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#I’ve been messaging everyone to try and find someone who will be in the city still

flemingsfreckles · 6 days

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Replacement pt. 1

Jessie Fleming x Reader (enemies to lovers)

Synopsis: Jessie transfers to your team in Portland, while everyone else seems to be thrilled about her transfer, you see the girl as a threat to your position and playing time with the team.

Warnings: cursing

WC: 2.4K (this is just set up, the other parts will be longer)

A/N: this is a LONG overdue series I started writing when Jessie first transferred to Portland, I just have had some serious writers block with it. But I’ve finally been able to get some of it down. It is enemies to lovers, so it will be rough and angsty at the start but give it some time :)

Everyone had seen the rumors flying around. You heard the whispers of your teammates at training yesterday afternoon after they had all seen the supposed transfer news. Just like any other fan or team, you all loved the speculation. Your teammates loved it even more when it surrounded bringing a big name on to your team for once instead of Gotham like everyone else. Janine and Christine spent most of their practice trying to dodge questions about their fellow Canadian teammate, not giving away any details of what they did or didn’t know.

You couldn’t lie, you often fed into the spectacle of transfer rumors, chatting with your team about where people might be headed. Something about this transfer rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was because you felt threatened. You were a midfielder as well. If you’re being honest with yourself, your first season in the league, fresh out of college, had not gone to plan.

Being drafted second you were expected to perform well, and the transition into the NWSL from the NCAA had been anything but smooth. You had a few minor injuries, a strain here and there, with the addition of a minor concussion. You ended up with an overall disappointing season. It wasn’t due to your lack of effort, you pushed yourself as hard if not harder than most players, it just hadn’t yet paid off.

Jessies arrival meant you’d likely be finding yourself sitting on the bench more and more often. They were bringing in someone who could actually help the team. They were bringing in your replacement in the form of an incredibly skilled and experienced midfielder.

You tried to remember that they were just rumors, she wasn’t confirmed to being transferring. What small hope you had was quickly diminished when you got the team message from staff asking that you all arrive to practice 20 minutes early for a “quick meeting”.

So when you walked into the meeting room, slouching in your seat next to Sam and Janine with a huff, they both turned to look at you. They had both taken you under their wing when you joined the team, being your first friends in Portland. They would come over when you were injured, helping take you to and from training, and helping you get acquainted with the city.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of their bed, damn.” Janine looked at you with wide eyes. It was uncharacteristic behavior being so cranky, even with how poorly your season was last year, you were typically upbeat, trying to make your teammates laugh, keeping practice lighthearted.

“Shut it Beckie.” You muttered in her direction. Sam looked at you, wide eyes before slowly turning to face forward not wanting to get on your bad side. Your coach walking in shortly after, not giving Janine the chance to respond. You’re not sure she would have even had something to say as she just stared at you, mouth open at the fact that you had just talked back to her.

“Alright, quiet down everyone,” your coach held his hands up. “I’m sure everyone has already seen the rumors floating around our club. We hadn’t planned to announce it until she was actually here to introduce herself but as of a couple hours ago, we have officially agreed to terms with and will be welcoming another Canadian,” he shoots a look at Janine and Sinc, “Jessie Fleming will be joining us.” A couple of whoops and hollers scattered across the room. “She’ll be starting with us at practice in two days. I expect, as you all have with our other transfers and signings, that you welcome her to Portland.”

While the rest of the team seemed to be thrilled at the idea of Fleming joining the team, you dodged every conversation you could about her.

Thankfully training was short, with the season just beginning you were completing fitness testing, getting both benchmarks for the season and learning how well everyone had kept up with their fitness during the off season. After warming up, everyone ran the well known and well dreaded “beep test”. It may be dreaded to most, but as a midfielder you had some of the best cardio fitness. It was days like this where your confidence rose, feeling comfortable through the test, nothing to worry about except running.

By the end of the test, you were one of the only players still running, your lungs were burning with each breath you took, the lactic acid building up in your thighs and calves. You finally dropped to your knees, unable to run any further. You found yourself kneeling next to Janine before rolling over to sit. Placing your head between your knees you breathed, listening to your teammates around you also panting, some coughing, some cursing the test for existing. You laid back fully putting up one leg straight in the air. A smile crept across your face, something about the burning of your lungs and your legs nearly cramping felt so good, a small reminder of your hard work.

“You mind helping me stretch?” Reaching out an arm you smack Janine next to you. Easily convinced, she stands up moving over to you placing herself to hold the foot in the air. She gently begins to press it toward your chest, your hamstring straining as she pushes your leg further.

“You’re fucking crazy for smiling after that test.” Janine rolling her eyes at you, a small cough coming out after as she can still feel her lungs burning. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with two of you now.”

“What does that mean? Two of us?” You send her a pointed look before laying back letting your head fall back against the grass. Janine drops your leg, grabbing the other one before repeating the stretching motion.

“It means, I’ll now have to deal with you and Jessie running circles around me and the rest of this team. Literally circles.” She huffs.

“Right.” You felt the smile drop from your face, you had been able to forget about your replacement’s arrival. Janine noticed instantaneous change in your emotions at the mention of Jessie. She made a mental note to check in with you later, not while you were still on the sidelines of the pitch with the entire team.

Once everyone cooled down from the test, you stretched more, before heading into the locker room. You grab a protein bar and electrolytes from the shelf before hopping into the ice bath. Janine follows you, hopping in as well, making a comment about how cold it was as she shivers.

“Hey, I know we usually go for coffee after practice. We can still do that, it's just that I had offered to help Jessie unpack. She got in last night and didn’t really get settled. I’m supposed to meet her at her new place in about an hour, so I won't be able to stay for too long. It’ll have to be more of a grab and go kind of thing.” Janine looks at you, you both standing in the ice cold water, your shirts held up to avoid getting them wet.

Part of you is annoyed at her. You two always grabbed coffee, it was an unspoken activity, occasionally another teammate or two tagging along. You two would get coffee, you’d vent to each other, chat about the tv shows you were watching, Janine would talk about her wedding. It was something Janine started with you when you were new to the team, she was doing it to make you feel comfortable at the start and it quickly developed into a genuine friendship. Now Jessie was going to replace you at work and in Janine’s life too.

“Just go to hers, it's all good. We can skip this week.” You try not to sound upset, already feeling replaced by Jessie’s arrival in the form of losing your coffee “date”.

“Sorry, I would have said something sooner but with the transfer not public yet, I just didn’t want to get her in trouble or anything.” She pauses for a moment. “Actually, why don't you come with me to Jessie’s? I really think you two will get on well, plus it’ll be a good way to introduce you two.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn't want to just show up, I mean I don't know her and unpacking her stuff would be a little personal, it just probably isn't the best time for me to meet her.” Coming up with the best excuse you could come up with without flat out telling Janine that you don't want to meet one of her favorite people. You had heard plenty about Jessie before from Janine, only before it didn’t bother you. Before it was just hearing about one of Janine’s best friends, now it had a different sting when she was brought up. Now she was talking about the girl coming to take your spot.

“Alright, well I’m still grabbing coffee because I thought we’d be going and I promised Jessie I’d bring her one. Come with me at least then we can split?” You know Janine has zero negative intentions, she still was trying to have your usual coffee while also being an incredible friend and going to help Jessie move in.

“Fine, twist my arm.” You add sarcasm into your sentence, it wasn’t too hard to get you to go get a coffee, it was one of your favorite drinks, you spent way to much time and money on it, even having your own espresso machine at home with a bean grinder and all. Janine always joked that you could just run your own coffee shop out of your apartment for extra money.

You get to the coffee shop, when you walk in the barista gives you a wave, you and Janine were frequent visitors, the baristas all knew you and your orders.

“Are we getting the usual ladies?” The girl behind the counter asks, already starting to punch in the order on her screen.

“I am, but can we get them to-go, thank you.” You tell her. She puts in the order for your cold brew with caramel foam.

“I am, but I’m also going to add another drink, can I just get a latte with the lavender syrup please.”

On a normal day, if you weren’t in such an upset and negative mood you would’ve mocking the way Janine says syrup, but you don’t. You also mentally gag at the coffee she ordered for Jessie, lavender tasted like old lady soap. You mentally added it to the list of reasons to avoid the new transfer. It was childish what you were doing but you didn’t care.

You reach to get your card out, Janine beats you to it tapping her card on the register. “Janine, no.” It was your turn to pay, the two of you alternated.

“Please it’s the least I can do given I’m ditching you today.” She shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Alright.” You rolls your eyes at her as you hear your name called from the other end of the counter where your drink was placed.

You grab your drink and turn to walk out of the shop. The shop wasn’t too far from your apartment, a couple of blocks, and you figured you could walk so Janine didn’t have to drop you off at your house before heading to Jessie’s.

“Hey, where are you running off to, I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, no I’m good, I don’t want to make your trip longer.” You also had enough social interaction for today, a short walk alone wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Well Jessie’s new place is just across the street from yours, so I’ll be going that way anyway.”

Of course Jessie moved in right across the street, out of all the apartment buildings in Portland of course she found herself the closest one, besides literally being in your building.

Janine grabs hers and Jessie’s drinks and you both walk back to her car. The two of you chat again, complaining about the weather and how it couldn’t make up its mind if it’s was winter or spring yet. You both coo over a dog walking down the street and for a second the conversation is light, it feels normal again. Until Janine brings up Jessie again.

“Hey, would you mind if I give Jess your number? I just figured I’d maybe be nice, you guys live across the street from each other, if she needed anything while she’s still moving in, store or food recommendations, you could help.”

You wanted to say no. But the girl was going to end up with your number anyway, you had to be teammates, you’d have to be cordial with her, you couldn’t let your own pride be a problem for the team.

“Yeah, that’s fine I guess.” Your mood deflated, the words coming out of your mouth with a heavy sigh at the end, making it obvious you weren’t thrilled about the suggestion for her to have your number.

“Are you alright? You’ve seemed weird all day. Is it because of Jessie?”

“Why would it be because of her?” You ask, knowing damn well that your behavior was exactly her fault.

“I don’t know, just when she gets brought up, you seem to get annoyed.”

“No I don’t.” Your answer is quick, you get defensive. Unfortunately your defensive behavior likely tells Janine that it is in fact Jessie who’s on your nerves.

“Oh, I know what it is!” She slaps her hand over to your thigh, giving you a small smack.

“What?”

“You’re worried I’m going to start doing things with Jessie instead of you! You’re jealous!” Her tone is playful, she’s teasing you.

