#I thought that Gable was a last name or something
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I can't tell if I like or hate the way Nathaniel Hawthorne writes
He's so descriptive and the use of language is just *chef's kiss*
But oh my god the whole 'the reader may interpret' or 'the author is inclined to' is driving me insane
Currently reading "The House of the Seven Gables" and I am highly conflicted atm
#aspen talks about books#nathaniel hawthorne#The House of the Seven Gables#fun fact: a gable is the roof comes to a point like this ^ the vertex#I thought that Gable was a last name or something#But the house has seven gables in the cardinal directions
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“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader
12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?
a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!
Word count: 8.7k
Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!
Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍
“I’m gonna marry you someday.”
That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.
What a fool you were.
You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.
“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”
You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”
You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.
When he said nothing, you exploded.
You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.
The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.
You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.
He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.
That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.
You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.
“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.
“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.
“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.
You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.
“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”
There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:
“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”
Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.
“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”
“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“
You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.
She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.
Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.
He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.
There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.
“Hi,” he says softly.
You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.
“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.
“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.
“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”
“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“
You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”
“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”
“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”
“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.
You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…
“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”
“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”
And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.
But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.
“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”
He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”
He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.
“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.
He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.
“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..
“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”
“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.
“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.
The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.
The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.
Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.
“Was that… did that actually just happen?”
Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”
“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.
“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”
“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.
You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.
“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.
“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”
“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”
“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”
“Sure, yeah, what is it?”
“Well, first of all… why now?”
“Huh?”
You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.
“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”
“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.
There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.
“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”
A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”
“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”
“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”
“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”
“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”
“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.
You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.
“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”
“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.
“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.
“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”
“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.
“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”
You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”
You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—
“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”
As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.
“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”
Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.
“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“
“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”
“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile
“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”
You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”
”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.
You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”
”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.
You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“
”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”
“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.
She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”
”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”
You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.
“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.
”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”
”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”
”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.
”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”
The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”
”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”
You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”
He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”
”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.
You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.
”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”
Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.
”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”
“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.
Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”
He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”
You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.
He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”
You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.
He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.
“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.
“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”
“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.
“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.
“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”
“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.
“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”
You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”
“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.
A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.
“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”
“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.
“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.
You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.
“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”
Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”
“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”
“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”
“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”
“I always am,” he replies with a smile.
You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.
“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.
“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.
“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.
“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”
His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”
You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.
The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.
“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”
“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“
The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.
Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”
“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.
Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.
“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”
“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”
“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.
When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”
“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.
The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.
The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.
“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”
You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.
“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.
“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”
“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”
“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”
“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”
Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.
Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.
You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.
After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.
Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.
“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”
Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.
Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.
Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.
You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.
Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.
The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”
Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.
Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.
“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.
He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”
Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”
“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.
“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”
He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”
A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”
“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.
You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.
“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”
A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”
You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.
You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.
1955
“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”
“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”
“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“
“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”
There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.
“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”
He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.
1968 - Present Day
He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.
Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.
You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.
“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.
You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.
“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”
“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”
Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.
You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”
“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”
You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”
“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”
“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“
You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”
At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.
“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.
“How was the drive?”
“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”
“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”
“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”
“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”
“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”
“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”
He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases
“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.
You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.
“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.
Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.
“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.
“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”
There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.
“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”
“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.
“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.
“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.
You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.
“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.
“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.
“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”
Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”
There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.
“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.
“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.
“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”
The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.
You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.
The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.
“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.
“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.
“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.
You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.
About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.
“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”
“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”
You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.
“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.
You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.
“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.
“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.
“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”
“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.
You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.
“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.
“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.
The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”
“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.
The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.
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The Chicks Love It
Rowan Week day 2: Rowan and the Cadre
This is just a silly little fic I wrote (mostly) last night, but I hope you have fun reading it!!
Warnings: language, Fenrys, mild smut, mentions of STD, neon condoms if you’re triggered by that (I am)
Word count: 1,4k
~~~~
“Why didn’t we invite Gable?” Fenrys asked while they were placing their bets.
“Who’s Gable?”
“The one that fucked you on the table.”
Rowan frowned his angriest frown at Fenrys. The boyo wasn’t near as funny as he thought he was. However, Lorcan was cackling at this poor, lousy joke. His friend’s bulky figure was leaning over the table as he punched it and wheezed. And whenever Lorcan Salvaterre smiled, there were only two possible explanations: Elide or beer. Since they were in their monthly dudes only and no wives gathering, it was the latter.
He sat back, ignoring the two dipshits and looked at his watch. Connall and Vaughan went to get snacks in the kitchen forty minutes ago, but Rowan wasn’t drunk enough to go looking for those two. Instead, he focused on the game. Elide didn’t like it when they used money, so Lorcan was making them bet with random objects.
Apart from his phone and wallet, Rowan only had his watch and a chocolate bar he bought for Aelin on his way here. The reasonable choice would be to give away his watch, since it had been cheaper than the chocolate and his wife hated it. On the other hand, Rowan loved that ugly thing. He didn’t love chocolate, that was for sure. But his wife did. His gorgeous wife who was currently saving the world from... something.
He took another sip of his beer, and when he studied the table, his mind went blank. Lorcan had offered his allergy meds, and Fenrys was betting an open package of neon condoms.
Rowan breathed deep and schooled his face. He needed to look stern for this particular confrontation.
“Why are you betting a neon condom?”
Fenrys gaped, offended. “Dude, it glows in the dark.”
“Why would I need my dick to glow in the dark?”
“It looks cool, like a lightsaber or something. The chicks love it.”
Rowan blinked, too afraid to ask what did he mean by chicks.
“What do you mean by chicks?” Lorcan addressed the elephant in the room.
“This girl I was hooking up with last week told me she was a Star Wars fan and I bought it to use with her.”
Lorcan snorted. “And they say romance is dead.”
Fenrys waved the opened condom package at Rowan. “Come on, man. They’re green!”
Frowning, Rowan gathered all his inner strength to not accept this. He was very easily persuaded by the color green. But then he took off his watch and let it go. It was too late to try to reason with Fenrys, of all people.
˜˜
“Dr. Whitethorn?”
Aelin hummed, focused on her paperwork.
“Your husband is here, he’s—“
“What happened?” she asked in a beat, her eyes snapping to her intern in a millisecond.
The boy’s eyes went wide. “No! I- I mean, he’s not a patient! He’s just asking for you.”
Aelin’s whole body relaxed and she sighed. “God, we need to go over on how to give news to people.”
She hurried to the unusually calm ER, and saw from a distance Rowan and Fenrys bickering, and Lorcan drowsing with his head hang. She approached them, but not before taking a picture and sending to Elide.
“I’m not naive enough to ask what happened to Connall and Vaughan.” Aelin closed the privacy curtain. “Where’s my patient?”
Fenrys relaxed on his seat wiggled his eyebrows at Aelin, and she already knew what was coming.
“My name’s Fenrys, but you can call me anytime.”
Rowan immediately slapped the back of his friend’s head. “My wife!” He pointed at his wedding band. “Wife!” And then pointed at Aelin. “Mine.” At last, his index finger darted between the two of the repeatedly. “Marriage.”
