone how he was brought into Glee. He said he remembers the day he walked onto set having a letterman’s jacket and not knowing what he was about to embark on. He did the fitting and he knew he was going to work for a week. He remembers walking around set and seeing Cory and Mark standing outside of the choir room. He said he doesn’t think he even got called into rehearsal. He got called on to set when they were about to shoot a scene. He met Cory and Mark and then walked into the room. He greeted Kevin and they kind new each other through Kevin’s NLT days. They had lot of mutual friends. He knew Dianna because she had auditioned with his wife Shelby. He had never met Zach but he knew of him. He said everyone was so nice and happy. Kevin said oh good. Harry said I don’t know what you said behind my back. Kevin said no one has ever said anything bad about Harry ever. Harry also mentioned Heather. He said he remember that it felt like this is special and it would be nice to stay here a little longer but you know how these things could end up where you con’t get asked back but luckily he kept getting asked back over and over.

Kevin mentioned how Heather had talked about her evolution of thinking about the show or herself and the production and how she came from the dancing world where it was like shut up, keep your head down and work really hard as opposed to at some point advocating for yourself in certain situations. He asked if Harry felt like coming from that side of it that where he didn’t know if would come back every week as opposed to the regulars as an actor and that perspective is very different. How does that affect you mentally? Harry said there is a beauty that now he has accepted and enjoys that he doesn’t know what will happen next even though he does have short term goals and even big goals. He said as a 20 year old that is very very hard. He said if you talk to a lot of dancers like Heather that is pretty much how you function. You are job to job unless you go on tour and even that only lasts for a certain amount of time before having to start all over again. He said the idea of putting your head down and having a fear of getting fired. Just don’t get fired, that is the worst thing you could do. He said for him he learned to just quit before you get fired so they don’t fire you so you are dodging the bullet. Kevin said don’t overstay your welcome. Harry said sometimes you are self sabotaging yourself. You just keep digging yourself a hole. He said it was always nice to open a script and see that you have a line. Sometimes there wasn’t and he would be like cool and he would just make up something in the background. He said it was a journey and there is so much technique behind him and luckily he did extra work back in the day and got a little taste of that and this was sort of amplified on Glee. Kevin said it has been nice watching season 2 and each episode Harry had more and more and more. He said the scene in the library where Mike and Tina yell at each other. Not only does Harry get to speak but he gets to yell and show emotion. Unfortunately it’s all dim sum related for episodes which is a whole other thing. Jenna said it is a whole other thing and let’s talk about it.

Jenna said she was curious about Harry’s feelings as he has stepped of the Glee train for many years now like looking back. What were some of his sentiments, if he feels like sharing, about a lot of their comedy being about Asian. She said she knows everyone was getting made fun of their own things but theirs was very race forward. She is curious what his reflections are on that in the time we are in now. Harry said as he has grown older and being more reflective and looking back at a time where it was difficult to talk about those things with people that are writing those things. He said now he has learned to think about it first and then feel is this worthy to take someone’s time to talk about it and most of the time it is and most of the time you can do your own thing to spin it the way that doesn’t feel that way because not everything needs a conversation. It’s given him more confidence to speak on something where its like if you are going to make a joke just make it funny and creative and if it’s not then don’t do it. He said there is a sense of truth and you can appreciate someone that spent a lot of time writing something that is well thought out, understood, and comes from a place of complete understanding as opposed to I am just going to make fun of this thing. He said he tries to look at it from the other side because we sometimes get into our own feelings and being like I am offended by this thing or that thing. He has learned to not do that. He said he hates to say this because it is so cliche but it was a different time where you could only do so much. Either you to choose to do it or you chose to not be a part of it. He says that is a very hard thing. He said he remembers James Hong coming on to the Glee set and he came up to Harry and said hey this show is really popular. He pulled out his card that had his headshot and said hey if you ever need anyone that looks like give me a call or hand it to whoever. Harry said he never got to tell him that story but he did get to hang out with him at the Oscars. Harry said to see what he’s seen and to compare it to what they experienced on the show you can see that progression. Harry saw that progression. They got to do things that weren’t completely about they looked like and he takes that as a victory. He said you look at the generation now and they don’t have to do that anymore. They don’t have to choose between that and if they do they have a lot more power to speak up on. He said he likes to their contributions of sticking in their and doing it, even if it wasn’t what everyone agrees is the best way to do it, they stuck out there and put an example out of what not to do again and to what to do make it better or do better. He said he thinks that is just wonderful. At the time he didn’t feel that way but now he does. He mentioned it was a beautiful thing to see Ke Huy Quan when an Oscar especially after everything he went through in the 80s. He said out of all the shows he has worked on Glee was the hardest and no one will ever understand what they hav been through and what they have done. He said it will go down in history as one of the craziest shows to ever exist. Jenna said you heard it from Harry, the man who continues to work. She’s said it really was such a wild ride.

Kevin said you’ve been a part of so many special and groundbreaking projects. He has worked on Everything Every Where All At Once and Crazy Rich Asian. Kevin those are culture changing projects. Glee was it’s own weird phenomenon. He asked if Harry feels like going through all those things gives him he capacity to be a part of something special. Kevin said he didn’t want to say being something special. Harry said I guess that was a line. Kevin said to watch someone like Harry who is so nice and works so hard and deserves all of that. Each of these things comes with their own unique responsibilities. He asked if Harry had felt that on each project. Harry said he always tries to think how did I get here, what did I do. He said he thinks it has very little do with him. He said the people he has gotten to come in contact with throughout all of these interesting projects is what really influences him taking those different steps. He said he genuinely loves Kevin and Jenna. He said they always made him feel like part of the group. He said he remembers that feeling. He said both of them did that for him but even a lot of people at the studio, it brought the best out of people but there were parts where it brought the worst out of people. He said the best was making him feel like was meant to be be there at events where he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there, like award shows. He said he tries to remember to give back to those that were like him when he started. He said he believes you attract a certain energy and giving off that certain energy. He said Everything Everywhere felt like the penultimate that comes with age and comes with experience and comes wit going through the fire and know that this is an experience like no other and hoping that others get to experience hat feeling camaraderie and film making at its highest level. You get to do what you want to and not worry what people are going to think. He thinks in a lot of ways Glee did that as well. It took a lot of chances and sometimes it didn’t work but a lot of the time it did. He said he likes going to different spaces and adapting. He said some sets are very rigid and set in their ways. He said he likes seeing what else you put that make it a little more, as Kevin said, special. Jenna said she does think it is the energy he gives and she hates saying it but he was a team player. She said he worked hard and was a voice of reason and tried to find the best and appreciation and gratitude in what they were doing. That sometimes they needed to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. She said she agrees that at times Glee brought out the best of them but also at times brought out the worst as well. She said there are sides of her it brought out that she never wants to see again. She said it was really hard at times and you couldn’t speak up and you couldn’t do things that others got away with. She said having friends and comrades to dig through the trenches with was priceless.