“I’m not jealous.” You cross your arms in the passenger seat, pouring like a toddler.

“Good, but if you were, you have no reason to be, yes she’s my friend, but so are you, our coffee dates will still go on, we’ll still hang out, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.” You say as Janine pulls up in front of your building. You climb out of the car, thanking her for the ride.

“You’re welcome, I'll always love you, she’ll never come between us!” She yells out the window making a slightly embarrassing scene, bypassers not knowing the joke she’s making. You turn back, shaking your head at her as you laugh.

“Love ya Janine, bye.” You wave at her and enter your building.

You get inside and go about the rest of your day, laundry, cleaning, a rather mundane but somewhat relaxing evening.

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that you receive two messages from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hi, this is Jessie, Janine gave me your number. She said you lived in the area.

Unknown: Sorry, Jessie Fleming, I should’ve clarified. Don’t feel obligated to text me, just Janine insisted I reach out.

You ignore the messages, you have a quick thought of blocking her number, but you know that’s not realistic. You’d have to see her in a few days and be her teammate you can’t block her phone. At least the girl gave you the permission to ignore her.

So that’s what you did. You closed your phone, putting it on silent and snuggled into bed, putting on whatever was showing on National Geographic at this hour and falling asleep shortly after.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming blurb

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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

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An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Chapter One Chapter Two

Summary: Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed. Warnings: swearing, drug use, smut, angst, violence, temper tantrums, all the usual.

Chapter Three: Good Little Girl The tour continues and Chancy continues to enjoy, fret and marvel at the ride. Surprisingly fluffy (for me) with a bit of smut. I have been so overwhelmed by the response to my little comfort blanket of a story. Thank you to everyone who has liked, messaged, reblogged, or even just read it! You make my day brighter! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yet another airport, and Chancy had already forgotten the name of the city when she entwined her fingers with Elvis’ and gave them a squeeze as the plane taxied up the runway ready for take-off. She marvelled at how he and the rest of the band and crew coped with touring, particularly the one-nighters where they landed, slept, performed and left before their bodies could even register that they had stopped.

The world outside the windows of planes, cars and hotels could get very blurry, distorted and unreal. The only thing that seemed to be in focus was what was right in front of you. For Chancy, that was Elvis. She wondered what it was for him.

It was a short flight that they spent making out in the bedroom suite at the back of the plane. Chancy had no doubt that some of the guys were already muttering about how much of Elvis’s time she was monopolising, as if anyone but Elvis could be blamed for what he did.

As the plane began its descent, they returned to the Star Trek seats and Chancy held out her hand before Elvis had to reach for it. He met her eyes and looked so grateful that she had to swallow a lump from her throat.

“I should’ve gone to the bathroom before,” she said to make conversation and keep him distracted. “Put myself back to rights. I must look just like I’ve been rolling around on a bed for a couple of hours.”

“A little,” he admitted with a crooked, boyish smile. “You’re getting those curls back. Boy, I missed ‘em.” He reached across with his free hand and tugged at a ringlet by her ear.

“Well, I don’t miss being called Slinky Head and Shirley Temple,” she returned, poking the curl behind her ear. He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh as his eyes twinkled.

“Yeah, you can laugh because that was mainly you,” she snapped with no real fire. “And you know that once you call someone a name it just sticks like glue.”

“Sweet darlin’ Slinky Head,” he cooed, his voice quivering before he burst into loud laughter. She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop herself from beaming. It’s all her face wanted to do.

When they emerged from the plane, it was dark and raining and the pressure on Chancy’s brow told her that there was a thunderstorm on the way, but there were still a couple of dozen people standing at the fence. Elvis gave them a wave before he climbed into the waiting limo.

At the hotel, Chancy followed them all into Elvis’s suite, which was prepared and set up the way he liked it: dark, cold and cave-like.

Red was explaining where the venue was, how big it was, what the stage looked like, all things that held importance to people who weren’t Chancy. She thought she would take the opportunity to slip out and find Jerry to get her room key and her things. The little fresh air she had got stepping into and out of cars had reminded her that she had barely any sleep the night before and she was beginning to feel heavy and slow.

Jerry was in his usual place in the hallway, admonishing Ricky that mini bars were for people who paid for their own goddamn hotel rooms and were over twenty-one.

“This isn’t a damn frat house!” he called as Ricky rushed past with luggage.

“You might want to get that made up as a pamphlet,” Chancy remarked. “Especially for the older guys.”

“Oh hey, Chancy,” he said, turning. “What can I do for you?”

“Just getting my key,” she sighed. Jerry blinked the longest blink a person had ever taken.

“Uh, I- I don’t have a key for you. I was told you’re staying with- you’re with the Boss.”

Chancy blinked too, because all the thoughts and emotions rushed her at once and she couldn’t quite cope with them and less important functions like opening her eyes at the same time.

“No, there’s been some kind of mistake,” she said with a smile, the panic hiding behind her teeth. “I need a room, Jerry.”

“Uh…” He smiled too automatically and handed off a key to one of the guys walking past with a shoulder full of suits in drycleaning bags. “I can look into it for you.”

His words were a promise, but his tone was a refusal. She was about to fight the futility and press harder when Sonny appeared at her shoulder.

“Hey, why’d you leave? Boss wants you.”

Chancy looked between the two men and heaved a sigh, before biting her lip and following Sonny back to Elvis’s room.

The rest of the guys had cleared out and Elvis was kneeling by the television, flicking through the channels. She couldn’t even see what the picture was before he flicked to the next one.

“Where’d you go, lil’ Slinky head?” he asked over his shoulder. Despite the words, his tone was not playful.

“I went to turn back time to before I reminded you about that stupid nickname,” she replied, stopping at the end of the sofa.

“I’m only fooling around,” he replied. “You gotta stop this sneaking off though, baby. Every time I turn around you’re gone. Like a damn ghost.”

“Sorry, I thought you were busy, so I-”

“I was busy, but busy don’t mean I don’t want you here with me. C’mon and sit down next to me.” He held out a hand to her and she took it, perching beside him as they both sat on the sofa.

“Elvis, I was just speaking to Jerry and he said I don’t have a room.”

“Sure you have a room.” He lifted his arm to encompass everything around them.

“I meant a room of my own.”

“Well, it’s just that it’s kind of silly, ain’t it, having two rooms? We gonna keep going back and forth all the time? Might as well just have the one.” His eyes were fixed on the television and his voice was a little too casual.

“That seems like a decision that I should’ve had some say in,” she murmured, torn between wanting to keep him happy and not wanting to lay down and be steamrollered. She had seen that happen to too many too many times before.

“You know how that would’ve gone, Cha-Cha. You’d have thought about it and thought about it and gone round in little circles, trying to be a good girl, and we both know how it would’ve ended up. We’re supposed to be together, honey.” He sighed and stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom, you gonna be here when I get back or do I have to make you come with me?” She glared up at him. “I’m only kidding, relax.” He bopped her on the nose with his finger as he passed by and she seethed.

The childish part of her wanted to skip out, go find Sandi and Charlie and let him come out to an empty room to show him what she thought about his controlling ways. It would be satisfying for a sweet minute until she had to face the consequences of the stunt. And, as always, she had to consider the show that would be happening in a few hours. She wasn’t going to be the reason thousands of people came to see a show where Elvis was off his game.

Before he could return, the door to the room opened at the same time as someone tapped on it, which seemed to be the wrong order of events to Chancy. She hadn’t even considered how everyone and their neighbour had access to Elvis’s room and this sudden realisation heated up her thoughts until they were broiling.

“E ordered dinner,” said Lamar, glancing round the room as he wheeled in the trolley. She nodded towards the bathroom, which satisfied him.

Well-trained, she addressed the trolley, setting out the condiments and glasses and cutlery on the coffee table. There were several different covered plates, she lifted the covers to find the usual bacon, fried potatoes, sweet rolls, black-eyes peas, and so on. She wondered how they managed to rustle up these kinds of meals in the middle of the Midwest.

“Finally!” said Elvis behind her. “I’m starving.” She didn’t respond.

When he came round the sofa, he was wearing pyjamas and a robe. He dropped down next to her on the sofa, close enough that his arm brushed hers as they both reached for the plates. She noted with a humourless smile that she had the exact same meal as his, just a quarter of the size.

Elvis was trying to be sweet, pouring her a drink and getting her a blanket from the bed because he knew that his preferred room temperature was another person’s idea of a trip to the Arctic Circle.

Chancy was less sweet, but still trying, thanking him for his thoughtfulness. It was like a new play where the cast hadn’t memorised the lines yet and the director was wondering whether it would ever make it to opening night.

It also didn’t help that one of the main leads had no idea he was supposed to be performing altogether. Elvis always ate like his house was on fire and he needed to finish his meal before he called for help, but he was usually neat and well-mannered about it. Chancy shifted slightly in her seat as his elbow collided with hers for the third or fourth time.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled, going to put his hand on her knee, but missing the first time around.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, just a little tired.” He shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, but this didn’t seem to help as he reached out for his drink and knocked it over.

“Shit, motherfucking glass got a mind of its own.”

Chancy jumped up and grabbed a handful of paper napkins, dabbing up the puddle before it dripped onto the carpet.

“Leave it, baby, leave it. Someone… I’ll get someone to…” He tried to rise, but only managed to lurch back onto the sofa.

“It’s fine. Orange juice stains if you don’t get to it quick,” she said, wondering even as she spoke why she was bothering. Even clear-headed, Elvis Presley did not have to worry about stains.

With a grim sinking sensation in her gut, she finished mopping up the mess and started collecting the plates and other items, putting them back on the trolley. Behind her, Elvis was still and quiet and, though she didn’t have the courage to check, she thought he might have fallen asleep.

The coffee table cleared, she dared a look over her shoulder to find him watching her, his head resting tilted against the back of the sofa, and a sweet, loving smile on his face.

“You about done there, Mommy?” he remarked with a hiccupping laugh. She wanted to be mad at him, to convey how much he was scaring at her with his pill-taking and unpredictability, but how could she do that when he was looking at her like that? “You wanna help put your baby to bed?”

With a groan, Elvis heaved himself up and Chancy provided the counterbalance to keep him on his feet. He didn’t let go of her hand when he threw his arm around her shoulders, almost throttling her with the crook of her own elbow. Somehow, they made it across to the bed, no thanks to Elvis, who was nuzzling her face and hair. She could feel sweat trickling down her spine as they collapsed together onto the mattress.