Fenrys was cackling, and when Rowan turned to Aelin for reassurance, his wife’s reaction wasn’t much different. She was wheezing, with both hands resting on her knees while Rowan frowned at her. A gentle rub between his eyebrows and a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose were quick to soothe his indignation, though. Despite Fenrys’ manwhore reputation, he has always respected his friends’ relationships, and they all knew he only hit on Aelin to tease Rowan. Still, her husband took the bait every time.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
“I won the game.” Rowan beamed, proud of himself.
Aelin chuckled, entertained by Drunk Buzzard. “And that’s why you’re here?”
“Oh. We need to test Fenrys.”
“And I’m waiting for Ellie,” Lorcan said, blinking after being woken up from his nap.
Elide was with a patient now, but Aelin wasn’t going to say anything. Letting Lorcan suffer for a while was always the best option.
“What are we testing Fenrys for?”
Rowan’s face looked somber when he said, “Everything.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Okay... Could you enlighten me?”
Like it was obvious, he sighed, exasperated. “Syphilis, HIV, chlamydia—“
“STDs, then.”
Rowan nodded, and Fenrys grinned.
“Is there a particular reason we’re doing all these tests?”
Her husband’s eyebrows went up. “It’s Fenrys!”
Fenrys was still grinning. “It’s me!”
“He was telling me stories,” Rowan continued, “Concerning stories.”
Aelin chuckled. “Okay, then.” And looked around. “Where’s Lorcan?”
The other two seemed as confused as she was with Lorcan’s disappearance, but they decided to let go. A brute that size couldn’t be hard to find.
After requesting Fenrys’ blood tests, Aelin went to do some other tasks before her shift ended. It wouldn’t take long, so she’d be able to drive them home.
When she was on her way to see a patient, she noticed one of the rooms had the door opened, and Aelin could make out a few words coming from inside.
Sir, we need this room for—
And a lot of grumbles coming from the other person.
Aelin entered the room to see what was going on, and it turns out Lorcan Salvaterre was sleeping on a very tiny cot, and the security officer was trying to convince him to get up so a real patient could have it.
Looking at the security’s exasperated expression, Aelin knew what to do. She hated it came to such drastic measures, but it had to be done.
“Don’t worry, I’m paging Elide.”
Lorcan finally turned to her, eyes half-closed. “Where’s Ellie?”
˜˜
After making sure his friends were taken care of, Rowan was finally home with his wife. Apart from the awkward part where Aelin had to tell Fenrys he had genital herpes, everything went smoothly. Fenrys pretended to be shocked while Aelin pretended to not know about that beforehand. They had no idea Rowan gossiped everything to his wife after boys’ night, and thankfully she helped him keep up the ruse.
He was waiting for Aelin after a hot shower when she appeared before him wearing nothing but one of his shirts. The moment she laid down by his side, Rowan didn’t spare a second before kissing her.
“Buzzard.” She moaned when his mouth went to her neck. “I’m so tired.”
“But you love morning sex.”
“When I’ve slept the night before,” Aelin said while softly chuckling.
Rowan left his spot on her neck and frowned in mock-indignation. She smiled at him, and he pecked her lips before tucking her in. Teenage Rowan would be disgusted to discover his future self finds having sex equally as satisfying as falling asleep spooning his wife as he smelled her lavender scented hair, but he wouldn’t have it in any other way.
However, Aelin soon started to grind herself against his erection. The tease.
He groaned. “Fireheart, are you sure?”
Going back to his previous spot on her neck, her whimper was response enough until his hand sneaked between her thighs, making her grind against his fingers.
“Greedy much?”
“I need you inside me,” she rasped.
Rowan kissed her lips once more until he grabbed the first condom he could reach, almost tumbling over himself with anticipation. Aelin used that moment to take off the shirt, and he gave attention to her breasts while putting protection on with his remaining hand.
Leaning back a little to adjust themselves, Rowan was almost set when his wife interrupted him.
“Buzzard, why is your dick glowing?”
“Thanks, babe.” Rowan did appreciate his own dick. He was glad his wife felt the same.
Chuckling, Aelin rested her head on his shoulder. “No, I mean...” The chuckles became a full laughter. “Honey.” She was cackling now, and Rowan’s shoulders tensed. Maybe this wasn’t an appreciative comment after all.
Wheezing, she managed to say, “Babe, your dick is literally glowing.”
When Rowan looked down, he noticed that his wife was right. His penis was neon green, shining like a lightsaber. Just like his friend described.
He was going to kill Fenrys.
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Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland
Chapter: 4/?
Chapter Rating: G
Chapter Warnings: None
Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.
Read on AO3
--
Spring evenings in Denerim held a certain kind of peace, the streets not yet malodourous with the bake of long summer days, but warmed enough that the last nip of winter in the lilac air lingered as an empty threat, turning the breaths of the city’s denizens into dragonlike puffs of fog. As a young child, Alistair had amused himself with the image, imagining a set of huge wings bursting from his back, and fire burning in his belly hot enough to stave off the cold that always encroached into his narrow pallet above the stables. He didn’t have to worry about that now, sleeping in a four-poster bed in the palace, among more pillows than he could ever hope to use, but he remembered enough that he always brought blankets with him when he snuck into the alienage.
He tried to shake away the melancholy that lurked after him through the narrow gables and cracked wooden tiles. The elves kept their homes as well as they could – certainly better than when he had first stepped foot beyond the main gate almost a decade gone, before the few reforms he had managed to push past Cailan – but it was still a shabby place compared with the rest of the city. Though he would never admit it, the sight churned his stomach with a guilt born of knowing how close he had come to something similar, a life scraped out of a hovel instead of languishing in a palace. He tried not to dwell on it. Whenever he did, his mind would inevitably stray to how he had become a prince in the first place, and from there down a path of what-ifs that left a sour taste in his mouth.
“I’m getting married.”
He blinked and glanced sideways at his companion. Arthea Tabris leaned nonchalant against the chimney stack of her family home, her large green eyes bright in the gloom as she picked at the grit under her nails.
“To who?” he asked, sharper than intended. “Since when?”
She tossed him the same bored look as when he had first met her, at seven, when he had so desperately wanted to have someone like him that he had agreed to steal kitchen scraps for her and her cousins. In all the years since, sneaking away from the Cousland estate or descending from the palace, she had never shown any sign of partiality to anyone he could recall.
She slipped loose the tie in her hair, and as it fell it splashed like a spray of blood. “His name’s Nelaros,” she huffed. “You haven’t met him so you can stop looking so panicked. He’s from the alienage in Highever.”
His heart jolted at the mention of Highever, but he tried hard to school his expression into something more supportive. “Do you love him?”
She rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Like him?”
“Andraste’s knickers, Alistair, I haven’t even met him – won’t for ages yet. I only just found out but I thought you should know, since you’ll be poncing off to Starkhaven.” With another huff, she scratched a bobble of lint from her tunic and flicked it into the alley below. “It’s an arranged match, like your posh toffs do. Gotta keep the bloodlines strong, you know? There are already few enough of us elves left as it is.”