Harry said there were moments they would get off work and hang and talk for hours and hours. Those are the moments he savors. He said he has been taking a lot of hot showers and cold showers. He said it makes him think about the lowest of lows and highest of highs. That spectrum that you see the edge of what you can feel and handle. Anything in between seems easy. He said that is the greatest gift. He said he can just see some people break when they hear they have a two hour rehearsal and Harry is like that is nothing after what he has been through. He said they didn’t know where they were at half the time. They would be bouncing around from shooting scenes, recording songs, rehearsing dance numbers, and doing promo stuff. Harry said it is the bootcamp that couldn’t exist today. Kevin said he remembers thinking that if Harry started to lose it, it was like watching your dad cry for the first time. He was like oh no. He knew if Harry broke or was mad then it was bad. Harry said he remembered watching them because they had more to do. He said it would anger him they weren’t given a space to decompress. He said that is where he broke a couple of times. It was just wrong.

Jenna said Glee prepped her for motherhood because motherhood is the ultimate multitasking. She is like this is nothing compared to Glee. Glee was like wrangling 12 children and personalities at one time. She said Emma has a big personality.

Jenna said they have a lot of Mike and Tina memories. They had to kiss a lot on the show. Eric Stoltz told them had to make out the whole time in the background while Rachel is singing Jar of Hearts. She said she doesn’t know how all the cameras got them no matter where they were. She said Lea did that song so many times, like 8 times. She said she remembers one time their lips wee touching and they were laughing the whole time. She said jokingly I hate you Eric. Harry said he forgot about that. Harry said Eric is an intense dude when it comes to getting shots that he wants. He wore a suit and was old school with no sides on set. Harry was like he has to give an Emmy award winning kiss, eight times for three minutes each. Kevins said we may not have lines but we are going to kiss. Jenna said Eric had them on the roller coaster at six flags and made them kiss on it. Apparently Eric loved it and they were like really Eric, again. Harry said it is really awkward to do it over and over again and then try to make it interesting. Harry and Jenna would eat the worst shit they could think of to make it more interesting.

Jenna pointed out Kevin and Harry got to do some fun stuff. Jenna said Scream is one of the best numbers hands down. Kevin said it was such a fun day. Harry said it was a fun day and Kevin got to get out of the wheelchair and really just tear it up. He said it was really fun to shoot with Alfonso. They couldn’t see him, he just left them to do their own thing. Kevin said they were running back and forth to see what the others were doing. Kevin said they got to pitch what they wanted for the Michael episodes. Harry and Kevin put together a whole presentation. Kevin said to get invited into their writers space was so weird. Kevin said he had been talking with Harry because Teenage Dream had done so well because it was a bit different. They realized the songs that did really well were the ones that were different but they didn’t want to Michael songs to sound like kidz bop So they plotted to get them to let the cast to pitch songs for the Michael songs. Harry and Kevin had a whole plot line. They wanted The Way You Make Me Feel. Harry said he thinks Scream was floating around but they would’ve dare ask for that .Kevin said they would never dream of asking for something with such a big budget. Harry thinks the tempo of the song changed several times. Kevin said that was the most dancing he had ever danced and their was no one to hide behind. He said he felt like he was screwed. Kevin said one of the best things about Harry is that he commits. He said you just watch Harry go full out and were pulled into it. Jenna said you just show up. Kevin said we got to do some crazy things. Jenna said her favorites were the guys numbers when they didn’t know what was going on and hey got to sit back and cheer for them. Jenna said she forgot the storyline that Mike taking on the lead and then his parents wouldn’t let him do it. Harry said it always funny how everything is so fluid but then a song doesn’t get cleared and everything changes.

Jenna asked the question she always does at the end of these episodes. She asked what is the feeling that Glee left you with t hen versus now? Is it the same, has it evolved? Harry turned the question back on Jenna and Kevin. He said the craziest thing was seeing a 12 or 13 saying that Glee was her favorite show. He said he doesn’t know how he feels about that. Kevin said like you weren’t born when the show started. He said at the Oscars some younger actors came up to him and said they loved him Glee and he was like you are eight years old. He said they left a certain stamp on that time period. They contributed to popular culture and music. It’s neat to see that carried over into another generation that can enjoy this thing. He said the show at is core is about expressing joy. He said he feels like that is resonating with younger generation. He feels like its cool to be part of something that he doesn’t know if it will ever exist again. He said he’s definitely gotten people calling him trying to do the same thing. He said the fact that you don’t know what you are doing you are probably going to do things no one else is going to do. He asked if they have had that same kind of experience. Kevin said it’s the exact same. It’s been crazy. It’s strange. It feels nice. It’ not something you think about while doing the show. He said that is part of what incentivized them to do this podcast. He said it nice to feel like they were a part of something that was culturally significant and speaks to people that want to experience joy and see joy in people like themselves on screen. Jenna said it’s the bigger picture. The effect and stamp they left. She said she wishes in hindsight that she was able to see it the way they see now even just a little more because it would given her a bit of perspective. She said she wishes that she could have thought about ht bigger picture more. She said had she known what she knows now she would have handled things differently. Harry said isn’t that always the thing. Kevin said it is so interesting to hear how Harry thought he was such an asshole during Glee. He said we are always in our own heads and have different perspectives. He said sure did Harry have some moments where he was worn out and didn’t handle some things correctly, sure everyone does those things. He said on the whole Harry’s perspective was really good. When you are working 14, 15, 16 hour days no matter how good your perspective is you are going to be worn out. Harry said sometimes you have to think if it is you being an asshole to yourself or other people. Kevin said oh damn. Harry said he was probably an asshole to himself. He said it takes time to repair that. Jenna said that is fair and very profound. Harry joked saying we would be gods if we went back to high school. Kevin said don’t tempt Ryan and then said Harry is unavailable. Jenna said they would make Harry available. She said is nice to look back and go oh yeah it was really great, we did have really good times, and treasure those moments. That is why still stay in touch and love each other. She said the appreciation for it could have been more and they could have led with that but here we are. Harry said it is the intervals that it happens in and you don’t have time to appreciate it because it’s already on to the next. He said that also speaks to society now. Kevin said you have to spend so much mental power to make sure you are present and appreciative in addition to the opportunity. Sometimes you don’t have the capacity to be aware and conscious of that all the time.