“Whoa, you’re strong, Cha-Cha! I didn’t know you were so strong,” Elvis mumbled in a small, breathless voice.

“I’m a farm girl, remember,” she replied, rolling free and taking in a deep breath.

Elvis reached across and dragged her back towards him, saying something she couldn’t make out. Within seconds, he was asleep, snoring quietly into her ear, smothering her like a blanket.

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The next thing she knew, she was being jarred from perfect, black silence by someone gripping her hip and rocking her roughly.

“C’mon, baby, time to get up!”

Chancy inhaled sharply, disorientated, and not entirely convinced that she wasn’t falling from something. Her squinting, gritty eyes took in Elvis as he moved around the room, humming to himself.

“What time is it?” she croaked, clearing her throat. The ache in her limbs led her to believe that she hadn’t slept very long, but seeing him so energetic and alert didn’t make sense.

“Nearly five, I think,” he replied. He climbed up onto the bed behind her, sliding in to spoon her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and licked her dry lips.

“Still tired, baby?” His voice in her ear sent tingles down to her core, but they were muted by her exhaustion. If she had been asked to choose between him and sleep right then, she wasn’t sure what her answer would be.

“Hmm, a little,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his arm.

“You want me to give you something to help?” It took her a moment to realise what he was asking, and as she did she also understood how he had regained his energy.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, dragging herself up and out of his arms. His voice was studiedly casual as he replied:

“Okay, well, you let me know if you change your mind.”

Chancy surveyed the room, noting that the food trolley from earlier was gone, which suggested that other people had been in the room while she was out. She really didn’t feel comfortable about that, but it was a fact of life for Elvis and she had never had cause to really think about it before. She started as he came to her side, eyes fixed on her in a way that most women would have found overwhelming.

“After the show tonight,” he said gently, “we’re gonna have a proper talk, you and me.” She was nodding along with him, her arms wrapped around herself. “But, until then, honey, I need you to go get ready. This place is going to be full of guys in a matter of minutes and I ain’t having any of them catching sight of anything that’s meant only for me.” He slid his finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that he could plant a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips.

Before he had even stepped back, she surged forward, burying her face in his neck. He was so warm and all-encompassing; heart enough for both of them indeed.

“C’mon now,” he murmured, his voice lighter, she could hear his smile. “You’re fixing to get me all revved up before I gotta work.”

Chancy took the world’s fastest shower, which was so out of character she half-expected some sort of award ceremony when she emerged from the bathroom.

Elvis hadn’t been exaggerating, the room was a swarm of activity with guys bringing in plastic covered suits for him to choose from, his hairdresser setting up in one corner, and Charlie running over the set list in case Elvis wanted to add in something new that they needed to prepare.

“Hey CC,” Jerry said. “I got the room next door, and it’s all ready for you to… do whatever.” Which was at least a friendly way to be told to get out, she reflected. She nodded and grabbed her make-up and hairdryer, walking to the door.

At the last minute, she glanced over her shoulder at Elvis. His back to her, he was studying two of his suits as Ricky held them up helpfully. She thought back to his words earlier about her disappearing and wondered whether he would consider this one of those times. Better safe than sorry.

“You always look so amazing in dark blue,” she murmured into the back of his shoulder. He half-turned, his face lit up by a boyish little smile and his eyebrow raised. “I’m going next door while the magic happens.” She tugged a little on his arm until he leant down enough for her to kiss his cheek, simultaneously giving his ass a little pinch.

As she returned to collect her things from Jerry, who was tempering his grin, she heard Elvis say:

“Well, c’mon then, you heard the lady!”

In Jerry’s sparse bathroom, Chancy smiled at her reflection, but did not really see it. Instead, she was seeing Elvis’s face as she left and the pleasure she knew that she had put there. It was an empowering feeling. Then, sighing, she focussed on the person standing in front of her. She looked pale and drawn, the brown of her eyes blending into the dark shadows underneath. Sighing, she opened her make-up bag and began to apply the layers.

At the first sight of Elvis clad in his midnight blue stage suit, Chancy’s stomach did a little flip. It was tight around the middle like most of his clothes at the moment, but the colour complemented his dark hair and pale skin beautifully, and made his eyes glow blue.

“I’m a genius,” she reflected, walking over to where he was shuffling his feet nervously. “You look so good, honey.”

“Hmm, thank you, darlin’, so do you.” He grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a kiss, but his eyes were everywhere except on her. She could feel the tension thrumming inside him. His hair was already damp with sweat and it was glistening on his chest. She watched him gulp down the water that Jerry handed him and realised that she had not had anything to drink since she had woken. It occurred to her that she was desperately thirsty, but when she went to walk across to the dining table where there was a case of bottled water, Elvis grabbed her wrist so fast she thought she was being mugged.

“Where you goin’?”

“To get some water. I’m thirsty.” She winced at her tone, hearing the irritation clearly, and several of the guys had too from the suddenly blank expressions on their faces. Luckily, Elvis was far too distracted to hear tone and he just offered her his bottle.

In the car, Chancy made the most of the dark to close her aching eyes. She was careful to not actually drift off, even though Elvis and the rest of the guys decided to launch into some sweet gospel to warm up on the way over. At one point, Elvis reached over to take the new bottle of water she had swiped off the hotel room table before leaving and she started, caught out.

“Think we bored Cha-Cha to sleep, fellas,” he observed, drinking her water.

“I was listening!” she protested.

“Just resting your eyes, right?” Joe teased. She made a very loud snoring noise in response.

“Sorry, Joe, what was that?” They snickered and Chancy felt Elvis slide his hand between her thighs. She immediately clamped them together, gritting her teeth as his oversized rings jabbed into the soft skin.

“Ow, goddamn bear trap!” he hissed in her ear playfully. “I was just trying to keep you awake.”

“Oh, I’m very much awake, sweetheart,” she replied. She squeezed harder.

“Shit, Cha-Cha! I gotta play the guitar in a minute!” he yelped. In a panic, she relaxed her legs, only for him to immediately slip his hand higher, his fingertips brushing the front of her underwear as he cackled. The bottle of water disappeared as she grabbed at his arm, elbowing Joe in the ribs on the other side of her in the process.

“What in the hell is going on back there?!” Lamar queried as Joe groaned, Chancy shrieked and Elvis just laughed harder.

“Big surprise, Crazy is acting crazy,” Chancy grumbled, tugging down her skirt.

“Right, that’s it!” Elvis bellowed, turning and grabbing her from so many different angles in so many places she was convinced he had grown extra arms.

“Damn it, let me out! I’ll just walk!” Joe cried.

“We’re coming up on the entrance,” Lamar called as a warning.

Chancy tried to hold in her sigh of relief. She knew that when Elvis was hyped up like this, there was no telling what he could do, or what crazy idea might cross his over-stimulated mind. It didn’t pay to be the focus of his attention at times like that.

“This ain’t over,” he mumbled in her ear, settling himself back into the seat and spreading his hand over her knee. She tried to keep her face pleasant as the flashbulbs started to go off, besieging the interior of the car with light. Elvis lifted up a hand to wave that also somewhat shaded his eyes, ever the well-experienced professional.

At the stage door, there were about a hundred fans, along with a local news crew to capture the moment of Elvis stepping out of the car. Red, Joe, Dick, and Sonny crowded in to make sure no one got too close or too handsy, their ever-vigilant eyes sweeping the huddle of mainly women from early teens to late thirties, looking for dark assailants.

Chancy climbed out after the main attraction, smiling at no one in particular. Lamar had his hand underneath her elbow, trying to guide her without really putting hands on her. It was such a pantomime that she wanted to roll her eyes, but her role required her to be happy yet unseen.

“You look beautiful!” Chancy turned in the direction of the voice just behind her shoulder. A lady with large green eyes and cropped red hair was smiling right at her. “I love your hair.”

“Thank you,” she replied bashfully, “but you’re the one who’s beautiful, your eyes are stunning!”

“Are you Elvis’ girlfriend?” another woman called out.

“Uh.” Chancy glanced at Lamar, who had his face turned away like a damned coward and then towards Elvis himself, who was signing a record sleeve further up the line.

“Don’t we all wish we were?” she replied to the crowd, who seemed to collectively groan and sigh in agreement. She couldn’t help laughing to herself as Lamar got her into the building without further incident.

“Good answer,” he remarked with a look that almost seemed impressed.

“I didn’t realise there would be a pop quiz!” she replied, following him into the dressing room.

“You gotta be prepared for anything.” Like he was telling her something she didn’t know.

“It’s different now,” she reflected. “Back when… When he was first starting out the fans could be kind of mean. They’d say some really hateful things to any girls that were around. They could be vicious.”

“Oh believe me, they can still be vicious,” Lamar intoned, rolling his eyes. “We’ve all got the scars to prove it.”

“Hmm,” Chancy answered, still marvelling on it.

Elvis and the rest of the guys burst into the room in a bubble of noise and activity. He made a beeline for the bottles of soda on the table and downed one in one go, letting out a huge burp afterwards.

“Greatest sex symbol of the twentieth century right there,” Lamar quipped.

“Like you can talk!” Sonny sneered, giving Lamar a warning look of caution behind Elvis’s back.

“Hey, it’s gotta come out, man!” Elvis shot back. “Better here than out there on stage in some little girl’s face. Although, I wonder how loud I could get it with a microphone with these kind of acoustics…” Chancy shook her head, marvelling at how little men actually grew up.

“Still wish you were his girlfriend?” Lamar joked to her, clearly missing Sonny’s warning.

Elvis’s eyes sharpened and his smirk dissolved as he looked at the two of them. Lamar, trying to repair the damage, explained what had happened outside with the fans and how Elvis would have been proud of her answer.

“How’s your junk, Lamar?” he said softly, stalking slowly towards the two of them. Chancy felt like an antelope that had wandered too far from the herd and had now spotted a lion moving through the tall grass. At least she wasn’t the one that seemed to be the prey; if she had been Lamar, she would have been thinking about how to run without being caught. “Notice you ain’t limping no more. Wanna keep it that way?”

“Run, boy,” one of the guys murmured in the background. Lamar heeded their words, stammering something about heading out to check everything was okay with the lights, side stepping Elvis in a wide arc. This left Chancy in his sights and she shuffled backwards as he advanced, finding herself with her back to the literal wall.

“Nowhere to run, baby,” he observed quietly. He rushed forward and grabbed her in a bear hug, spinning at the last minute so that he crashed back against the wall with her squashed to his chest. “Got you. You’re mine now.”

“Looks like,” she agreed nonchalantly, nodding even as her heart was ramming itself against her ribs.