Not wanting to stoke the irritation in his friend’s voice, Alistair breathed out, leaning back against the warmth of the chimney. He glanced at her, at her frown and the sour pull of her mouth, and realised what he was seeing wasn’t rebellion, but resignation. He recognised the look from his mirror, ever since Bryce had told him he would be going to live with his brother. Passed off again.
“What will you do?” he asked.
A shrug. “Go through with it, I guess. I’d run off and find the Dalish, except nobody else has half a head on their shoulders around here, and I’m used to the smell.”
There was a pause, and he realised she was waiting for a reaction.
“Well then…” he ventured. “Congratulations?”
“That’s really all you have to say, isn’t it?”
He frowned, lost by the sudden bite in her tone. “I’m not sure what it is you want me to say.”
“Ugh.” She threw her hands up. “You’re so dense sometimes.”
There was no argument to that. Without meaning to, his mind conjured the icy sunlight of a winter day, the flash of grey eyes retreating down a gravel path.
“And you’re still giddy over that prissy shem bitch.”
“Don’t call her that,” he snapped, breaking out of the thought.
“Why not? You moon after her and she doesn’t care – she rejected you, for fuck’s sake –”
“That’s not what happened.” But the retort rang hollow. Thinking about Rosslyn hurt, thinking about how he had hurt her and driven her away hurt.
Beside him, Thea sighed and folded her arms around her knees, and for the first time her usual mask of indifference slipped into real vulnerability. “I’m right here, and you don’t even see me.”
“I…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Oh. Oh. Thea, I –”
“Don’t,” she muttered. “I already know we couldn’t be together, so just… don’t.”
He opened his mouth to try anyway, before deciding against it. With nothing else to say, silence fell between them, and the little light remaining in the sky seeped away. Between one blink and the next, the stars glittered against the black, in constellations he had learned to trace years ago and which would soon be the only familiar thing left as flotsam in the strange tide of his life.
#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age: origins#da:o#dragon age fanfiction#alistair theirin#alistair x warden#alistair x cousland#king alistair#cousland#warden cousland#rosslyn cousland#tabris
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Best Give Up Lyrics
(The Postal Service)
The District Sleeps Alone Tonight
I'm staring at the asphalt wondering / What's buried underneath
I am a visitor here; I am not permanent
And I am finally seeing / Why I was the one worth leaving
Such Great Heights
I am thinking it's a sign / That the freckles in our eyes / Are mirror images / And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned
But it's thoughts like this that catch / My troubled head when you're away / And when I am missing you to death
But everything looks perfect from far away / Come down now but we'll stay
Sleeping In
Last week I had the strangest dream / where everything was exactly how it seemed
Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in
Nothing Better
Will someone please call a surgeon / Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart / That you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over / Then I will block the door / Like a goalie tending the net in the third quarter / Of a tied-game rivalry
So, just say how to make it right / And I swear I'll do my best to comply
Your heart won't heal right If you keep tearing out the sutures
But you've had your chance, so say goodbye
Say goodbye
Recycled Air
I take a breath / And pull the air in till there's nothing left
Calm down, release your cares (Calm down) / The stale taste of recycled air (Stale taste)
Clark Gable
That I'd been waiting since birth to / Find a love that would look and sound / Like a movie
I want so badly to believe / That there is truth, that love is real
And I want life in every word / To the extent that it's absurd
I know you're wise beyond your years / But do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie / You tell yourself to help you get by
We Will Become Silhouettes
And I'm screaming at the top of my lungs / Pretending the echoes belong to someone / Someone I used to know
I wanted to walk through the empty streets / And feel something constant under my feet
This Place is a Prison
I know there's a big world out there like the one i saw on the screen / In my living room late last night, / It was almost too bright to see
How long must i wait?
Brand New Colony
I want to take you far from the cynics in this town / And kiss you on the mouth
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene / Start a brand new colony
Where everything will change
Natural Anthem
I'll write you a song and I hope that you won't mind / Because all the names and places I have taken from real life
Transatlanticism ~Death Cab for Cutie Version
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*grabby hands* gimme all the heavy heart secrets pls pls pls
Did I already tell you that heavy heart had a different working title? I feel like I did, which means it’s no longer a secret. If not, it was “i’ve sent your saddle home,” after a line in the Hank Williams Sr. Song “Dear John.” I think the overall vibe of Heirloom by sleeping at last (where the posted title comes from) fits the vibe of the fic way more, so I’m very happy to have settled on it.
Another secret, I suppose, is that I had an extremely difficult time coming up with Pemberley’s name. I don’t even generally like regency romance as a genre, at least in its traditional structure with its common tropes, and found Pride and Prejudice a bit of a slog when I read it in high school. But I was trying to think of names inspired by literature and came to it kind of randomly. I guess the thought process was thus: I was considering the tradition in the American South of giving children the mother’s maiden name (or other family name that disappeared through marriage) irrespective of gender, and it didn’t seem too much of a leap from literary surnames to literary place names (it fits the same theme of reclaiming lost inheritance, particularly the kind of inheritance that’s traditionally barred to women, as an overwritten surname being reclaimed in what’s by necessity a roundabout/bastardized way, that being the only way available; plus, inheritance in a less tangible sense—inheritance of trauma, inheritance of a place and its ghosts and memories—is very much one of the story’s central themes). I also thought it was pretty recognizable as a Name Inspired By Literature, from a very popular set of books, and therefore something that a) Pem’s mother might have thought of if Boyd suggested Literary Names despite maybe being less well-read (at least when it comes to the “classics”) and b) is unique and pretentious enough Boyd would have agreed to it.
In the vein of names, another secret: Pemberley’s middle name, Anne, was inspired by Anne of Green Gables. Felicity’s was originally going to be Jo after Jo March, but then I decided that since Felicity isn’t literature-inspired, they probably made a conscious decision to let that be Pemberley’s Thing. So, I switched it to Joan after Joan of Arc (not-so-coincidentally, I think this warrior’s name fits her personality just as well. Plus, I like the symmetry of Felicity Joan and Pemberley Anne.)
(Ask game here)
#ask game#heavy heart#my fic#justie2justie communication#willow universewoman star-shine#thank you for the ask i love to talk about this kind of thing!#and i don’t get much of a chance to delve into this director’s commentary type stuff#so here you go you get two possibly even three for the price of one!#justified
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ooh fun. i love these kinds of memes. tagged by @whymustyouhurtmeinthisway
Relationship status: dating my girlfriend and two? three? (unsure about how gizmo crow feels) in my partner system :) met both of them on tumblr babeyyyyyy
Favourite colour: unironically, ever since birth (this may have predicted something) the yellow on the nonbinary flag and the purple on the epicene flag. This Was Destiny For Me
Song stuck inside your head: some pokemon song i THINK from pokemon black and white remixed for scarlet and violet but i can't put a name to it for the life of me (because i've been playing the indigo disk dlc it's so fun)
Favourite food: soup. every single kind (that i am able to eat, because i have Bizarre Allergies, so no soup with added wheat, no soup with dairy unless it's lactose free, coconut milk, or a nut milk/soy milk/etc, extreme amounts of garlic and onion (a little bit is fine for some reason but like. when it's near the end of the ingredients list), and in general no soup that can't be eaten on the low fodmap diet i have to be on or else Intestinal Distress up to and including my breath smelling like sulfur when i burp even slightly)
Last song listened to: hold on i gotta check youtube...attack of the killer queen by toby fox i THINK???