Harry said I love you guys. Jenna said it’s so good to see you. She also they could talk for hours. She said it is so good to see your friends succeed. Kevin said you are the best of us. Harry thanked them for always reaching out. He said he wants to see their faces in real life soon. Jenna said to say hi to your awesome wife. They basically set up having dinner together.

Jenna said Harry is deserving of everything. Kevin said it gave him goosebumps. He couldn’t be prouder. He then thanked Harry for joining them.

[missingexaltation]

Yet another steddie ficlet:

Steve and Eddie move into their first home, but it's a real fixer upper. They were originally looking at apartments, but this house is such a good deal, even considering the updates it needs. The yard out back is huge, if overgrown, but the interior needs scrapping from the bare bones.

The main area they get done first is their bedroom, but it takes forever on their tiny joint income, and it frustrates the hell out of Steve. It becomes a hideaway from the state of the rest of the house, and Steve finds himself venturing out of those four walls only if he needs to.

The other issue is time. Eddie's working two jobs (well, full time hours at Thatcher's and another part time at his annoyingly unpaid tattoo internship), and Steve's working part time whilst juggling his community college studies.

They have most weekends together, but they both quickly realise how catty and bitchy they both get when things don't go as planned, and instead decide to spend at least half their time snuggled up in bed watching movies. If the home improvements take longer, that's fine, as long as their relationship is intact at the end.

Steve knows he's the problem. He's a rich boy unused to living in anything but mild luxury. Visiting the old Munson trailer had been fine, as he'd been able to go home to the comfort of his parents' place. But there was no escape now they'd essentially disowned him, and he's now trapped in a kind of living that he's never really had to experience before.

Eddie, on the other hand, was fine. A little gloomy and frozen at times, but he was a natural born survivor. He'd spent a week or so living on the streets as a kid, he'd confessed one night. He'd run away from his dad, terrified out of his mind but Wayne had tracked him down, found him and brought him to his own home instead.

And any home, no matter how creaky and in desperate need of repair, was better than that.

Eventually though, Steve had had enough. He gets to the end of his first year and decides to go out of state to visit Robin for a couple of weeks, to help her settle in her new apartment. Eddie's invited too, but he declines as he has to work. There's a gentle glint in his eyes that suggests that he knows Steve's at breaking point, and needs to vent it out, without him there to bear the brunt of it.

So off Steve goes. And he does vent at Robin, who's sympathetic and comforting in all the right places. Eddie was right, he needed to get away from the situation and get some perspective.

Two weeks turns into three, which turns into four, and Steve starts to miss Eddie terribly. The phone calls home were fine to start with, but they're just not enough anymore, and Steve's far more miserable being away from Eddie than he is at living in 'that house'. So he packs his things up and returns home, refreshed and ready to get to work, if a little late.

He pulls into the driveway early in the morning, and immediately notices that the door's been replaced, and the outside of the house has been repainted. It looks good. His key doesn't work, but Eddie's home so it doesn't matter. He's taken the day off so they could spend it together, which is sweet, and also helpful as they've had nothing but (awkwardly quiet) phone sex for about a month.

Eddie opens the door a few seconds later and practically flings himself into Steve's arms, half tackle, half cuddle. Any lingering concern about coming home evaporates instantly, and Steve internally scolds himself for taking so long. He adores Robin, he really does, but his heart is here with Eddie.

Before he can get into a spiral of self annoyance, Eddie's spinning him around and covering his eyes, walking him through the door. Once inside, he tells Steve not to look and moves his hands away, stepping further into the house.

It's only when Eddie says 'ok baby', that Steve opens his eyes to find the biggest fucking transformation he's ever seen.

He's standing in the dining room, but he doesn't recognize it without all of that nasty, peeling, puke-coloured wallpaper. It's been removed and replaced with freshly painted walls and what looks like brand new sockets and an actual, real, functioning table and matching chairs.

The kitchen behind it is similarly beautifully restored. What before had been a shitty, vaguely standing sink, piles of dismantled cupboards and stripped back walls, was now tiled to perfection, with brand new storage space and glorious, gleaming countertops. It looked brighter, bigger and infinitely cleaner, somewhere Steve could actually see himself cooking.

The living room to his left is now open plan, like he'd wanted, with an archway where the old door had been. The musty, deteriorating old cupboards had been completely removed, and instead their shared music collection now sat proudly on brand new shelves, out in the open. And, like the other rooms, it had been painted lighter, which suited Steve down to the ground.

Their photographs were hung up too, dotted around various walls and staring at Steve as he stood in the centre of the room. The kids, Wayne and Eddie, Steve and Robin, Eddie's band and nerd club, and loads of Steve and Eddie and the rest of their friends and family. It's their life, and it's been here waiting for him to come home.

Steve becomes aware that he's gaping, silent in shock, while Eddie's bouncing with anticipation behind him. The floors are all done too, he notices. The gorgeous, hardwood floors they'd cooed over (well over their budget) were here, covered by the rugs Steve had pointed out months ago.

He turns to look at his boyfriend, who is looking way more fidgety and nervous by the second.

"You did all this?" He asks, and Eddie nods eagerly, before tilting his head and correcting himself with a shrug.

"Yeah, well not all of it." he says, excitedly jabbering at a hundred miles an hour, "I asked Wayne to give me a hand, and he knows a builder who knows all sorts of guys, and they all pitched in. They taught me a lot, so I have kinda done a lot, but they did loads too, they really helped get the awkward, technical things done that I didn't have a clue about. Even Dustin came by, not that he was any fucking practical use, but..."

And Steve's kissing him silent.

"You did this for me?" He asks, still shellshocked. "I know I've been awful babe, but -"

"Nah, in all honestly I've had a blast." Eddie admits, "the old guys have been showing me all sorts of practical stuff. Shit, I cut, built and fitted the countertops by myself, and I actually enjoyed doing it. I missed you like hell though."

"You liked doing this." Steve repeats, dazed, "Four weeks, and you've got so much done. Is there anything left to do?"

"Yeah, there's the guest bedroom, the yard and furnishing the living room." Eddie admits, "We can't afford to get the couches yet, hell most of this stuff is actually donated from Wayne's guys, just painted and updated. They're paragons of charity, baby, and we're their lucky recipients."