“That make you happy?” he asked. The change in his voice from playful to serious had her glancing behind them, but none of the guys were looking their way and they were very good at seeming as though they were deep in conversation about something important. So very well trained.

“Does it make you happy?” she countered, with a playful quirk of her eyebrow.

“Nuh uh, I asked first.”

The way his voice turned whiney and babyish in her ear had her giggling like a child herself, the sound stuttering into a gasp as he released his arms only to encircle the front of her ribs with his hands, sliding his grip down over her stomach and onto her hips.

Inhaling deeply, she let her eyes flick upwards to stare into his and lifted herself onto her toes, almost on the points, so that she could touch the tip of her nose to his. Of course, this indirectly led to her sliding upwards in his hands, leaving them clutching the widest part of her hips and her ass.

“You always make me happy,” she murmured, their lips brushing as he smiled. She was touched to see his cheeks go pink too. He kissed her, she couldn’t get enough of his kisses, his hands openly cupping her ass and holding her against him.

“That’s good,” he whispered into her lips. “That’s real good.”

“Your turn now,” she reminded him.

At which point, the stage call came and Joe cleared his throat and passed on the message. Elvis let Chancy sink slowly back down from the tips of her toes and released her, giving her a helpless shrug.

“I gotta go,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She played at being outraged, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Baby, I can’t help it!” He backed out of the room, the guys seemingly dragging him away, and she kept up the façade until he was gone.

It felt as though the minute she could no longer see him, the oxygen swept back into the room. She inhaled desperately and her thoughts cleared, the questions and worries multiplying by the second.

“You okay?”

Chancy started, having missed the fact that Jerry had stayed behind.

“Sure.” She winced at how utterly unconvincing she was at lying even using just one word.

“We should probably head out. He’ll want you out there when the show starts.”

“Mmm hmm.” She followed him out of the dressing room and along the impersonal corridor towards the door to the auditorium.

“You distracted him,” he said over his shoulder. Chancy, who always anticipated criticism but especially now, looked up warily. “From his nerves, stage fright. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him leave to go onstage.”

“That a good thing?” she volleyed quietly.

She wasn’t quite sure about Jerry. Truth be told, at the moment she wasn’t quite sure about much. She was looking at everything through funhouse mirrors, distorted and disconcerting. Looking at him, she could see her own doubts reflected, the same mistrust.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he shrugged.

The opening theme had already started when they pushed through the doors into the main hall. For a moment, Chancy reeled, blind and deaf in the booming darkness and besieged by the flashing halos from the flashbulbs burnt into her retinas. This is what Elvis experienced every time he stepped out on the stage, she realised. Love and adulation as an violent attack.

At that moment, the spotlight on the stage found its focus and an inhuman roar rose up. Chancy was almost at the soundboard, Jerry’s hand steering her shoulder like she was a skittish horse, when she felt compelled to glance up and found Elvis was striding towards her at the front of the stage on his way to acknowledge his screaming admirers in that part of the auditorium.

Cradled in that light, cocooned in the velvety blackness that was crying his name, he had never looked more right, more at home, more perfect. In just a few seconds measured in the strobing lights of camera flashes, her thoughts finally slid together like a puzzle piece had been rotated to fit.

He needed someone to be at his side to finish the tour, to warm his bed and scratch their nails through his hair to help him sleep in the fuzzy, grey dawn. She could do that; who better than her? Hadn’t everyone been saying that she knew him well, knew his moods and his preferences, knew how sensitive and how fickle he was. Who better than her to play the part for now and step aside when he found Gail’s replacement, the next girl that he had been looking for all his life? No one else could endure that intensity and then step back and away from it unscathed. She already had once before.

Back at the microphone, Elvis’s voice blasted out over the screams, the devotion and the wordless need that besieged him. The band could barely keep up. Chancy saw a couple of the female backing singers flash each other a look of appreciation, acknowledging that they were going to have fun tonight. They weren’t wrong.

It was an hour and fifteen minutes of non-stop stimulation. At one point, Elvis decided he wanted to play the piano and Chancy could see the musicians all scrambling to figure out how they were going to accompany him on a song they had never even rehearsed before.

Then he was sliding onto his knees in front of a trio of hysterical girls who had evaded security, and their ecstatic cries flooded the microphone as he kissed them, smushing all three of their faces together between his hands like they were at some sort of bacchanalian orgy.

“We’ll finish this later,” he murmured to them in the microphone, prompting one of the girls to almost leapfrog over the shoulder of the security guard who was gripping onto her for dear life, and the auditorium to erupt into laughter.

How he moved straight from this risqué comment into a gospel number with a straight face, Chancy had no idea. She watched the man, who ten minutes earlier had worn a bra thrown onto the stage as a pair of sunglasses, squeeze his eyes closed and propel his rich baritone towards heaven, beseeching it for answers. Chancy knew that both actions were true, both reflected who he was as a person, and one made the other that much more endearing.

Later, he collapsed onto the stage in an uncontrollable fit of laughter after he snatched up a pair of lurid pink panties (Honestly, half of the women in the first few rows must have been experiencing an uncomfortable draught by the end of the show.) and pinged them like a catapult in the direction of the backing singers where they caught JD the bass-singer in his perfectly coiffed grey hair.

It took Elvis a few minutes to calm down enough to continue, and then he just announced to the band that he was going to do the next song laying on the floor.

Yet, as the song started to build to the chorus, he somehow leapt up in a way that shouldn’t have been physically possible, still holding the notes. The audience started applauding and cheering before he finished the chorus, making him order the band to repeat it because he didn’t want anyone to miss anything. He seemed more than human and so exciting that no one could take their eyes off him, even the other people on stage.

Chancy didn’t want to leave when Lamar reappeared and tapped her on the shoulder. It was unfair that she had to lose out on any part of it and she envied the audience that last few minutes as she traversed the cold, dark hallway that would take them to the limo at the stage door.

“That was one damn good show,” she said as they reached the car, listening to the bass of the song reverberating in the distance. There was a group of people clutching placards being corralled by a couple of police officers a few feet away.

“Yeah, it was,” Lamar nodded. “Make sure you let him know.”

“Please, Lamar, like I need advice from you on that front.” He tilted his head, giving her that one.

“It feel weird?” he asked suddenly, glancing back up towards the door as if Elvis would burst through at any moment. “I mean, after all this time, to just pick up where you left off?”

“That’s not-“ She wanted to laugh at the idea of them picking up their tragic teen romance unchanged after so many years, but she knew that when you spoke with his friends/employees, you had to imagine that Elvis was always there, watching and listening.

For all the insanity they had witnessed and experienced in their time with Elvis, loaded up with the money and means to indulge every impulse and fantasy, all of the men, Elvis included (and probably the most of all) had some weird notions about love and relationships that remained unsullied and revered. There was a strange contrast of romanticism and pragmatism surrounding them all. Sure, there were girls on the road that you screwed, but there were also wives or girlfriends- at the same time- that you loved, and that love was utterly unaffected by the other.

Chancy felt a kind of condescending affection for Lamar that she was obviously firmly ensconced in his head as the second kind of girl. It was pointless and self-defeating to try and convince him otherwise.

“It doesn’t feel weird,” she said instead. He mused over this, his brows knotted in thought.

“I guess,” he reflected, “it’s not like it ever really ended. Not really.”

Chancy gathered up the oxygen to address this, because it infuriated her the longer that she heard it echo in her head. The hardest decision that she ever had to make in her life hadn’t actually really happened? His marriage to a beautiful woman and their child hadn’t really happened? Chancy’s relationships, her achievements, her independence, again, hadn’t really happened? How dare he?!

The stage door flew open and a blur of people crashed through it. They had missed the end of the song as well as the ungodly bellowing that followed and were caught completely unaware. Chancy felt hands grab and bundle her into the car after Elvis and she barely had time to right herself before Joe was shoving in behind her and the doors were all banging shut one after the other.

Ricky, who was sitting in the bucket seat in front of them, handed Elvis a towel as soon as he had waved and smiled at his cadre of well-wishers out the window and he awkwardly wrapped it around his neck, struggling to catch his breath as the car shot out of the narrow alley and into the vast parking lot.

There were police officers on motorcyles ahead of them with their lights and sirens going to ensure that they got out of the parking lot before the gridlock of concertgoers started.

“Great show, man,” Sonny was saying gently, repeating it until Elvis finally tuned into the present and nodded wearily in acknowledgement. Chancy looked at Ricky desperately trying to balance a cup of water until Elvis was ready for it and took pity on him. She leant forward and took it; from the consternation on his face at this change to routine, she wondered for a moment if he would fight her for it.

“Here, drink this, baby,” she murmured, holding it in front of Elvis until he finally lifted his head from where he had let it drop back against the back of the seat.

“Thank you, M- darlin’,” he murmured, catching himself, but his lips tilted into a faint, embarrassed smile anyway. He twisted in the seat, she caught the small, exhausted groan he made as he moved, and then he was leaning against her, his head resting on top of hers.

“What did you think of the show?” he asked quietly. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even turn her face with the end of the towel that was around his neck tucked between her shoulder and jaw. So, she had to make do with staring at the taillights flashing in the distance through the windscreen.

“You were utterly spellbinding,” she said in the same soft, intimate tone. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“I know, I could feel ‘em,” he replied, sliding his fingers between hers and clasping her hand.

Chancy’s back began to ache from the strain of holding them both up, but she bit her tongue. She could feel Elvis’s pulse beginning to slow towards something more normal, more human, and his breathing was finally evening out. His suit was completely soaked, they would both need to change when they got back to the hotel.

“The sound was better,” Elvis remarked suddenly in his normal voice, breaking the unnatural silence of the car. Immediately, the guys leapt upon it, agreeing emphatically.

“It sounded good, sounded really good. I guess Bruce figured it out,” Joe replied. “I’ll let him know to keep it that way.”

“The sound was fantastic. When those three little girls started squealing I think they heard it all the way in the parking lot,” Sonny said. “They should think about a career in the opera.”

“Forget the damn opera,” Red cut in. “The way they dodged and leapt over the cops, they should try out for wide receiver!”

Elvis didn’t respond, at least not verbally so that Chancy was aware, but he gave her hand a little squeeze and continued to sip at his water as they drew closer to the hotel.

It was relief to get out of the limo back at the hotel. There were only a few diehard fans still lingering around the service entrance and they got through the kitchens and into the elevator without incident.