Dream trip: japan for the food, germany to see the immense gaytrans spectacle of berlin, anywhere with a major anime or video game or nerd in general con (i will wear an n95 mask don't worry), canada (in particular prince edward island because anne of green gables is integral to the sunkern-plus system and it's structure), england (to see if bookstores are different and have different selections and also to go to a boiler room party WITH A MASK OF COURSE)...maybe thailand to try out that curry place in the bangkok mall...
Last show/movie watched: i'm watching a lot of movies for class so if you count shorts, it's "mutt and jeff: on strike", if you count full length movies it's "nausicaa of the valley of the wind" (francis george is apparently VERY strongly nausicaa kin, did not expect that) and if you count tv shows either delicious in dungeon or the bernie mac show (underrated fave i swear)
Spicy, sweet, or savoury: all. i love all food. i'm laios kin for a reason (the actual reason is i'm so autistic it makes other people hate me by default)
Last thing you googled: i'll give you five! 1.) "mutt and jeff" 2.) "kieran pokemon" (planning on posting my Kieran Transfeminine Juxera Real theory to my nonbinary headcanons blog) 3.) "suguri japanese name" (again, was looking for proof for Kieran Transfeminine Juxera Real theory but apparently suguri is a surname) 4.) "metamodern" (this was for a class discussion related to movie techniques) 5.) "men who have made love to me" (again, this was related to the same discussion topic because i wanted to see which movie had the first fourth wall break because i genuinely thought it was mutt and jeff on strike)
Favourite game: my personal top three is street fighter 6, pokemon scarlet and violet, and cross channel: steam edition (don't worry, it's the clean version, i wouldn't have bought it if it was 18+; it's an english translation of the clean version of the japanese game called "cross channel: for all people")
i will tag @beebeetle @lunaticlocomotive @shinydudunsparce and anyone else who wants to do this game!
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Alias/name: Neo
Birthday: March 5th
Zodiac: Pisces, and a Monkey. I'm a SEA MONKEY!
Height: Between 5'2" and 5'3" the thing was broken at the doctor's so they told me I could choose between 5'2" and 5'2.5" and I ofc chose the 2.5" but then another doctor said 5"3" and so I'm left not exactly sure how tall I am.
Hobbies: I like to doodle from time to time. I like to sing, and I enjoy writing and reading manga/manhwa/manhua. Collecting art from artists I like by commissioning them. I also like origami!
Favorite color: Pink
Favorite Book: I don't really do favorites, but I feel like 'Anne of Green Gables' left an impression on me. I remember liking it a lot.
Last Song: LOLOL '2 Hour long piano music for studying, concentrating, and focusing' by Study Music Project. I trained myself back in highschool to focus to study music things so when I need to FOCUS and write, I turn on the playlist.
Recent Read: //stares at her long list of manga/manhwa/manhuas that she's following. As for novels, 'The King's Avatar' is the last thing I read. There is no official English publication as far as i'm aware, so I had to read the web version of the novel that was fan-translated.
Last movie/show: Oh... this is awkward... it's still 'The Legend of Hei' when I watched together with @dyingresolve (hey Tenka!) That was a while back. I uh... don't watch movies often and I don't watch many shows anymore. I just read things.
Inspiration: I let my brain just randomly go: 'Hey, what if???' My brain is always running around with thoughts and I can inspired by all sorts of things around me, so-- yeah.
Story behind url: Haru Miura is my Queen, my LIFE, my EVERYTHING. Therefore the world should know first off how important she is to me. Therefore, Queen (of my life) Haru Miura.
Fun Fact: I had a can of an energy drink this morning at 7:30am and it had like 160mg of caffeine or something and I was JAZZED. My hand kept twitching and everything. I am able to function fine with just 4 hours of sleep and without caffeine. I am fine with surviving a week with a single bottle of soda. That's the extent of my caffeine intake. I made mistake finishing off the can like I did. It was tasty-- and free (lol). Mistakes were made and I'm very regret. Hopefully I can sleep soon--
Took from : @whiskeysmulti
Tagging : I don't tag
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Five Fics Friday: Dec. 23/22
Happy Friday-before-Christmas everyone! Super snowy here today, so I hope if you’re stuck at home like me, you take some joy in these new fics on my MFL list this week!
PLUS please give my boosted author some love today if you love yourself some old Canadiana! :D
SIGNAL BOOSTING (Other Fandom)
Gilbert Blythe's Little Sister by Shannyh25 (G, 7,426 w., 2 Ch. || ANNE OF GREEN GABLES || Gilbert/Anne Freeform) – After the sudden death of Gilbert’s parents, he became his little sister’s legal guardian and also Sarah’s doctor. This is about how Gilbert handles taking care of his little sister who has anxiety and their journey on how they move on after their parents’ death. Anne is with them every step of the way and they eventually get married of course.
My New Life With Anne and Gilbert by Shannyh25 (G, 16,783+ w., 6/? Ch. || ANNE OF GREEN GABLES || Anne / Gilbert Freeform) – While studying medicine to become a Doctor in New York, Anne begs Gilbert to let her work at the local orphanage while Gilbert is going to school and working at the hospital. Gilbert agrees to let Anne work at the orphanage. While Anne is on her interview for the orphanage, she meets a little girl name Ruby. Ruby has Scarlet Fever just like Anne and Gilbert did. Anne begs Gilbert to agree to adopt Ruby and take Ruby on as his first patience and being solo. Gilbert agrees to adopt Ruby and have her be his first patience. Ruby has for sure Gilbert wrapped around her finger along with Anne. This is Anne, Gilbert, and Ruby story. Guests appearances is Arthur Pettibone, Felix King from Road To Avonlea.. Arthur is a Doctor and also Ruby's Doctor. Felix is studying medicine as well. Ruby has both of them wrapped around her finger.