There's a familiar video camera on the side, and Eddie gestures at it before picking up the photo album beside it. 'I know I said Henderson was useless, but he's been documenting it for us." he says, "I even got the rest of the gremlins in on the painting, figured they couldn't fuck that up."

He hands the album over, and Steve opens it to find dozens of photographs and polaroids inside, showing various people (some Steve knows, some he doesn't) helping and teaching Eddie how to fix up the house. Each photograph is partnered with a sentence underneath in Eddie's best handwriting, detailing what's going on and who's involved.

"Wayne and Danny did most of the floors when I was at work." Eddie says, finding himself rambling as he taps a couple of the early pictures. "But I helped when I got back. I did the kitchen tiling all by myself though," he adds, grinning as Steve turns the page to reveal a beaming Eddie posing next to the splashback. "Tony says I'm a natural!"

Steve reads the sentence underneath and snorts.

Stevie's awkward-as-fuck tiles, masterfully installed by his abandoned boyfriend, Summer 1987.

Steve flicks through more pages, seeing evidence of (a supervised) Eddie using power tools, assembling furniture, and covered in both paint and sawdust at various times. (And an entire double page spread dedicated to him making coffee, because Henderson was indeed a little shit.)

Steve slams the album shut and tosses it back onto the counter. Eddie jumps slightly at the sudden noise, once again looking nervous as Steve puts his hands on his hips, meaning business.

"Babe," Steve starts, seriously, "if you don't get that ass of yours upstairs right now, I don't know what I'm gonna do." He paused (mostly for dramatic effect, because Eddie has actually increased his penchant for drama).

"This is the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me, and I'm not gonna let you go until I've thanked you properly."

Eddie grins back at him, and holds his hand out. "I've even put the good sheets on the bed for you." He says, waggling his eyebrows, and finds himself being dragged towards the (sanded, buffed and recarpeted) stairs.

Yes, Steve thinks, as they stumble eagerly to bed at ten in the morning, it was definitely a good idea for Eddie to take the day off.

They were going to need it.

[owlyflufff]

What was your first impression of bokuto and akaashi? How did you originally perceive their relationship? Who was your favorite character from the training camp arc? Sorry if it's a lot of questions, I'm just curious!

No worries anon! In fact these are really interesting asks and I'm more than happy to answer them <33

What was your first impression of Bokuto and Akaashi?

Bokuto:

An absolute force of nature and unbridled ball of chaotic energy, I love him.

Personally, it was really refreshing to learn that Bokuto was the team captain of Fukurodani because in a sense, he was the first captain that was, "energetic"? , constantly chasing after the thrill compared to the other captains who are more seemingly level headed like Daichi and Kuroo (Oikawa seemingly falls under the energetic ish part as well but not as vibrant as Bokuto if that makes sense ^^;). With it, I was really interested with how Furudate-sensei would write him, as no one in Haikyu has ever really been written with the intention of being defined by merely one character trait.

Additionally, I wasn't fazed or "annoyed' about Bokuto's personality since he was the sunshine or energetic type character which are my favorite character tropes <33!

Akaashi:

Admittedly, I couldn't form an opinion on him because he was genuinely paired or seen with Bokuto the most in at least 75% of the training camp arc ^^:. It's the thing, cause as much as I love Bokuaka, I want to ramble about Akaashi individually but I can't really do that either when a good number of his scenes included or involved Bokuto so TvT.

In the very least, I will say that I thought that he was a sort of serious and strategic type of character. It was also fun to just seem him constantly counter and jab at almost everything Bokuto says, ying and yang of sorts. Additionally, he sort of gave me tired parental figure vibes cause he had to deal with both Bokuto and Hinata the entire time. Give him some credit and cut him some slack he already has a chaotic partner, why must he inherit a chaotic son xD.

Overall, my first impression of Akaashi was he was fairly stoic and reminiscent or something close to Tsukishima's personality. Of course, my perspective of his character changed and I'm glad he got a lot more moments to shine on his own outside of his partnership with Bokuto <33.

How did you originally perceive Bokuaka's relationship?

Similar to what I mentioned above and going back to a previous ask, I saw their dynamic as ying and yang, night and day, light and dark to which has always been my favorite type of dynamic. However, I didn't wholeheartedly perceive their dynamic to be outright romantic nor was I a dieheart shipper of Bokuaka originally.

It was a very casual attachment to their dynamic and I liked it a lot, had a lot of fun seeing Bokuto act confident and silly only for Akaashi to retort with a deadpan comment of sorts. Their exchanges were nice and I overall appreciated them both in a platonic and romantic manner.

However, we all know that changed after the manga because at this rate nothing Bokuaka has ever done starting from the training camp was platonic they are romantic to the moon and back-

Who was your favorite character from the training camp arc?

Oh m not quite sure what you're implying here as in who was my new favorite character that was introduced during the training camp? Or who was my favorite character/ character development in the training camp? I'll answer both if ever

(I'm also mainly stating the latter question too cause I loved all of the Haikyuu characters during this time so it's not as if I grew favorites in the training camp arc since I love them all equally!

Additionally, since it's a fairly good giveaway, I'll be taking Tsukishima away as an answer cause it's given that I definitely liked his growth the most and I also loved his character even before his change in the training camp arc)

Favorite character in the training camp arc:

Given that he was technically introduced via an OVA thus making the training camp arc his proper first introduction to the main anime series, I will say that I loved Lev's character the most during the training camp arc!

Personally, the one thing I loved most about Lev was his pursuit to do better and determination to reach the level of his seniors like Kuroo despite his already provided advantage which is his height. Even though he had something that put him above (literally and figuratively) above others, it did not stop him from wanting to improve his skills which was generally seen during the Third gym squad training moments (which is also a show and continuation of his general goal back in the OVA where he wanted to connect with Nekoma better) . Aside from that, it was horrendously funny to just see Hinata trying to pick a fight/ challenge him since Lev was just standing there and existing, he's trying his best he really is xD.

Not to mention his interactions too with Yaku, all very funny and Lev is just a silly and precious character to me I love him a lot and he deserves more appreciation too <33.

Favorite growth in the training camp arc:

Throughout the arc, I would say I really loved Kageyama's growth the most during this arc!