On their floor, the crew began to peel away. Joe went to call the Colonel and check on arrangements for the show the following night. Red said that he wanted to call home and catch his kids before they went to bed. When they got to the door of the hotel room, Chancy wondered whether she was supposed to go back to Jerry’s room, but Elvis’s grip on her hand was unquestionable.

The room was still lit up the way they had left it earlier in the evening. Chancy went to get a drink from the mini bar fridge, but Ricky was already there, obviously harbouring resentment about the water in the car. He opened the water bottle and put it on the nightstand as Elvis wearily sank down on the side of the bed with a sigh.

There was a routine, as there was for everything, and Chancy didn’t know her role within it, if there even was one. As she was considering this, Jerry walked into the room without announcing himself and asked what Elvis would like for dinner.

“Honey, why don’t you get comfortable on the couch,” Elvis said wearily, catching sight of her standing awkwardly by the door. “I’ll be with you as soon as we wrestle this damn suit off.”

Glad to be given an instruction, something- anything- to do, she stepped hastily across to the living area and perched on the couch. This felt just as uncomfortable as standing to attention by the door, so she went over and started to flick through the channels.

Behind her, she could hear Ricky and Elvis talking in low voices. Her chest clenched when she heard Elvis grunt as if pained and she had to hold herself steady to stop herself from turning to check on him, to help. He was trusting her enough to be there, to witness his vulnerability, she didn’t want to betray that.

Searching the channels, her eyes lit up at a familiar face. It was one of Elvis’s movies from the mid sixties, all Technicolor and gorgeous locations. The sound was down low enough that she couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but it still amused her that there were people all over the state watching this and she had the real article right in the same room.

Chancy glanced up as Ricky walked past her on the left, heading for the door with the suit hanging over his arm. She flashed him her brightest smile, trying to make up for upsetting him earlier in the evening. She found it quite adorable that he obviously took his job and his duties so seriously. She must have been forgiven because he beamed back and promptly walked into the closed door.

“Oh my goodness, Ricky, are you okay?” She jumped up from the sofa, but he scrambled at the handle and was gone before she could reach him.

“Leave the poor kid alone!” Elvis ordered, his voice full of sympathy for Ricky. Chancy looked over to where he was standing by the doorway to the bathroom, wrapped up in a dark blue silk robe. “Man, he ain’t gonna hear the end of that for weeks!”

“But how will anyone else know-” Her frown cleared as Elvis grinned mischievously. “Oh, poor Ricky. You shouldn’t tease him, he really looks up to you.”

“It’s the way of the world, honey, gotta make a man of him. Besides, don’t want him getting too comfortable mooning over my woman.”

Before her revelation at the concert, being called his woman would have undone her and got her bones rattling and her brain whirring. Now she understood her role, she could accept that a lot of women were Elvis’s ‘woman’, it was a section of society rather than an obligation.

“I’m gonna take a shower, honey. Why don’t you get ready for bed before Jerry shows up with dinner?”

Again, she nodded and took on the task. She wasn’t being ordered around, she wasn’t ignoring her own agency to please someone else, she was performing a responsibility, a duty. It was a little like being an actress with a role. This wasn’t her.

Chancy had changed into her nightgown and robe and was smiling as she listened to Elvis singing in the shower- some goofy jingle from a tv ad- when there was a knock on the door. She waited for the person to enter, but the door stayed closed for once. Unsure of what she was supposed to do in this situation, but figuring that Elvis’s world couldn’t be that far removed from reality, she went to answer it.

“Oh, Jerry!” He was standing in the corridor with the food trolley like he worked for the hotel. “I thought you guys just came straight on in?”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I figured you might want a little more privacy.”

“Well, thank you, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Turns out it was a good thing,” he said. She frowned, not following. “The distraction. That was the best show I’ve seen in a couple of years.”

Chancy glanced towards the bathroom and then pulled the door into her hip.

“Wasn’t he amazing? I swear that every time I think I understand how talented that man is, he goes and blows my expectations out of the water.”

“I think that was kind of the point,” Jerry remarked wryly. “You are not going to be impressed just seeing him on stage, are you.”

“No, I still pretty much am,” she admitted, ignoring the implication that she had anything to do with the night’s performance.

“Well, maybe don’t tell him that.” They laughed conspiratorially.

“What are y’all whispering about?”

Chancy lurched as the door was pulled out of her hand and away from where her hip was resting on it. Elvis gave Jerry a cool stare as he rubbed his hair with a towel.

“Uh, dinner, Boss,” Jerry stammered, moving the trolley in front of himself like a barricade.

“That need a whole conversation?” Elvis snapped.

Chastened, Jerry wheeled the trolley into the room and murmured a hurried good night before closing the door behind him.

“We were talking about you,” Chancy admitted. “Gushing like a couple of lovesick fans about how amazing you were tonight.” Her face dropped as she registered his face.

“And you just had to answer the door dressed like that,” he muttered, nodding at her pale peach satin nightgown and robe. She followed his look, seeing only that she was more covered than she had been wearing her dress to the show.

“You told me to get ready for bed,” she returned, trying to keep her voice even.

“I also tell you to hang on the door whispering and giggling with another man in the hallway while my goddamn back was turned?”

“We were talking about you,” she repeated, gritting her teeth.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he muttered. He threw the towel he had been using for his hair towards the armchair, but it missed and landed on the floor. Chancy could feel all the warmth and giddiness she had been swimming in since the show draining as quickly as if someone had pulled the plug. Swallowing, she reached down to pick up the towel and return it to the bathroom.

“Wait.” He grabbed her shoulders, his long fingers pressing into her shoulder blades as his thumbs rested into the dips above her collar bones.

“Wait, really?” she asked wearily. “You’re stealing my lines now?”

The snort of laughter this provoked was all the sweeter since it was clearly a surprise even to him considering the mood he had gotten himself into.

“Lord, did I ever get sick of waitin’!” he intoned, sounding like a preacher starting to warm up the congregation.

Chancy tried to capitalise on this favourable mood swing by drawing in towards him, but his arms remained firm holding her shoulders.

“So, tell me,” he said in a low voice. “What were you two saying about me?”

“Well, you know Jerry, he was obviously going ga-ga over how sexy you were, but me being a distinguished music critic of good standing…”

Chancy glanced up at him slyly and was struck by his warm and amused expression; the way his heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her, lips tilted up so minutely and mouth open, utterly unself-conscious. It was a powerful feeling being the focus of his undivided attention and it chimed in her, finding an echo in so many memories that she kept close and did not examine too often because of the dissonance she usually felt between the sweet, intense boy she had once unravelled her unprepared heart for and the showman he was now, always giving a performance no matter the size of the audience. She could see him clearly now, her first love, and the unexpected recognition hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her chest.

“You okay?” he asked, frowning slightly. “Honey, why’d you stop?”

“Uh sorry, I just… had the strangest feeling...” His hands slid over her shoulders and down to her wrists, his fingers encircling them loosely like heavy bangles. “You know, I was so mad when Lamar came to take me to the car at the end of the show because I wanted to stay and gaze at you some more, I didn’t want to miss anything. You’d think after all the times I’ve seen you on stage that I’d stop being so overwhelmed by your gifts, but somehow you just get better and better in ways I can’t predict or understand.”

“You practised that beforehand,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “No way that came off the cuff.”

“Like with cue cards?” she asked, giggling. “I am nowhere near talented enough to predict anything you might do or say to me, let alone think about how I’d respond!”

“You’re so damn good with words,” he commented, shaking his head. “Thank you, darlin’, that was beautiful and real sweet.”

Chancy thought that she had managed it, changed the course of the evening and steered them away from stormy weather. She thought it, but found out when she tried to take a step in towards him and his grip tightened on her wrists. She accepted that he was not going to let her ‘get away with it’ and decided to give in sooner rather than later.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” she found herself saying and hated herself. “I wasn’t thinking, I was just excited to talk about the show with someone.” She felt his fingers graze the side of her palms as he finally released her, but there was no other response. She took a contrite step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling into his side. “Let’s have dinner, huh, baby, before it gets cold?” He made no move to return her affection or even move until she released him, then he trailed her to the couch.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Chancy glanced up from the trolley she had been unloading and followed his disgusted gaze to the television, where the other him was currently singing a love song to a beautiful bikini clad woman. Chancy snorted, biting on her lip as his eyes flicked to her.

“Oh I, uh, missed you while you were taking a shower?” she offered in answer to the question in his raised eyebrow.

“You are really pushing me, woman,” he said in a soft voice, gritting his teeth. He changed the channel, muttering, “Get lost, fool.”

“Now I’ll never know how it ends,” she sighed, passing him his plate.

“It ends the same way they all ended, darlin’, a big shoot-out and every motherfucker dies ‘cept the dog.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that was in the theatrical release. Hate to tell you but they might have cut that scene.”

“Aw shit, that was the best part.”

Chancy asked if he wanted her to cut up his steak and he passed over his plate wordlessly. While he waited, he poured her iced tea and reached over to scoop the onions from her steak onto his plate. If only everything was easy as eating, she reflected with a wry smile.

“You spoken to your sister?” he asked once they had started to dig in. Chancy glanced back from the television where a reporter was broadcasting from what looked like some kind of county fair.

“Um, not for a couple of days, I think. It’s really hard to keep track of the days, isn’t it.”

“There are days?” he replied sardonically. She half-smiled and went back to stirring the food on her plate. Her stomach was not fooled by her thinking of the meal as dinner. It knew that it was past midnight and it was firmly informing her that it was now off the clock and not prepared to receive anything until morning.

“So, she don’t know about-?“ He wiggled his index finger between the two of them. “You ain’t told her?” If her appetite had been miniscule before, it evaporated then. She reached for her iced tea to wet her suddenly cotton-dry mouth and studiously avoided looking at him.

“Um, it’s like you said before, I don’t even know what this is myself. I wouldn’t know what to say.” He finished his mouthful and put his empty plate to one side before turning towards her. She gripped her own like it was a shield and her whipped potato an army ready to defend her.

“You done?” She reluctantly nodded and he took her shield away.

When he turned to her again, she could see the same anxiety she was feeling reflected in him. His jaw was clenched, the muscle flickering, nostrils flaring and his eyes gazing just off her left knee. In a way, that made her feel more at ease because she didn’t feel like she was the only one being towed into the unknown by a strong current.