RECENT MFLs
The Time Being by prettysailorsoldier (M, 11,008 w., 1 Ch. || University AU || John in Afghanistan, Victor Trevor, Time Skips, Poetry, Goodbyes, Christmas, Fluff, Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock sends John off from King's Cross the day before Christmas Eve, he can't bear the thought that it's really goodbye, no matter how much John insists a clean break is best, so he suggests a compromise: Meeting up in that same place 7 years later. What follows are snapshots of the next seven Christmases, chronicling the changes in each man's life, but just because they're growing separately, doesn't mean they're growing apart. Part 3 of 25 Days of Johnlock
Quite an Eyeful by BakerTumblings (M, 14,869 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Established Relationship, Military Backstory, Brief Previous John/OFC, Domestic Life) – Life on Baker Street for Sherlock, John, & Rosie was very good. They had resolved many of the issues that had plagued them, settled in as parents, and thrived on a more predictable yet very enjoyable routine.Until something very unexpected from John's past surfaced to challenge them.They will, of course, work together and find a way to manage. Together. Part 1 of Eyes Wide Open
The last dandelion of summer by Hotaru_Tomoe (E, 69,500 w., 18 Ch. || Historical Fantasy AU || Faun Sherlock, Human John, Slow Burn, Interspecies Sex, Non-Con Drug Use, Implied Mystrade, Magic Realism, Animal Killing, Angst with Happy Ending) – John is a veteran, his kingdom has lost the war and his native village has been handed over to the neighboring Kingdom. After a long wandering, he arrives in a village at the foot of a forest, that everyone says is cursed and populated by monstrous creatures. John thinks that it is just a stupid superstition, and decides to settle right in the forest, unaware that the said creatures are real. Among them, there is Sherlock, who is immediately very interested in the human. Part 38 of The English job
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Tagged by @definitelydivergent Thank you friend!
What book are you currently reading? Re-reading Anne of Green Gables. By the way, if anyone has any book recommendations, I'd love to hear them!
What’s your favourite movie you saw in a cinema this year? I believe the only movie I saw in theaters in the last twelve months was Lifemark, which is an amazing movie and based on a true story!
What do you usually wear? Normally I try to stick with clothes, but when I'm getting my hair dyed I tear holes for my arms and head into a trashbag and wear that
How tall are you? 5'4" on a good day
What’s your star sign?
Do you share your birthday with a celebrity or historical event? I'm sure I share my birthday with many historical events; whether or not I share my birthday with any significant historical events is a different question, to which I know not the answer
Do you go by your name or a nickname? Mostly my name. Very few people call me by a nickname
Did you grow up to be what you wanted to be as a child? I wanted to be many things as a child. I've long since lost interest in being a doctor or a horse, but still hope and dream to work with children and write books
Are you in a relationship? Who is your crush if not? I'm not in a romantic relationship, but I very ardently adore the man who came up with goat cheese (goat cheese, my beloved)
What’s something you’re good at versus something you’re bad at? I'm actually pretty good at learning how to read and write in my target languages, all things considered. I still have a long way to go, but I know that if I were to have more self discipline and put in some effort, I'd actually be pretty impressive. On the flip side, I'm not so good with the speaking and hearing part. My pronunciation is often way off and I struggle to hear the different vowel sounds, except in Spanish (Spanish vowels, my beloved).
Dogs or cats?
What’s something you’d like to create content for? You know, I'm not actually sure! My favorite piece of media is Earthbound, but I've never really thought of creating content for it. I always thought Earthbound would work so well as an animated series, so it might be a fun little challenge for myself to write scripts and create story boards for it. I would also love to write Christian fiction, but have not been confident in my ability to do so in a way that is not either cheesy or too worldly.
What's something you're currently obsessed with? The idea of making goat cheese and mushroom quesidillas! Saw a recipe online and I have been in love ever since!
What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? I'm not aware of having been disappointed this year. I've had a pretty amazing year, actually. If there was something that disappointed me that I'm forgetting, I would not like to remind myself
What's a hidden talent of yours? Well if it's hidden, how am I supposed to know about it?
Are you religious? Yes, I have a personal relationship with Jesus and have made Him the Lord of my life!
What’s something you wish to have at this moment? Would it be beating a dead horse to say goat cheese? Yes? Okay, then I'll settle for a million dollars (huehuehue)
Tagging @sapphiremoonandstars if your heart so desires
#tag game#cannot stress enough that i dont actually want a million dollars#i would love goat cheese and a long hug#xD
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it's not living if it's not with you.
location: the veterinary clinic
when: various points throughout friday night
featuring: mentions of @vanessagable, @connorxrose, @cheyxjohnson and allusions to others
triggers warnings: drugs, addiction, allusions to suicidal ideation
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: where you at are you
He had only been out of the rain for a mere forty-five seconds, but already his concern was less on his damp clothes and the weather raging outside and instead it shifted to the green text on his phone screen with an aggressive red exclamation point next to a Not Delivered notification.
That's when he clocked the No Service also displayed on his screen.
Fucking great.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: are you okay
2 minutes after the first, he finds himself staring down at the same predicament with the second message he tried to send. Not a fluke then, there really was no service at all.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: all this is kind of funny over some fucking rain
Despite knowing she wouldn't get it, he still wanted some sort of prompt for when he did see her to remind himself to tell her about the guy who seemed like he was going to risk swimming his way through town.
She would have liked the Titanic joke.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: wish you were here
The amusement he felt at his surroundings had worn off after a couple of hours. His damp clothes were irritating him, the scrubs he had stolen didn't quite fit and the light situation hadn't gotten much better.
The clock on the wall above the front desk wasn't easy to see in the dimness, but he felt too aware of the tick of it as the seconds began to drag by.
Tick, tick, tick.
Too much time to think.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: i wish a lot of things
Everything was only made worse by a run in with Connor, the man was a walking reminder of every choice he had made that had lead up to his rehab stay and subsequent sobriety and it might have felt like less of an ambush if he hadn't been by himself in it.
He owed him an apology.
He owed Chey a bigger one.
That night with nothing else and no distractions could have been the perfect time to think about what he would say and how he would say it, but the fact of it was he knew that even if he figured out what to say that might mend some of the things he had broken, an apology from him would never come.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: we should talk more. actually talk. these days we say a lot but we don’t say anything
Vanessa Gable was, without a doubt, as close as he would ever get to meeting a saint in real life.
More than once he had dragged her through hell with him just to see if she was unable to withstand the heat like everyone else in his life he had once cared for who fell away when things got bad and he got worse.
From the first time he seen her on stage pretending to be someone else in a blonde wig playing bass for a band who's name he couldn't remember to when he found himself looking up at her ten years later thinking that might be the last thing he seen as his body succumbed to the effects of an overdose, there had always been something lurking between them.
Since getting clean, he hasn't known how to talk to her about anything but the music without having the drugs as a crutch to blame his words on.
He wishes he could tell her everything, but he doesn't know how to tell her anything without it.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: i think i might do something stupid
It seemed like daybreak was close, but he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the ticking of the clock, or the race of his thoughts, or the way he couldn't focus on any corner of the room without thinking of his regrets like monstrous shadows that couldn't be vanquished.
The notebook that he had been keeping close to him the whole night was filled with nothing but handwritten reminders that he was no fucking good at any of it when he was sober.
Deadlines for the second album were looming, expectations from his own fans were breathing down his neck and he couldn't come up with anything worthwhile because every other minute of the day all he could think about was how much he wanted to be high.
How much he wanted to be drunk.
How much he wanted to be so out of his mind that he might unlock a new faucet of it and have something to fucking say again.
A lot of that was on himself for his most well-received song being a metaphor for how he could never love a person as much as he loved coke.
He had only intended to stretch his legs away from the others, some physical movement to detract from the voices in his head but there was better reminder of his own weakness than when he found himself in breaking into the treatment room at the back with one objective.
His first thought after getting to the clinic had been Van.