The audience had always been shown in season 1 that Kageyama was this generally flawless, strategic, and quick witted individual in the field of volleyball, a prodigy at an early age. However, it is in this training arc that it sort of just gave the audience an opportunity and proof to realize that Kageyama's skills as a player never came into existence when he was born nor was it something he was immediately good at, much like everyone in the series, Kageyama's talent grew because of the continuous time, effort and dedication he spent to practicing.

Kageyama didn't master the minus tempo toss at the very beginning, it was something he needed to learn and practice, he went back to phase one.

Simply, the training arc just came to show the effort Kageyama puts into playing volleyball and prodigy or not, he is but a human still wishing to improve despite his already seemingly fleshed out skills during the time of Season 1.

[goddevouringserpent]

💯❤️😊 for kaija please!

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL: share three random facts about your OC that others may not know

-Loves to have her hair touched and played with, as well as playing with other people's, should they allow it.

-She really, really likes dancing, but never had the chance to properly learn. At least until the Crusades. I like to think that, after retaking Drezen & during their small yet precious pockets of free time, she talks her companions into teaching her whatever dances they know. Seelah and Sosiel would for sure; Daeran, too, although he would certainly be an ass about it at first, but Kaija just finds it amusing.

-Not sure if this counts as a fact, but it's a little headcanon that has been bouncing around in my mind for a while now: after the events of WOTR and once she is properly settled as the ruler of Drezen, she opens her own brewery. (Meant to be a hobby and nothing but, mind you—she neither wants nor expects to turn that into an actual job, especially taking into account how much she's got on her plate already.) Her first attempts at brewing… make for adequate poisons, to put it diplomatically, but with time she does get pretty good at it!

❤️ RED HEART: what are three of your OC's positive traits?

-Exceedingly clever and resourceful, to the point where her smarts are probably the main reason why her Crusade is successful. Like, sure, having mythic powers—at least for a while—helps, but in the end the one thing that keeps the Crusade afloat is Kaija's intelligence. That's not to say Galfrey or any previous Knight-Commanders weren't intelligent, but Kaija has a way of seeing things that turns the Crusade upside-down. She's calculating, she thinks outside the box, she brings a new and refreshing strategic perspective that works surprisingly well... etc, etc.

-Very brave, which is a wonderful positive trait to have when you're your universe's equivalent of Doomguy. This bitch does not have a single fearful bone in her body. She gets hit with a Fear spell and goes "lol. lmao even" and shakes it off.

-I was about to say "loyal", but… her loyalty can be both a positive and negative trait, really, given some of the people she's loyal to cough Camellia cough so instead I will say that she is a lot of fun! In that respect she is precisely the kind of person you want around when the world is burning down and going to shit on account of all the demons and ghouls and gargoyles and assorted terrible beasties—the Crusaders are having a large-scale mental breakdown & Kai is like "OKAYYYY GUYS TIME FOR THE #DEPRESSIONBASH" and manages to set up a party for everyone to enjoy and distract themselves. She has a lot in common with Seelah in this. The two of them together are very good at keeping up morale.

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES: what are your OC's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?

Her main goal in life has always been "survive", closely followed by "enjoy myself as much as possible." She does mercenary work because she likes fighting and she has very little in the way of ethical qualms. You point and—as long as there's good coin involved—she punches. Doesn't get much easier than that. Simple, efficient, satisfying.

And she would've been more than happy to have things remain like that forever! In fact, even after becoming Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade there is no denying that she is very self-serving about it. She gets shit done, but she consistently chases after her own profit, her own gain; her one and only priority is to make sure she always comes out on top. She HAS to make sure that, after the Crusade is over, she has benefitted from it as much as possible. (In a material way, I mean. Kaija is undoubtedly a materialistic bastard.)

So… at first her career desires were not career desires as much as they were a vehicle through which she could achieve her general life desire of being So Filthy Rich, & then when she was shoved into the position of Knight-Commander she was like, "Might as well make the best out of this bitch of a situation!" and proceeded to steal Drezen from under Galfrey's nose. And NOW she's found that, huh, being the ruler of Drezen is actually much better than she'd thought it would be, maybe she'll keep it up long-term, not like anyone can do anything about it, & she gets all the luxury and comfort she'd been craving since she was a child while simultaneously having plenty of opportunities to go out and kill something with her Overpowered Mythic-Infused Besties and Boyfriend!

and also being the ruler of Drezen gives her the chance to provide a safe place for two of her overpowered mythic-infused besties (Arue and Daeran), & lets her share all that comfort and luxury with her boyfriend Woljif who coincidentally is also a big fan of comfort and luxury! and also also it doesn't hurt that her fucked up ex-girlfriend Camellia, whom she is still very much obsessed with despite any and all protests to the contrary, remembers their secret rendezvous spots and has been known to pop in for a visit every now and then, to their mutual delight AND detriment

[cant-find-an-unused-edgy-name]

hey dizzy! how have you been?

question for you- give me some anime recommendations? ive watched quite a few- and by that i mean... quite a lot- but that aside i would love to watch some shows that are more to your tastes!! ⋆｡°✩

I don't actually really watch shows much anymore but here's some stuff I remember being good or liked the manga of! I had a list of watched and to-watch stuff left around ehe

I lean towards slice of life and romance

-Madoka Magica is a magical girl genre subversion that's actually done pretty well and, while dark, isn't overly edgy for the sake of subverting the genre. A bunch of girls become magical girls and then suffer a lot, that's pretty much the premise. They took a lot of freedom when designing the labyrinths and the art always looks really neat in those areas. The characters are great

-Yuki Yuna is a Hero is another magical girl show, with a happier tone than Madoka, though it still has some pretty dark elements. Has a loveable cast but mild fanservice

-Zombie Land Saga is an over the top comedy where a zombie apocalypse and idol anime are mixed into one. A girl dies but she gets resurrected by an eccentric man who wants to start a zombie pop Idol group. This show is absurd in the best of ways. Has typical levels of blood and violence for a zombie anime

-Chunibyo, (sometimes spelled Chuunibyou) Love, and Other Delusions is a romance anime, but it also gives plenty of focus on the characters' friends outside the relationship and everyone just hanging out. It's about a group of highschoolers who think they have magical powers (when they are, in fact, completely normal) and about two of them falling in love over the course of the series. It's a fun lighthearted experience with some great characters. There's very mild fan service in the first couple of episodes while one character has a crush on another but it dies down fast. One thing I liked was the pacing of the romance, they didn't rush a confession or drag it out over the whole show and it was refreshing to see

-From the name, Shikimori's Not Just a Cutie sounds like it's going to be another bad shounen romance where none of the characters have a personality, but it manages to pull through with a really sweet duo of characters. The perspective character is pretty unique among romance animes as well. It's a cute story about an absolute sweetheart of a boy and his badass girlfriend. They start the series already in a relationship so there's once again no drawing out the lead up to a confession.