“It’s okay,” she said, finally gripping her nerve. “You don’t have to try and explain it.” His eyes focussed on her. “I know you can’t just go out and meet someone like a regular person, especially not on tour. It doesn’t have to be… You don’t have to pretend with me that it’s any more than it is, you don’t have to waste time acclimatising me to this whole situation. We can spend time together without it being a big production. I don’t have any expectations and I won’t make any demands of you-“

“Darlin’, I’m gonna stop you there,” he said abruptly, talking faster than normal. “First of all, it is beyond easy for me to get a chick anywhere. I could go downstairs and turn around and come straight back up here with a girl, don’t you worry about that.”

Chancy chewed on her lips to stop herself from smirking. It was so like Elvis to listen to her awkward, heartfelt speech and hear only a need to defend his sex appeal.

“Second of all, woman, how can you spend so much time thinking and watching a-a-and still end up so damn wrong?!” Her smirk dissolved into bemusement. “You think I want you with me because it’s easier?! Cha-Cha, this whole thing has me scared to fucking death.”

His voice cracked and it felt as though someone cold-cocked her in the diaphragm. She opened her mouth to ask why it was happening then, but he shook his head and put his fingertips over her lips.

“Let me talk, goddamn it!”

So, she waited, but he didn’t continue, just stared in frustration at the hand he had pressed to her mouth.

“I ain’t much for thinking when it comes to what I want,” he blurted finally, when she had been about to pull his hand away. “I- I know I get led by my… feelings. Mama’d always scold me for it and I never learned my lesson but with you. Lord, the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you and stopped myself because I knew how badly it could upset everything.” She asked a question that was entirely muffled by the hand over her lips. He reluctantly dropped it.

“What changed?” she said again.

“I don’t know,” he returned edgily. “I guess this time I felt that you would kiss me back, but, shit, it was touch and go for a second there, weren’t it?” She laughed and covered her face, feeling her cheeks scalding her palms. “Hey, I’m the one pouring his heart out here, ain’t no reason for you to be embarrassed!”

Chancy let her hands drop.

“You’re kinda good with words too, you know,” she observed.

“Would’ve probably been more romantic without all the cussing though, huh,” he observed with his small, natural smile.

“Nope, I wouldn’t have believed it came from you,” she replied, dipping her head, embarrassed by how much her cheeks seemed to be throbbing neon.

In response, he leant forward and cradled her jaw in his hands, enveloping her in a kiss that seemed to keep deepening until he was stealing the breath from her. Her hands couldn’t settle on what to touch, gripping his shoulders, encircling his neck, rubbing down his biceps. So much territory for her to rediscover that it was a little overwhelming.

As for what he had said, she refused to delve into that, because she knew that he was good at telling people what he thought they wanted to hear. That was the source of his infamous ‘where have you been, I’ve been searching for you all my life’ come-on that he had apparently refined and reused throughout the years.

It was the secret of his popularity, both in terms of his career and with the people around him. He figured you out and then he offered you some of what you needed, just enough to keep you hanging around for more.

Of course, Chancy’s traitorous brain was questioning why, if it was all a strategy, he had fed her the line about wanting her over the years when he had admitted in the same breath that he knew she had not wanted the same. She could not answer that, but then Elvis had mastered people the way that some people master chess. It was possible that he was just several moves ahead of her.

Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he pulled back from where his lips were tickling and nuzzling her neck and his eyes narrowed. She panicked momentarily that she had spoken them out loud.

“I swear that I’m gonna figure out how to switch that brain of yours off, honey, or turn down the volume at least. I can hear the goddamn buzzing going on in there.”

“Hey, I was just thinking that this would be even better on the bed,” she replied. So, they decided to get ready for bed and she cleaned up after their meal while he used the bathroom.

Opening the door, she wheeled the trolley out into the hallway. Forgetting where she was, she almost screamed when she found Red sitting outside her room cleaning one of his guns. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and gave him a taut smile, not wanting a repeat of the situation with Jerry. Red noted the lack of conversation with a frown; she was not exactly known to be the shy, retiring type after all.

“Hey, kid, you al-“

Chancy closed the door quickly and threw herself at the bed as the bathroom door opened. She hurried round Elvis as he came out because she knew his eyes saw everything and she was too tired to explain why she was looking guilty for taking out the dinner trolley.

By the time she had brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face, and silently screamed at her reflection for a couple of minutes, Elvis had turned out most of the lights in the room apart from a desk lamp on the far side. The TV was off, but the radio was playing ‘Cry to Me’ by Solomon Burke.

As she padded across the room to the bed, she was hit by a memory of dancing to the song in a bar. The recollection was so strong it passed through her like a wave, making her falter as she climbed onto the bed.

Elvis was lying in bed with one hand behind his head. He smiled at her as she primly folded back the blankets to climb in next to him and outright laughed when she settled herself down about two feet away from him with her arms very demurely tucked into her sides on the outside of the blankets.

“Were you always this weird?” he asked, reaching under the covers, grabbing one of her arms and legs and dragging her sharply across to him.

“Says the guy throwing me around like a caveman,” she retorted, glad that the low lighting was hiding her blushes.

“How long were you freaking out in there before you got up the courage to come on out?” he asked with irritating insight.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, clambering onto her hands and knees, and laying her palms on either side of his face. It was very difficult to kiss someone when they were laughing at you, as Chancy soon discovered.

“Stop it!” she whined. “Right, that’s it!” She feigned climbing back out of the bed and he reached up and grabbed her by the waist, yanking her back down and rolling on top of her.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he informed her, all humour gone from his face. Although he was supporting himself with his hands, his remaining weight pinned her to the bed and she had a very real sense of being trapped. She stared at him above her, his face wreathed in shadow and his dark hair hanging down, and shuddered as her nerves all started firing at once.

As he brought his head down so that he could brush his pillowy lips against hers, she could feel his arms beginning to tremble. So, she reached up and hooked her arms up behind his, her hands settling on his shoulders, and pulled him in.

“Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbled into her mouth.

In answer, she tugged again and then pushed up against his lips, whispering his name along with a desperate sounding ‘please’.

“Oh God,” he groaned, lowering himself onto her at the same time as his groin ground against her. “Honey, you’re gonna be the death of us both.” She smiled as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, breathing heavy through his nose at being pressed so tightly against her.

As the minutes passed, Chancy’s thoughts and awareness shrank until they encompassed only the bed and the bodies upon it. Her skin was burning, covered not only by Elvis’s weighty and fiercely hot frame, but also the blankets over him. She dragged her lower lip along his jaw and pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck, licking at the salt collecting there. This earnt her another roll of his hips and sharp hiss through his teeth. The lapping turned into sucking and tentatively she closed her teeth against his skin. He grunted as he pulled back, pushing himself up on one elbow, which had the effect of nudging the firm bulge of him into the crease of her inner thigh. She wanted to squirm to position him more favourably, but he took hold of her chin.

“No biting,” he growled in a low voice. “I ain’t getting up in front of fifteen thousand people with hickeys like I’m nineteen!”

“No biting where anyone else can see,” she gasped. “Got you.”

In response, he smothered her with a breathy, hot kiss, his tongue ploughing into her mouth, choking off her moan. He had finally positioned his hips exactly where she needed them and she thrusted against him, wrapping her leg over his hip when he pulled back.

“Goddamn, you’re feisty!” he panted, running his hand from her foot, the heel of which was nudging into his ass, and all the way along to her hip, managing to get hold of it despite all her wriggling. She whined as he pinned her down, forcefully putting a stop to her rutting against him.

“I think we’re a little unclear on who’s in charge here,” he said hoarsely, shoving himself back onto his knees. “Jesus, it’s like being in a damn oven.”

He threw the blankets to one side and the cool air came surging in, sweeping across Chancy’s skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She looked down, baffled at how they were both still fully clothed in their nightwear when she had been edging temptingly close to pleasure. She shivered as the sweat on her skin began to cool and sat up, reaching for him and his warmth.

“Now, see, this is what I’m talking about,” he muttered, sounding irritated. “You got too accustomed to being in charge, honey. You forgot who the boss is around here.” She shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“You don’t want me to want you?” she asked in a half whisper.

“Baby, of course I do. I- I- It’s just… Good little girls let their man set the pace. They’re not so damn pushy.” He might as well have poured a glass of cold water over her. She drew her knees into her chest and folded her arms around her legs.

“Well, maybe the problem is that I grew out of being a good little girl a long time ago,” she returned hotly. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears that she angrily blinked away. It had been a long day, she was exhausted, and if she had to hear about one more thing that she had done wrong…

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and she considered that it had all begun and ended in a matter of days because she dared to be enthusiastic about reaching second base with a man who had slept with hundreds, if not thousands, of women.

“No, you’ll always be my good lil girl,” he cooed softly, shuffling closer so that he could pull her tightly contorted body in between his legs. She resisted the pressure of his hands to shift her back against him, and locked her grip around her knees by clamping onto her forearms. “When you’re not being a stubborn lil brat, that is.”

“I’m not either of those things,” she insisted in a low voice into her kneecap where she was pressing her mouth.

“Sure you’re not,” he murmured, not even trying to hide his amusement. He gave up trying to draw her into him and instead moved round so that he was facing her. His hands were deliciously warm as they rubbed up and down her chilled arms and when he added his hot breath as he kissed each of her knuckles, she couldn’t help but release her grip.

Like he was positioning a doll, he lifted her arms, one at a time, and placed them at her sides. Then, he turned his attention to her legs, opening them and setting one of her feet on either side of his thighs. Holding her breath, she did nothing to adjust the hem of her nightdress, and his gaze sank down to the shadows at the apex of her legs. The room was so still, with even the radio seemingly broadcasting dead air, that she could hear his soft, shallow pants as he beheld her.

“You gonna be a good little girl for me, baby?”

Deep in the rational part of her mind, she still railed at that description. It felt wrong, whether because she felt he was sticking her on the shelf with all his young and desperate to please girlfriends, one amongst many, or because it felt like he wasn’t seeing her, not all of her, the way she was now.

“I am good,” she managed finally. After a pause, adding, “Boss.”

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he muttered, as he leant down and manoeuvred himself backwards off the bed. She shrieked when he grabbed her ankles and yanked her to him.

“You know, you could just ask me to move instead of throwing me around like a rag doll,” she snapped, nevertheless rubbing the top of her foot up and down the back of his thigh as he stood at the side of the bed.

“Could,” he agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“You just want everyone to hear me screaming.”

She caught the smirk that passed over his face as he considered this and only had a second to regret putting the idea into his head before he dipped forward and his hot mouth clamped onto her erect nipple right through the satin material. She gasped and writhed as she felt teeth and her hands flew to his hair, though she had no idea whether she wanted to pull him away or hold him there.