The second had been that they had to have some sort of ketamine in there somewhere.
( God may love a trier, but X loved a k-hole. )
It was the second that he couldn't tune out or switch the station from, it swirled in the back of his mind, progressively louder with repetition until he found himself on his knees rifling through a cabinet that had been locked before he smashed the glass, vials and bottles hitting the floor around him until he found a vial of what he was looking for.
A needle wouldn't be hard to find, the dose wouldn't matter, he just wanted a way out of his skin for a while whatever the outcome.
He just wanted to feel like himself again, just once.
UNDELIVERED TEXT TO VAN: sorry
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OC name meaning
Rules: Google and post the meaning of your OC’S name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too.
I was tagged by @sketch-shepherd, though I probably won't be tagging anyone else. I just thought it would be fun to go into how I came up with some of my OC's names.
Kathryn Orenstein and Liu Tsong (Adventures in Maple Isle)
(art by Flora-Tea)
Kathryn's given name is a tribute to Kathryn Beaumont, who voiced both Alice in Disney's Alice in Wonderland and Wendy Darling in Disney's Peter Pan (two stories in which AiMI takes influence from. Her surname is a tribute to Janis Orenstein, who voiced Clarice in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. (Like Kathryn, Janis grew up in Toronto and had trouble fitting in at school due to being the only Jewish girl there.) I also decided to give Kathryn the middle name Shirley as a reference to Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables.
Liu Tsong's name is a tribute to Anna May Wong, the famed Chinese-American actress who was born Wong Liu Tsong.
Liesl, Winnipeg, and Pepper (The Land After Man)
(art by Flora-Tea)
Liesl's name is a reference to The Sound of Music (and was also the name of a Labrador we had when I was a kid), Winnipeg's name is a reference to the female black bear that Winnie the Pooh was named after, and Pepper's name is a reference to one of my mom's cats (who coincidently has very similar black and white coloration as her fictional counterpart).
Petey and Teegan (Petey Pit)
(art by Sketch-Shepherd)
Petey's name is an obvious reference to Petey from Our Gang/The Little Rascals, which is probably the most famous example of how pit bulls didn't have the negative reputation they do today. Teegan's name is a reference to a German Shepherd an IRL friend of mine had, though thankfully he wasn't as vicious as his fictional counterpart.
I seriously considered naming Teegan after Derek Chauvin, the officer who murdered George Floyd, at first, before realizing that would be a little on-the-nose and uncomfortable.
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5. Eddie
Part 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
Read on AO3
When Steve finally got released from the hospital, Eddie was still dead. So he decided to take matters into his own hands and go talk to Eleven himself to see what's up. Maybe he could help solve or plan around whatever obstacles were standing in her way.
Mind made up, Steve headed over to the motel the Hopper-Byers’ were staying at until they managed to find a more permanent home that fit their expanded family.
The motel itself wasn’t anything to brag about. A classic one-floor building with a gable roof and an off-white exterior. The motel was usually used by truckers passing through - Hawkins didn’t really get many tourists. Right now, in the middle of the day, the parking lot was mostly empty, a few cars scattered around and three plastic lawn chairs and a table with a half-full ash tray set up next to the wall.
When he knocked on the Hoppers’ door, El was the one to answer it. The room was small but seemed cozy enough overall from what Steve could see of it. He glimpsed Hopper snoring on one of the two beds as El brought a finger to her lips in the universal sign to be quiet. Steve noted that her social skills had really come so far from when Steve first met her dealing with demodogs and creepy tunnels.
El stepped outside and carefully shut the door.
They both made their way towards the lawn chairs without saying anything. When they were sat down next to each other, El turned and looked at Steve expectantly.
Steve nervously dragged a hand through his hair.
“Hey, El. How’s the house hunting going so far?” he asked in a slightly strained voice.
“It is going well. Joyce says she has found a house she thinks will work. We are going to go look at it tomorrow and if it is good she says we will get to move in in a week. How are you, Steve?” She continued staring at him. She clearly knew Steve must be there for a reason.
Steve, never really one to beat around the bush, committed to just asking her directly.
“I don’t know if anyone already mentioned it or if everyone has been busy rebuilding and stuff, but there was someone else in the Upside Down with us while we were fighting Vecna. His name is Eddie Munson, you probably didn’t know him. He was really brave and after the gates opened he was…” Steve swallowed and looked away.
“We couldn’t take him with us,” he continued after a moment, “So I was wondering if maybe you could use your powers to, well, see if you can reach him. like with Hopper, y’know?”
“You think he is still in the Upside Down?” El asked him.
Steve noticed he had started nervously tapping his fingers against the plastic arm rests but couldn’t quite force his hand to still in the face of admitting the most difficult part of the issue to El.
“Yeah. I don’t know if you can reach him safely, what with Vecna and everything but…”
El interrupted him. “I will look for him. Let’s go to your car, I need to focus.”
Steve hurried over to the Beemer and at El’s request managed to dig out a scarf Robin had at some point left in there. El sat down in the passenger seat, scarf tied around her face and in a calm voice requested, “Turn on the radio.”
White noise blasted around the car.
Steve anxiously watched as El went wherever she did when she looked for someone with her mind.
After a minute she slowly said: “I can see your friend. He is in the Upside Down. But something is wrong.” Her brow wrinkled. “One is trying to change him. To make Eddie fight for him. “
They both looked at eachother with grim determination. Seems their time to rebuild and recuperate was up.
—-
The plan they ended up with was similar to last time’s, except this time they had all their heavy hitters back and everyone together in Hawkins, not spread out over the country. Hopefully that was enough to ensure their success.
El thought she could use what Vecna was doing in Eddie’s head to fight him, like she had with Max. That meant one team would be staying with her in the Rightside Up, guarding her while she challenged Vecna to a rematch.
Even though Dustin protested this heavily, with Joyce and Hopper back, the adults managed to outvote him and this time the kids would all be staying back.
Two teams would be going into the Upside Down, one to destroy Vecna’s physical body, just like last time, and the other to retrieve Eddie.
After some discussion, Nancy, Hopper and Joyce ended up on team ‘Kill Vecna’ as the people with most experience handling firearms and traversing the Upside Down, while Steve and Robin were somewhat surprisingly voted to go save Eddie as the only ones left that knew exactly where his body was.
Finally, Jonathan and his new friend Argyle elected to join the kids in standing watch over El and keeping an eye on Max in case Vecna tried to go for her in some last ditch effort to save himself.
Time was of the essence, so with the plan made, they hurried to put it into action. They used the gate formed by Fred Benson’s death as Eddie’s trailer was still being watched and the lake was bad enough the first time. Once through the gate the two teams exchanged determined nods and got on with their separate missions.
Steve and Robin carefully made their way through the forest towards the clearing where Eddie had died. Finding him was easy enough, the hard part was the waiting. El had to use this chance to defeat Vecna before she could wake Eddie so for now they would just be guarding his body, ready to get him out as soon as possible.
The time seemed to move endlessly slowly, minutes seeming like hours as Robin nervously kept her eye on the path they had come from, while Steve looked in the direction of the trailer, ready to jump at any movement from the trees.