-Hanakokun is also quite good but given the fact that I'm pretty sure you've mentioned it on your blog I won't elaborate ☆

Stuff I thought was pretty alright:

-in Mieruko-chan a girl starts seeing ghosts and decides to just ignore them since she can't do anything about them. Has a lot of fanservice :/

-in Squid Girl a squid monster comes from the sea to get revenge on humanity for ocean pollution. She's really bad at this and winds up working at a beachside restaurant instead

-Talentless Nana has a really great first episode and the rest of the series gets kind of lame with some smug attempts at writing really smart conflicts comparable to Death Note. An island where teenagers with magic powers called talents train to battle the enemies of humanity

Stuff I had my eye on or heard abt but never got around to so can't attest to the quality of:

-22/7: an idol anime I've heard has good characters

-The Little Lies We All Tell: An alien, a ninja, a girl with superpowers, and an ordinary human boy all pretend to be normal highschool girls at an all-girls school. They all become friends

-Asteroid in Love: Really cute looking slice of life about a school's earth science club (which is a fusion of the school's geology club and astronomy club)

-Do It Yourself: Slice of life with a nice art style about a craft club

-Science Fell in Love, So I Tried to Prove it: After falling in love, two overly logical people insist on trying to somehow prove love as a scientific concept because they believe love to be irrational but can't accept the notion that they are at all irrational

-HaNaYaMaTa: A slice of life around a group of yosakoi dancers

-Our love has always been 10 centimeters apart: simple, cute looking romance anime

[elsewhereuniversity]

Blood Iron

Running the numbers, if you used your own blood, you could have a simple ring made from your own blood’s iron in about three donations over the course of one semester. Sooner if you only use one pint’s worth and dilute it with other iron.

Iron is well known to protect on its own, but iron that once flowed through your veins?

That must be a powerful thing to carry with you.

It must be a powerful thing to give your friend. Your sibling. Your beloved.

Mustn’t it…?

It started simply enough. She was a chemist, and (to some extent) so was he. She had a thing for biology, he had more interest in metalworks.

(Don’t ask their names. They are safe from Elsewhere as it stands, but they will not tell you.)

A colleague ran the numbers one day out of boredom, for how much iron was in a pint of donated blood. She asked what you would even do with it, but a moment later, reconsidered.

A gift made from your own blood. Chemically speaking, how romantic!

That set off the question… could you actually do it?

That was when they made their first collaboration. They used blood samples that were no longer needed for study to refine the process, until they could recover 96% or more iron from any given sample. Far more then they anticipated.

The ring idea came from that colleague, who wanted a gift for his wife. They chose gemstones with his help, she took the blood and extracted the iron, and he forged them together.

The wife, apparently, loved it.

Word got around. Several teenagers dressed in dark colors came in, thinking it was sick or some other slang term to wear your own blood. A few romantics, as well. She had to put herself down for more time at the centrifuge, and he spent more time in the forge, but it wasn’t a problem. They didn’t just use blood iron, of course- that would require multiple pints’ worth. They diluted it, and told their clients as much. They were still happy with it.

For two years, they continued their normal jobs, with these intermittent blood iron requests.

But then… one of those darkly-dressed teenagers came back.

He was in college now, he told them. Someplace called Elsewhere.

(This was the first time they had heard that name. It would not be their last.)

The client didn’t talk details. She honestly wondered if the young man had been taking hallucinogens, the way he shuddered and dodged questions. But one thing, the client was very clear about:

That ring had saved his life. If he hadn’t had it, he would not be here.

He owed them his life for making it.

The client was still wearing it now. The plain metal band, cast over in silver, had been worn smooth by fingers that traced its path a thousand times. The craftsman was glad his handiwork still looked so good after two years, but the client refused to take it off when he asked to see it.

The ring had been priced at cost, plus 50%. He gave them another hundred dollars, something about leaving no debt unpaid. He told them he wouldn’t forget them and departed.

That was when the work began in earnest. It had been mid-December, the time when students come home for winter.

And when they and their families began asking for rings.

He didn’t understand it. Neither did she, but they both ended up taking two weeks off at work to deal with all the orders.

They were just blood iron rings. A novelty, not a matter of life and death. But these people- they came with their families, siblings, lovers. They traded rings with each other, wondering if this was better than wearing one’s own blood iron.

“Powerful��� is how they described it. “It must be powerful.”

None of these people went by normal names. Owl. Cherish. Lipstick. Hog. Eleven-And-A-Tenth. Apparently, this was normal where they were from. They joined in for the fun of it when they saw these students flinch at the sound of real names.

She called herself Hemoglobin, the compound that held the precious iron. They called her Hemo.

He called himself Ferrous, a word that signals iron content in a chemical.

The students stopped flinching when they led with these names, and their clients learned to ask for them.

And they all spoke of Elsewhere- those who would speak at all.

Slowly, but surely, bits of information slipped past. Elsewhere was not a normal place. All the hints and whispers, the reasons given for their actions, it all pointed to something very wrong with this Elsewhere University.

Finally, a student asked when she came to pick up her ring (blood iron from herself and her sister, mixed together and studded with agates).

“Well, you know how it is at Elsewhere U. You two both made it, didn’t you?”

And Ferrous answered with the truth.

They’d never heard of it before the blood iron rings.

Her face had gone pale. “You… didn’t know?”

She had insisted on getting her ring before saying another word. Once it was firmly on her finger, she began to speak.

So this was what Elsewhere University was.

Inhuman teachers.

Disappearances.

A being who traded beads for teeth.

The crows.

Gifts of milk and bread.

Salt lines on the floor of the dorm.

The Forbidden Major.

The theater. Oh, the stories she had about the theater.

She asked Hemo to help her lift her shirt off her back. She showed them the ropelike scars there, from a close call with one of the gentry.

One of the Fae.

One of THEM.

She had misspoken and, fortunately, lived to regret it instead of dying. Or vanishing.

Or worse.

This really was a matter of life or death.

They had both needed time after that one. So this was why they were so desperate for blood iron.

Hemo and Ferrous agreed later that day: they were taking the rest of winter break to help protect these kids.

Hemo carefully drew out tales from Elsewhere as she drew blood- about iron and salt and their uses, and the risks posed by donating blood on campus. How far you had to go to be safe from it. How to tell when you weren’t.