“We ain’t going all the way tonight, baby,” he told her, tugging down the top of her nightie and pressing a wet kiss against her areola, flicking the nipple with his tongue. “Don’t have the time to do it the way I want to.”

Chancy heard the unspoken ‘or the energy’ and felt a twinge of guilt. She had seen his exhaustion up close after the show, and her stomach had clenched with each suppressed groan and grimace he had tried to hide from her since then.

“We don’t-” she began, only for him to talk over her.

“But I’m gonna take care of this ornery streak so I can have my sweet baby back again.” He snorted. “Ornery, almost right.”

“I’m not hor-” She cut off as his mouth closed on her breast again and it became a vacuum as he sucked and swirled his tongue to deadly effect. “Ohhhhh. My God.” Her fingers flexed and she absently petted his hair, even getting off on the tickle of the fine strands against her palm. It threw him off as he smothered a laugh at being stroked like a cat.

Recovering, he turned his attention to her other breast and gave it the same treatment, his hands cradling and palming the weight of them.

With a flash of anxiety, she wondered if he was making comparisons, noting the changes since he had last seen her without clothes on. She was fairly satisfied with her body, as much as any person could be, but she knew that she no longer looked like a teenager.

Even if she had wanted to hold onto them, these fears scattered as his hands slid down her sides and fumbled with the bottom of her nightgown where it bunched at the tops of her thighs. He tugged it upwards and she lifted her hips to help, earning herself a sweet peck on her bended knee. He left the bottom of the dress tickling her ribs as he stood at the side of the bed, framed in her eyes by the v of her open, bent legs.

There was a long pause as she watched the path of his eyes from the core of her, up over her hips and ribs, her back arching as if being drawn back to his warmth, her exposed breasts still glistening from his mouth, and up to her flushed face, where her hands had slid up to her own hair, needing desperately to cling to something. She tried to categorise his expression as she watched him suck his bottom lip in between his teeth and let his gaze slip all the way back down again.

Elvis took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, tugging up the legs of his pyjama bottoms at his thighs. Before she understood what was happening, he slowly and, she thought with alarm, somewhat tentatively, sank to his knees.

“Oh honey, you don’t need-”

“Aw hush!” he snapped, his fingers wrapping around the tops of her thighs. She tensed as she felt the first breath of warm air on her sensitive skin, not at all comfortable with being spread out before him with no way of knowing what to expect. This had definitely not been part of his repertoire before and the men that she had been with since either demurred or, quite frankly, floundered when it came to oral.

Chancy bucked in surprise when she felt the flat of his tongue slide confidently up through her folds and over her clitoris, and she cringed at the squeak that she emitted.

“Watch it with them crazy legs,” he mumbled, pressing down on the inside of her knees to stop her from jack-knifing them into his head. She went to apologise, but he got straight back to work with his tongue and a series of sounds came out of her mouth instead.

Elvis didn’t let her get comfortable as he explored her, testing her response to each tactic he employed. He altered the pressure, the speed and the direction his tongue and lips took as they devoured her. It was as if he was cataloguing the sounds and twitches she made, returning to moves that got the biggest reaction just like he did on stage. Her blood felt like ice, her body tensing and tingling entirely out of her control. She tried gripping hold of the sheets, but the silk just slipped through her fingers. She tangled them in her hair, but she was scared that she was going to start pulling it out as she became more undone, more frantic. When he slid his fingers deep into her warmth, she threw back her head and cried out his name, her muscles squeezing onto him, finally having something to hold onto.

Chancy felt caught in an ever-intensifying loop, the pressure and crackles of electricity cascading up from the arches of her feet, through the inside of her legs, and forever building in the centre of her.

With each moan and plea she heard coming from her own mouth and her almost pained panting, it turned up the dial and took her further and further towards mindlessness, just as Elvis was lapping at the centre of her. The sloppy sound of his fingers plunging in and out of her combined with his unexpectedly boyish moans and mumbling finally lifted her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes closed as fluorescent fireworks exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Her entire body was wracked with muscle contractions as if she was being electrocuted by pleasure. She had no idea what she was saying, but she could hear her voice crying out as if from far away.

It took a moment for her to return to herself, to feel the cold air, to notice the tears sliding from the corner of her eyes into the shell of her ears, and hear her breath as it shuddered out from her chest.

Elvis grunted as he rose from his knees, using the mattress to drag himself up. She watched him wipe his face with the back of his hand and sneer a self-satisfied grin as he stared down at her. Then he clumsily climbed back onto the bed and dropped beside her with a sharp exhale.

“Feeling more like my good lil baby now?” he asked, sounding younger than he had in years, and so, so familiar and missed.

Still incapable of words, she rolled towards him and buried her face into his neck, pressing the length of her trembling body against him.

“Yeah, there she is,” he murmured to himself, wrapping his arms around her. She sniffled, taking gulping breaths of his scent to anchor herself, even as aftershocks made her thighs quiver. “Talk to me, baby, let me know you’re okay.”

Elvis nudged her with his shoulder, pushing her back from the warmth and safety of the crook of his neck, so she pulled back and nodded as she clenched her jaw, trying not to let her bottom lip tremble.

“Did you like that?” he prompted, suddenly the insecure boy and not the brash, confident man he tried very hard to pretend he was. She nodded again, which seemed to displease him, so she kissed him instead, nudging and leaning as hard as she could until he finally surrendered and relaxed onto his back, letting her drape herself over him.

“That was incredible,” she whispered, stroking his cheek and nibbling at his plump bottom lip until he relaxed into a smile again, this one small and intimate. “You are incredible. I hope you’re not wanting more than that because incredible is the only word in my mind right now.”

“So, that’s where the button to turn off your brain is!” he exclaimed with faux wonder, a hand slipping down to cup her mound.

Even the feint of a touch had her overstimulated body flinching away from him and he laughed into her ear as she writhed. Her hand missed grabbing his, but slid against his hip, where she felt the firm length of him lifting the silk of his pyjama pants. She kneaded her palm along the shaft, making him groan softly, but this time it was his hand that caught hers.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Let’s go to bed, darlin’.” She nodded, pleased that he would be getting the rest he so obviously needed even if she didn’t get the opportunity to shower him with the affection and attention that he had shown her.

As he crawled back up to the pillows, he asked her if she would get him some water, cheekily wondering aloud why his mouth was so dry. She laughed, though her cheeks were burning.

She had to put out her hands to catch herself against the wall when her knees failed to lock as she stepped out of bed, her legs rubbery and weak. She heard a faint snort and turned back, wincing, as of course he had seen her walking like Bambi.

“You okay there, baby?”

“Lookin’ so proud of yourself,” she muttered. It took her a minute to get to the mini fridge and a lot of concentration to pour the water into a glass and then make it back to the bed without spilling it. Her body didn’t seem to be fully under her control anymore.

By this time, Elvis was rifling through orange pill bottles on the nightstand. Chancy could make out at least five different containers.

“Just give it to me straight, is what you have very contagious?” she asked, perching next to him.

“They’re just to help me sleep,” he replied, shooting her a half smile.

“Do you really need all of them, even tonight?”

“Well, see, they all do something different,” he answered, warming to the topic. “These get me to actually fall asleep, which can be tough after a show, you know. And then there’s the red ones that knock me out for a few hours. The white ones take longer to work- s’why I need the others- but they can keep me down for a whole twelve hours sometimes. These ones here help with the sleepwalking… They’re all prescribed by a doctor, honey, and they’re completely safe.”

He certainly seemed familiar with them, nudging pills from the various bottles into his hand with a practised ease. She handed him the water when he reached for it and watched anxiously as he swallowed the medication. He shot her sideways look, a smile faint on his lips.

“Bedtime,” he murmured, squeezing her cheeks between his fingers to make her pout. He positioned himself in the centre of the bed and held out his arms for her like she was a custom-made teddy bear. She shook her head slightly to erase the acidic tone of her thoughts.

Elvis tucked her into his side, her head resting on his chest and his arm cradling her like they were made to fit together. She rested her free hand on his soft stomach, fiddling with the button on his pyjama jacket, but he promptly snatched up her fingers and lifted them to his lips before placing them on his chest. It was a brief glimpse of insecurity and she ached to say something to reassure him, but knew that anything she said would only make him defensive.

“We should call Alicia and tell her about us,” he said abruptly. She frowned, glad that her face was turned away.

“You mean together?”

“Uh huh, she should hear it from both of us. I think she’ll be happy, don’t you?”

“Sure,” she whispered, sliding her fingers into the unbuttoned opening of his pyjama jacket and rubbing circles through the hair on his chest. “Just feels a little like we’re ganging up on her. She’s gonna be surprised.”

“Not that surprised, honey, she knows how we feel about each other. She’s always said that we’d get back together one day.”

This was news to Chancy because her sister never said such things to her. Maybe early on, when everything had been raw and uncomfortable, Alicia had struggled with their breakup. She had been just seven years old when Elvis had come into her life as Chancy’s sweet, charming boyfriend and eleven when everything had imploded so horribly. It had felt like the end of everything for all of them, Chancy most of all. She had not just lost Elvis, but a whole family.

Gradually, though, they had all learnt that the bonds of family could withstand more than they thought. Now, she suspected that Alicia might focus more on the pain another break-up would cause since she no longer needed Chancy to be with Elvis to have him as her ‘big brother’.

“Mama used to say it too,” he murmured, yawning. “She’d be so happy about this, wouldn’t she?”

Now, Chancy thought this was more likely. She also knew that Elvis carried a lot of guilt for what he saw as letting down his mother by not granting her dearest wish to see him married and settled with her grandchildren running around while she was alive.

“She was always happy just as long as you were, darlin’.”

“I am,” he nodded- she felt the movement behind her head. “I am now.”

Chancy’s chest tightened at his words and the seemingly breathless sincerity with which he said them.