Nearly half an hour, which felt more like an eternity later, a sharp intake of breath came from between them.
Both Steve and Robin whirled around at the sudden sound, weapons raised, only to relax when they looked down to see Eddie curling around to his side to let out a rasping cough. In just a moment they were both at his side.
“Harrington? Buckley? Wha- What’re you doing here? Where’s Henderson?” His breathing was picking up and he was getting more and more panicked.
“Hey, hey! Don’t worry! Everyone’s okay now! We were just waiting on you, Munson. You can’t follow directions for the life of you, huh? What was the one thing I told you not to do? Be a hero. And of course that’s the first thing you do.” Steve haltingly joked, trying to break the tension.
It didn’t work.
“I swear I- I was trying to buy you more time and there were so many bats and- and I’m pretty sure I was gone. Like kicked the bucket, left this mortal coil, game over, don’t let the gates of hell hit you on your way in, gone! Like for fuck’s sake, I even made Henderson promise to take care of Hellfire!”
“Yeah, that was pretty messed up of you. Kid really took it hard.” Robin put in her two cents.
Eddie stared at her incredulously. “I don’t think you hear what I’m saying. I was dead!”
“Don’t worry, that’s normal around here. You get kinda used to people dying and then coming back to life,” Steve started counting off people on his fingers, “Like this all started with Will Byers dying, but then he was alive again, then a demodog ate Dustin’s cat, El brought it back, Hopper died, took a bit but he’s back, Vecna got Max but don’t worry she’s good now. With you all fixed up, we got the whole gang back on their feet!”
This did not seem to clear anything up for Eddie who was still staring at them like they had gone insane.
Robin took it upon herself to explain it a bit more clearly.
“You remember how we mentioned the girl with superpowers? That’s El. She can use her powers to bring people back from the dead. As soon as we were all back in Hawkins and had a bit of time to recover, we put together a new plan and launched a second attack on Vecna. El says he was trying to turn you into some kind of minion but don’t worry we got to you before that could happen. El fought Vecna in his mind and Hopper, Jonathan and Nancy killed his body and then El brought you back. Does that make sense?”
“Not really.” Eddie deadpanned.
“Well we don’t really have time for you to get it. We need to get out of here dude. So chop-chop, let’s get moving.”
Steve pulled one of Eddie’s arms over his shoulder while Robin kept an eye on their surroundings and together they stumbled back to the gate.
Next.
#stranger things#stranger things fic#my fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#5+1 things#uhoh eddie has joined the stobin circle of misunderstanding
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Rewatch: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "I, Robot...You, Jane" (S1Ep8)
Summary: Willow has a boyfriend on the internet, but it’s not what it seems.
Written by: Joss Whedon, Ashley Gable, Thomas A. Swyden
Directed by: Stephen L. Posey
Aired: April 27th, 1997
WARNING: This post contains spoilers, as well as discussions of unhealthy relationships and a mention of suicide.
Willow-centric episode! This is a hefty episode to talk about, though, so let’s jump in.
Recap: The computer club is working on scanning library books into the computer system, much to Giles’s chagrin. Everyone leaves, but Willow stays behind to finish up. She scans a weird book, and as she does the text disappears. Later, Buffy catches up with Willow to ask why she couldn’t get ahold of her the night before, and Willow reveals she was busy talking to a boy named Malachi. Buffy grills her on him, but it’s fruitless. Xander and Buffy talk about it and think it’s weird, but decide they are overreacting. Willow, as well as two classmates, start acting weird. One of the boys, Dave, tells Buffy to stay away from Willow. She follows him to a computer research facility which is supposedly shut down. Later, Buffy is almost electrocuted in the girls locker room, but Dave warns her before it’s too late. The computer system and another classmate, Fritz, kill Dave and make it look like a suicide. When Malachi begins saying strange things, Willow gets suspicious and tries to cut off communication. Meanwhile, Giles discovers that the text containing a demon called Moloch the Corruptor was scanned into the digital library. Willow is kidnapped, and Buffy and Xander try to find her while Giles and Jenny Calendar try to bind Moloch. Xander and Buffy rescue Willow before Moloch, who is embodied in a robot, can kill her. They defeat him after binding him back into the book is unsuccessful.
Overall Thoughts: While I was really excited to see an episode centered around Willow, this episode was hard to watch due to it’s nature. This episode focuses heavily on an online relationship Willow has, and maybe I’m looking into it too much, but every aspect of Willow and “Malachi”’s relationship screams toxic and unhealthy.
For starters, while he is never shown saying anything directly that could be construed as abuse, Moloch or “Malachi” is incredibly manipulative and possessive. He’s deceitful, and it’s hard to watch Willow go through that. She is so naive in this episode, wanting to believe that someone truly cares for her in that way, and it changes her. “Malachi” isolates her from her friends, encourages her to skip class to talk to him, and tries to pit her against Buffy. It’s nauseating to watch.
Meanwhile, this episode actually talks a lot about internet safety…sort of. It talks about how you can say that you’re anyone when you’re on the internet, and I feel like that lesson is even more relevant today with the internet being more and more accessible. In this sense, I like this episode.
We are introduced to Jenny Calendar this episode, which is something I was super excited about. She is a super important character later on, and it’s good we are establishing her now rather than later.
Fashion Corner/Costuming: Not a whole lot of comments, but I love Jenny’s outfits in this episode. I do however think these outfits are more suited for Buffy than a teacher, but I’ll take it.
Characterization: This episode is supposed to be a Willow-centric episode where we get more insight on Willow’s character. However, we don’t really get to see much of Willow, and we don’t really get a good feel for her. It’s disappointing. I will say, though, that in the last several minutes we do spend time with Willow, and she gives a tearful speech to Moloch. It made me realize how good of an actress Alyson Hannigan is, and how lovable she makes Willow.
Also, I love the dynamic between Giles and Jenny. They are opposites in a way that balances out, and seeing them work together by using their strengths is nice. I can’t wait to see their relationship progress.
Quotes: ”Willow, ax-murdered by a circus freak.” - Buffy Summers
”Right now, a man in Beijing is transferring money to a Swiss bank account for a contract on his mothers’ life. Good for him.” - Moloch the Corruptor
Apocalypse Count: 1
Final Notes: Feel free to leave any comments, suggestions, or questions in the ask box!
#buffy the vampire slayer#btvs#buffy the vampire slayer s1#i robot you jane#mothman rewatches#rewatch
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September 1939: Carole's Advice For Dictators
September 2, 1939 – Morning World Herald
Hubby Clark Doesn’t Catch
It must have been a god joke from the expression on Carole Lombard’s face, but her husband, Clark Gable, doesn’t seem to see it. They are shown on their ranch in the San Fernando valley, California, where they rest during pictures. Gable is working on “Gone with the Wind” and Carole is starring in “In Name Only.”
September 2, 1939 – The Knoxville Journal
Imaginable hilarious evening: watching the play of expression on Carole Lombard’s mobile face as she stared at the stuffed, eight-foot swordfish Clark Gable had sent home with instructions to hang it over the fireplace.