Ferrous learned how to decorate the rings. What symbols to use and avoid. Which jewels would draw their eyes and which could turn them away. That coatings of another metal don’t affect potency.

Come January, they both returned to their former workplaces, and life went on as normal.

Orders trickled in slowly, perhaps a half-dozen in the long stretch until March. Most of these were novelty customers. No Elsewhere University, no life-and-death stakes, just cute little gestures and a fun little trend.

But they had heard too much to truly feel secure.

Hemo rerouted her path to work to cross the brook.

Ferrous watched the blackbirds at the park with suspicion.

Both laid salt at the door. Both used their nicknames with anyone seeking a ring.

In February, Ferrous asked Hemo to draw his own blood. There was someone he wanted to protect, he said, and he would be making a second donation as soon as medically advisable. More blood iron in the mix must yield a stronger ring, right?

She did it without asking questions. She had drawn her own a week before for the same reason.

The two pored over Ferrous’ sketches and sample work from the days before blood iron together, identifying the features each liked and disliked, what gems they would use in their perfect ring, what metals the ring would be coated in to avoid rust.

She marked the features he seemed to like as closely as he marked the ones she did.

They worked hard through that spring break, as busy as they’d been over the winter. Hemo nearly forgot their second rounds of donation, but waited until the week had passed to remind Ferrous. They had work to do, after all.

That April, Hemo presented Ferrous with 60 miligrams of his own blood iron, and the 60 she had drawn from herself. She told him they’d received a new order and listed the ring features she knew he favored as the requested design.

In a few day’s time, both rings were ready.

And of course, each gave the other a ring forged from their own blood.

After all, iron from the blood of a colleague and friend with whom you’ve actively defied a force you have never seen and cannot comprehend?

That must be a powerful thing.

(Or so they hope…)

  Based on https://elsewhereuniversity.tumblr.com/post/163841542201/sorry-if-this-is-a-weird-ask-but-im-a-little   and   https://elsewhereuniversity.tumblr.com/post/172050813485/given-the-natural-qualities-of-plain-iron

I know memories are supposed to fade for students who leave the campus for good, but as these two were never students and got told about it instead of experiencing it… Who knows? Or maybe reality is thinner where they live than they think…

-Nobody

[iiruwu]

give us some harringrove recs bestie!

i gotchu bae!! but be warned, many of these are pretty much just the ones i've read at the top of the list, filtered by most kudos b/c thats just how i find all my fics. so, there's a chance you might've gone through them already. regardless these are some of my faves and have stuck with me for years after reading them. (this was also requested by @roseinthewoods so here you go!)

let us begin:

Under the Covers by ToAStranger -> my all-time fave harringrove fic. this absolutely deserves its popularity and has one of the best characterizations i've ever seen of the entire cast post-s2. not only are billy and steve super fleshed out, but i just adored how steve interacted with jonathon and nancy (who were equally great as far as characterization goes) along with many other characters. but steve rlly shines in this one! this author truly brings the world to life with their writing and makes you feel like you're really watching everyone's lives unfold in an organic, but also bittersweet story :)

dried up, half full by lymricks -> SUCH a good billy characterization. i mean, truly. also one of the best interpretations i've seen of what could have been billy's journey towards becoming a better person. lots of angst and inner turmoil. made me feel like i was truly in billy's shoes and rlly conveyed this sense of just not being able catch a break in any aspect of life throughout the story. im also gonna throw a quote in here that i have had saved for a while just 'cause it was so heartbreakingly good:

we could be heroes (just for one day) by brawls, ToAStranger -> another fic with really good characterization overall. unfortunately this one is unfinished but as im skimming this im remembering that the dynamic between steve and billy for this was just AGHHHH i was frothing at the mouth the whole time. so funny and sweet and very slowww to build up. it was a very realistic take on billy in specific post-s3, but, more than that, i loved the inclusion of almost the entire ensemble throughout this fic. the kids were such rays of light, it rlly made this fic that much better :)

master of puppets, i'm pulling your strings by wearealltalesintheend -> ONE OF MY FAVES!! this fic hooked me on the idea of billy & robin being friends and i was totally obsessed for a little while afterwards. the author wrote the two of them so damn well together in the s3 plotline and i just love how they were snarky as hell but also progressively more friendly and deeply trusting of each other as billy continued to open up. its also refreshing to see harringrove from an outsider perspective, with robin being there to help them connect the dots. (also characterization was an a+ as usual!)

Don't Leave Me (Hanging on the Telephone) by Glitter_Bug -> this is a fic that is a lottt more recent in comparison to the others. i've been reading this since it was about halfway done and i must say - the banter is PHENOMENAL between steve and billy. the dialogue alone hooked me in with how accurate to the 1980s it was with references and had me reading non-stop. the concept of billy being stuck in the upside-down and only able to contact the real world through the phone at steve's house is sooo damn good. it rlly offered a lot of opportunity for fun scenes with them through phone calls. this is also a fic that is actively being updated and is nearing the end soon!

Renegade (Who Had It Made) by moonflowers -> this was a very tender fic about billy's supposed death and included multiple POVs. i found max's POV abt her grief and coming to terms with his death to be such a nice inclusion that added a great touch to the story and also the many journal entries that she found as well!!! this fic felt very human and personal, like it was something not meant for ppl to see - which, considering the concept of max finding billy's journal with notes about steve in it and giving it to steve, makes sense. it was a nice harringrove slowburn overall!

andddd there we go! these are the most memorable ones i've read but there are so so many more harringrove fics out there that are just as good. i found some interesting ones just while skimming the tag alone. hopefully you liked this anon!!! these are very near and dear to my heart :')

[thesevro]

besties / headcanons

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖋𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔 𝖙𝖔𝖏𝖎, 𝖌𝖔𝖏𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖎 𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖔

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.4K words

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: how toji, satoru and kento would act as your best friend

GOJO SATORU

- Gojo may not be very loyal as your boyfriend, but he would definitely be one among your most loyal friends.

- Whenever you're sitting down at some place, literally anywhere, be it at a cafe or on some random stone ledge, he'll let you lean back into him.

- Gojo is tall, and he's somehow always so warm, so treating him as a platonic cuddle buddy would be so nice.

- So imagine you're exhausted from a long day and you find this stout little ledge to rest on. Gojo would sit down with you there. 

- You could lean onto him, press your head into his shoulder and Gojo would actually feel very relaxed to have someone he trusts and holds dear next to him. 