September 3, 1939 – Brooklyn Daily Eagle
Recipe for Appeasement
Nothing gives you a lift like an appendectomy, take it from delightful, delicious Carole Lombard, wife to Mr. Clark Gable, the man of glamour.
Lovely lady should know whereof she speaks, for she had one; spent, in fact, four weeks on her alabaster back in the hospital, and only last week arose from bed of pain to return to the Encino rancho that Mr. Gable built for her and announce her belief that there’d be fewer war scares and crises and Munichs and what-not if Messrs. Hitler and Mussolini would take time out from their horrendous affairs of state and have one, too.
That’s her considered cure for the world’s ills. Quoth bright-eyed she:
“In bed with nothing to do but think you get a deeper appreciation of life itself. You realize how fortunate you are simply to be alive. You discover how nice everybody is; how kind are even perfect strangers.”
Thus, thought Trend, if only Der Fuehrer of Germany and Il Duce of Fascismo would get a load of themselves and take a good long rest and maybe have an operation and get to thinking how kindly are the Poles and how nice the Albanians, then possibly Mr. Chamberlain would have less to worry about in these parlous times, and Il Duce would become the village blacksmith in Belacqua and Der Fuehrer would go back to paper-hanging in dear old Vienna.
“My month on the flat of my back has given me a new outlook on life,” Carole says. “It has given me a new tolerance and a new patience…
“And as I stayed there in bed thinking, I couldn’t help but believe that everybody should have an operation once in a while; preferably an appendicitis operation.”
And Il Duce and Der Fuehrer would have something new to talk about to the folks back home…
“It’s not particularly serious and it doesn’t hurt while they’re doing it. You think. That’s all there is to do. And it seems to me that anybody, even the men who are talking about starting wars, could profit from a little enforced thinking, with nobody to interrupt them except the nurse, bringing orange juice.”
So it’s fruit juice and bed for you, Adolf, and zwieback at noon, and milk at four. (After all, you’re already on war rations, and down to one percent beer). And for Benito, a dark-eyed signorina to cheer him in his convalescing hours. And for the world, peace again.
How come Mr. Chamberlain never thought of it?
Trend thinks Miss Lombard, after Mr. FDR, has made the best suggestion yet. But knows that in this crazy world no one will have the sense to heed it. And so it goes, with everybody everywhere except Miss Lombard and a few others going about this dreadful business of making the simple life every day and in every way harder and harder.
September 3, 1939 – The Birmingham News
Mr. and Mrs. Gable At Home
September 3, 1939 – The Charlotte Observer
Fleming’s Pal “Gone with the Wind”
All because of Carole Lombard, Victor Fleming is shopping for hunting accessories and a new African safari pal.
For several years Fleming has been planning a second big game expedition in Africa, and during the making of “Test Pilot” sold Clark Gable on the idea of accompanying him.
With “The Wizard of Oz” and “Gone with the Wind” completed, Fleming expects to have time for his trip this fall or winter. So he notified Gable. But since first planning the trip, Gable has married, and wife Carole firmly decrees that her husband “shall take no chances with Fleming, lions and rhinoceroses.”
Hence Fleming is looking for another hunting partner.
September 6, 1939 – Messenger Inquirer
September 9, 1939 – Evening Star
Clark Gable and Carole Lombard have just concluded their first separation since their marriage. Clark had a week of fishing, while Carole recuperated from her recent appendectomy…
September 10, 1939 – The Kansas City Star
The Gables “Go Rustic” on a 14-Acre Estate
September 10, 1939 – The Courier
Miss (Alice) Marble looks as glamourous as Carole Lombard as they watch a game together. With them are Clark Gable and Felix Young, right.
September 12, 1939 – The Minneapolis Star
Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, who were going to Europe, are talking about a trip to Africa for big game.
September 13, 1939 – Wilkes Barre Times Leader
Carole Lombard’s first public appearance since her hospitalization was at a Bakersfield Fun Club. She and husband Clark Gable bagged a limit of doves.
September 13, 1939 – Richmond Times
Carole Lombard and her husband, Clark Gable, have left Hollywood on a hunting expedition – without guns.
Miss Lombard is hunting for weight, as she is under her doctor’s orders to gain 11 pounds before she returns to RKO Radio to resume work in “Vigil in the Night,” filming of which was suspended a month ago when the star was suddenly stricken with appendicitis.
The operation and hospital confinement cost Miss Lombard 13 pounds, only two of which she has been able to regain.
September 24, 1939 – Los Angeles Times
The Gables Entertain – Clark Gable and wife, Carole Lombard, entertained with an outdoor buffet recently at their new ranch at Encino. Carole seems to be on no diet.
September 24, 1939 – Knoxville Journal
Carole Lombard’s Operation Fails to Dull Spirits
By Melrose Gower
Carole Lombard has returned to the Hollywood sound stages, appendix gone but sense of humor still intact.
Her convalescent remark that dictators should have appendectomies because it would keep them in bed, give them time to philosophize about their follies, already has belted the globe (except in censored countries).
Discharged from one hospital, ironically she went to work at once in another, resuming her role of nurse in AJ Cronin’s “Vigil in the Night,” interrupted by illness after two days’ initial shooting five weeks later.
Her first day was spent in a British provincial hospital set on an RKO Radio stage. Script calls for a young lad to die in an oxygen tent through negligence of nurse Anne Shirley, Miss Lombard’s sister for picture purposes. Director George Stevens wanted the utmost in heartbreak to be registered, enlisted the aid of mood music.
All day, between camera takes – and during them, too, when dialogue was not employed – professionals on a muted violin and a pump organ with the soft stops all pulled out obliged with “Sweet and Low,” and other blue strains.
End of day found Stevens highly gratified, Miss Shirley in dithers, Miss Lombard irrepressible.
Cracked the star to Stevens: “I’m glad you didn’t direct my operation.”
Protecting his tense atmosphere, Stevens closed the set to visitors. Producers to secretaires, workers on the lot were not to be denied opportunity to greet Miss Lombard, offer congratulations on recovery. Mob scene was result as they waylaid her at noon when stage doors were rolled back.
To one who said everybody had missed her, she opined: “Bet it was quieter.”
That it’s an ill operation which produces no good was Miss Lombard’s sage amendment of an old saw. She pointed out that sans appendectomy she would have been sans honeymoon.
Marriage to Clark Gable last summer occurred when she had just finished work on “In Name Only,” was on eve of starting “Vigil in the Night.” Immediate honeymoon was denied both, as he returned from Arizona to go before the cameras at once in “Gone with the Wind,” she to begin “Vigil in the Night.”
With work on the latter suspended, however, due to her illness, the star in the convalescent period was enabled to go to the High Sierras with her husband, who meanwhile had finished his assignment.
By product: Brian Aherne, cast opposite Miss Lombard in a medico role, availed himself of the enforced vacation to wed Joan Fontaine, also got a honeymoon before being recalled.
“Another thing. Flat on my back for a month I studied nursing technique. It was excellent training for my role. I know just how long to hold off before bringing the patient his orange juice,” said Carole.
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