- Knowing that one of his closest friends is safe calms him to an impossible degree. He knows he's lost too many already.

- And if the day has been too long, he'll let you sleep on his shoulder. Let you enjoy having a little power nap while ignoring the little line of drool that will wet his uniform.

- Hip to hip, your head to his shoulder, it does not feel as romantically intimate as it could be, but he loves that you're here with him all the same. He's always been scared of losing his friends, no matter how well he hides it.

- So he'll keep you warm as you nap on his shoulder. 

- PARTING FROM OUR ANGSTIER PARTS... Gojo would be the best hype-man. 

- You wearing a dress that barely reaches your knees and flaunts your ass whenever you jump? He'll cheer for you and scream, "THAT'S MY HOT BESTIE!!!"

- You have a crush on some dude? Some gal? He'll get very close with that guy or gal and tell them all the good things about you.

- If you like someone from the school it'll be even worse for you. He would blatantly skip missions just to set your crush up with you as your partner. 

- Gojo would be a great, awesome, amazing BFF and you cannot tell me otherwise.

NANAMI KENTO

- Nanami as your friend would just be. Aw.

- He would be the most attentive friend out there.

- You just come back from a mission, hair and clothes a mess, face streaked with blood? He'll let you use his handkerchief to wipe the mess off. And he'll fetch some bandages for you if you need it.

- If you're bed-ridden, he'll stay by your bedside and talk to you there. Silence with him is also just... so nice. So peaceful. So serene.

- Nanami would even make you coffee, tea, whatever it is you like just so he can help you feel more refreshed after whatever tiring mission you went on, or whatever complicated job it was you had to finish.

- He knows what your favorite drink is. What your favorite food is. He also knows the best place to find both.

- Will eat lunch together with you every day at the school, or at yours or his favorite restaurant.

- He can't really make food for you... so he always buys something for lunches at the school with you.

- Sometimes he'll just stand in front of one of the school vending machines, in undeniably deep thought about what your drink of the day could be.

- Whenever he visits your favorite coffee shop, or whatever place sells your favorite drink, he'll ask the cashier to add the specific extras you like incorporating into your drink. He knows all of them.

- AND OKAY. LISTEN. NANAMI WOULD TOTALLY CALL YOU AT THREE A.M. TO RANT ABOUT WORK.

- Of course he would first say something along the lines of, "I must apologize for bothering you. I promise to buy you (insert fav. drink) and (insert fav. food) and (insert fav. dessert) tomorrow. Promise." Then he finally reveals how stressed he is, "But. Are you aware of how much I want to wring Gojo Satoru's neck and kick him off a cliff?"

- It would turn into some sort of comedy, where Nanami mocks every single person who has stressed him out (Gojo Satoru for once in your life just STFU) in that sonorous, baritone rumble of his.

- Imagine hearing something like that at three in the morning. Sometimes it makes you question why it is no one has asked the guy out yet. (AND WHY YOU HAVEN'T DONE THAT EITHER.)

- Nanami would also be the BEST listener.

- You have a problem with something? With someone? Okay. He'll hear you out. Will not interrupt you while you're speaking. Not once will he do that.

- If it's something serious, and you start sniffling or maybe even crying, okay let's be honest he wouldn't really know what to do...

- SO. Because he doesn't know, he'll do what he sees everyone else do.

- He'll hug you. His arms will be stiff and that deep pit of awkwardness will definitely form in his stomach, but if it helps you, he'll do it all the same.

- If this is your first time crying in front of him, he'll only pull out one of his handkerchiefs and hand it to you. Sorry, but he wouldn't know how else to comfort you.

- He'll also comfort you with words of logic. Nanami has that perspicacious outsider's perspective that lets him see the rational portion of everything.

- BUT HE WOULD ALSO BE SO UNDERSTANDING. If you voice that you think your feelings are stupid, or dumb, he would FIRMLY insist that no, no (Y/N), your feelings are not stupid. Your feelings matter to me. And nothing that matters to me is "stupid."

- And he would proceed to help you find a solution to your problem, or would just hear you out some more. You can be honest with him and he would not judge you for any of your feelings.

- In conclusion, Nanami Kento would be the most caring BFF out there.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

- Okay HEAR ME OUT ON THIS. HEAR ME OUT.

- Toji would be an AWESOME best friend.

- He would be the guy you could punch in the arm with abandon.

- Toji would ALSO be the mean tease of a friend who is able to bed you at least once.

- After getting you in his bed though he'll let you go back to the casual thing you share, if that's what you want. But if you want to be together, well... he would be willing to try, but only because you're his friend.

- It may or may not work out. But he does try to make it work. Whether it does in the end... depends.

- MOVING FORWARD, again, Toji would be the friend you could punch without being hit back for it. He'll just be like yeah, okay short stuff then move on.

- He's just someone you could debate with, have fun with, and tease and test to no end.

- AND TOJI is the type of guy who would be super casual about letting people stay over at his house. You had a tiring day? You want to crash at his house? He'll let you.

- You open his door and he'll look at you like he was expecting you, but maybe that's because you'd just ranted about how someone at work had treated you like shit.

- You know. Through the private messaging app only assassins like him use. But since you're his bestie he let you download it too.

- HE CALLS YOU EVERY SINGLE PET NAME OUT THERE TOO

- And he always greets you with, "Something wrong, short stuff?" when you come through the door

- AND HE WOULD EVEN CALL YOU "PRINCESS" WHEN HE REALLY FEELS LIKE PUSHING IT

- And listen bitch even if you're tall... this asshole is literally as tall as Gojo (I think?????) AND he's a DILF. So shut your mouth, short stuff.

- At his house you can either: 1. Order take-out and eat together on the dingy old table someone's great-grandfather used to eat on; he might pay if you really aren't feeling it but he's also an avaricious, money-hoarding bitch (in other words, broke) soooo don't expect much. Or 2. Just sleep on his couch while he watches TV. His bed smells like shit and really his couch isn't any better buuutt at least it doesn't have... stains.

- And please, don't even think about venting your feelings to this guy. He would either laugh his ass off at you or only nod with a tight smile of discomfort on his face.

- Princess, he won't be tucking you into bed, but he'll definitely have some leftover pizza ready for you in the morning. His love language is lazy as hell, but it's love all the same.

- Though your pizza will most definitely be either burnt or cold as shit.

- But either way, he cares.

- So if you're feeling down because someone looked at you wrong in the streets, expect to see a "Missing Person's Report" on the news in the morning.