Gradually, Elvis’s breathing deepened and slowed and Chancy felt her own eyelids grow heavier. She could not imagine feeling more relaxed than cocooned in his arms, warm and protected. Thank you @thatbanditqueen and @be-my-ally for the cheerleading. I think this means you both owe me a new chapter of yours now. I'm going to be calling in that IOU.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #baby big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis #70s elvis #an enjoyable slide to oblivion #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction

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gallivantingheart · 1 year

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Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

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⏮️ chapter 13: amaide ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 2670

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: THIS IS IT! THE END IS NIGH. He’s a long one, that’s for sure. Thank you for anyone who has stuck through and tolerated every drawn out update - I appreciate it very much and hope you enjoyed it anyway xx

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans, @annakemi, @chaseyui, @noniesgirl, @gyubagebin @kookiedesi @binniebutter @wonwooslibrary

You sit at the train station, the rain bucketing and splashing your legs. You can barely stand to check your phone. Already, you can see the headlines: Princess To-Be Disappointing No-Show. That and the tens of voicemails probably piling up in your message bank. The disapproving hum of your mother, the squealing worry of Mingyu and Minghao. Soonyoung’s barely restrained desperation mixed with understanding only he could have. The guilt churns thick and slow in your stomach, a monster ready to rear its ugly head. But, amongst all that and your blurring tears, you find one you don't expect. Jihoon.

Your finger slips on a raindrop as you tap it.

“Hey. Uh, look. Whatever you're feeling and whatever you decide, it'll be okay. We'll still be here for you at the end of the day. But please, come home. We're all worried. Your grandmother is still waiting for you at the embassy. Everyone is. But, I'll be at home - uh, my place if you need me. Please, just be safe.”

There's another one, from an unknown number.

“Y/n,” your grandmother. “I know you're scared. I'm sorry if you ever felt like I was pushing you into this. So much has been riding on your shoulders, all so soon. And looking back, we should have waited. I should have waited. As much as I may not have looked it, I always cared. You’re family, our legacy. I'll still love you, whatever choice you make. You could never disappoint me - anyone. I love you.”

That's all you needed. Mingyu's attempt at motivation could fall flat, Minghao terrible with your specific type of sympathy. Even Soonyoung’s familiar reassurance or anything your parents could ever say wouldn't sink in. They were all you wanted to hear. Grabbing your bag, you take off running, back to the bus stop back into the city. You might never make it. But you'll give it a damn shot. Violently struggling to tap on your transport pass, you slump into a window seat by the front, sighing in relief as it begins to putter away.

The scenery gets gradually slower and drivers’ thick brows furrow. You sit up wearily as we splutter to a stop, the air brakes whooshing anyway.

“W-why are we stopping?”

He turns to the few of us seated. “We've broken down. Probably the oil or something. I’ve called the depot and we’ll have a replacement shortly. Just sit tight.”

“We - what?” you squeak, getting up into the aisle. “No, no no no! I've got to be at the Amaide embassy! I have a ball to go to!”

He shrugs, opening the doors to let air in. “Sorry, Cinderella.”

You climb out the vehicle, out into the rain again. The road is straight and relatively unmarred. You'll have to run. Shouldering your bag oddly, slinging both straps of the duffle over each shoulder you start to sprint.

It's a bad, short lived sprint. Why you don’t think of a taxi is beyond you.

Your chest is heaving with pain, and so are your legs, crying out for relief. You look to the sky, unforgiving and heavy. You throw your side into a wall as you drag yourself along the footpath. You'll never make it.

“Oh - my - god. This is - how I die. Dead in a - in a puddle.” You sniffle through heaving breaths.

Leaving against the wall, you try holding back another sniffle before giving up, rubbing at your cold, running nose instead.

A car honks. Dropping your head down, you see the official envoy pull up, the door kicking open and the drivers’ window roll down. Junwoo and...Jihoon?

“Come on, princess. You're late!” the bulky man calls with a smirk.

You push off, throwing yourself into the leather seats. Jihoon is across from you, sitting neatly in his simple black suit. God, he looks good in it.

“Thank you for finding me.” You smile.

“Well, after that text and then you didn't show up, something had to have gone wrong. And Junwoo was going out to look for you anyway. Queen's orders.”

You sink into your seat as he passes you a towel. “Gotta love Grandmother.”

“She wasn't giving up on you too soon.” The stocky guard in front says through the open partition. You catch his smile in the rear view mirror. “Especially when Jihoon showed up.”

You pat your arms down and rub furiously at your hair. The cold is only just starting to sink in, wetting the leather under you and sending a shiver through your torso. Jihoon sighs and tosses another fluffy towel over your legs. You slide side to side on the seat a little as Junwoo zips through town while trying to be reasonable.

“Oh well, I'll definitely be making an entrance. Not the prettiest thing to ever get out of an Amaide envoy. Certainly not very princess-like.” You chuckle, throwing the first towel helplessly round your shoulders.

Jihoon’s gaze is warm on you, for once resting for more than a few moments in your direction. His pitch black hair is rustled from the gale that the rain brought with it.

“You're always beautiful, Princess.” He hums.

You laugh breathlessly, ducking your head. He was always so soft-spoken but never failed to make you at least a little flustered.

“How come you were ready so soon?” You squint at Jihoon.

“I was ready even before you messaged me. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling I’d end up here tonight, whether you knew it or not.”

The embassy houses are starting to pop up and you know you're close, even though the rain hasn't let up. You would never have made it in time with your ridiculous idea.

Junwoo pulls up an umbrella and the lot of you usher yourselves inside. Jihoon is swept away in the backstage madness, with not even a chance of goodbye. Soonhee is standing in her soft champagne dress, sash in red over her shoulder and across her middle. She smiles warmly and you don't care how much her dress costs for once as you barrel into her. She makes a soft grunt with the force but delicately wraps her arms around you.

“Thank you for not giving up on me. Sorry I'm late.” You mumble into her shoulder.

“Of course. You're a Park at heart. You're strong enough to make the right decision. It may not have been easy or kind and it might have taken a little while, but you're here.” She says haughtily. “Now, I’ve stalled for as long as I can but that means you're going to have to go out there as you are. There's no time left.”

How did everyone but yourself know you were gonna be here?

You pull back to look at her with furrowed brows. “Are you sure you can't do any more? I don't want to go out like this for you or Amaide.”

Soonhee shakes her head. “I'm sorry. But, I think this will do. It’s...how do you say, authentic. I am glad and incredibly proud that my people will be in your hands.”

Soonyoung has wormed his way back behind the heavy velvet curtain. He giggles at the sight of you.

“Hey Boss! Bit late?”

“Just a little. Weather is vicious.” You shrug.

He slings an arm around you, rubbing fondly at your hair under the towel. “Say what you feel. It’ll come out right. See you after.”

You swallow and nod. Soonyoung gathers the queen up with Junwoo and they both exit down a short hall to the main ballroom. You sling the towel round your neck for later. Someone would announce you when you were ready. And you had to be ready now. You glance to an attendant to your left and nod resolute, heaving a calming breath.

You hear your name and the curtain pulling away to warm bright lights and a podium ornately carved with lemon tree motifs - you know, you watched them pull it out from storage. There’s the violent, sickening shutter of cameras but you hold firm, plastering on a nervous smile, your towel slung round your shoulders.

Your grip is tight on the wood as you lean into the mic. “Hello. Good evening. I apologise for the wait - the weather is a bit horrendous.” A smattering of laughter from press and guests. The lights aren’t blinding but you’re trying not to focus on the many faces on you. “Thank you for attending tonight. Amaide’s freedom and independence has always been our pride. But, I understand if that’s not really why you’re here. And that sort of sucks. Because our country and our people should not boil down to the latest tabloid gossip. We have a thriving tourism and agriculture sector and are one of the few modern societies with a very active and well-functioning monarchy - and a matriarchal one at that. We should be celebrating its freedom and everything that makes it what it is. But, I digress.

“As of half an hour ago I was sitting at a train station in the pouring rain, running away from all of this. And think about it, three months ago, I didn’t even know about this world. And I didn’t think I was ever going to be ready. You’ve all seen my face more in these last few months than anyone ever has all my life. These events have turned the lives of myself and everyone I care about upside down. They have borne this mess none of us ever asked for. I love them all so much that I didn’t want to ruin my home.

“But - oh but. Amaide is home for millions of people. And it could be my home too. I mean, you all just heard me wax poetic about a place I’ve never been. But, it is part of who I am. Who I am going to be. I would never dream of hurting it. I’m so desperate to take care of my home, always have been.

“So with that in mind, I make my claim as Princess and heir apparent to Amaide’s throne - to the future.”

You smile and the delegates make raucous applause. Camera shutter click and flash but you hold steady. You have claimed your birthright. Now it's time to make the right impression for once.

You tip your head. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to dry off a bit before I catch the flu! Please, enjoy your evening.”

You’re ushered off to the side stage then around the back to servants quarters. Antoni is violently brandishing a round brush and Dyson Air Wrap like a club.

“Where is the Princess! Chop chop!” He cries out.

Massive, calloused hands are firmly on your shoulder blades and shove you into his direction - damn Junwoo, enjoyed any pain that you endured. His eyes light up then he goes pasty.

“This? This is my canvas? Ey, I have my work cut out, huh?” He shoots you a look. “Always the hard road, hmm Princess? Come come, we fix.”

You are whirled up the staircase where Antoni makes quick work of you. The gown fits perfectly, all those fittings paying off in the speedy transformation. Antoni knows what he’s doing, determined as he works around you, drying your hair out for some more control.

“I try to keep you a little natural - we want a good, open impression of you, Princess. Looks can be everything, huh?”

Your hair draped behind your ears and up off your neck in twists and layers where you didn’t know where your hair began and ended. A glittering hair comb, part of the private collection, just like the heavy set necklace that rested against your collarbone, dazzling and weighty. Antoni claps his hands, triumphant. “You are done - beautiful! My work is perfect! Come, the queen will give tiara.”

The embassy is no longer daunting, the staircase not a passage to doom. You turn to Antoni and tip your head.

“Thank you, for your help tonight.”

He scoffs and waves you off. “Is honour, Princess. I must go and ready myself for the people. They will all want to know who dressed the future queen of Amaide.”

You laugh as he whirls back out the way he came and you look to the attendant again, motion to call.

“Announcing Princess Y/N, of Amaide.”

The red curtains part and you step back into the light.

The queen holds a sparkling tiara, the most stunning thing you’d ever seen. This, you hadn't organised. Your grandmother was quite secretive about this part, insisting it was something she must do alone.

She raises it and you tip your head down so that she could place it on your head. “This was my first tiara, also gifted by my grandmother at my coming out ball. I was not meant to be queen. Neither were you. Now look at where we are. Now you must shine.”

A round of applause and your sight falls on your mother's eyes glassy and red as she smiles, her applause one of the few that mattered at that moment.

When you step to the main floor, you are swarmed by diplomats and the like with congratulations. Soonyoung is by your side in a heartbeat to mitigate them as quickly as possible, while turning the lights on even more and the strings rising in. A lot of greetings and thank you’s and “look forward to discussing the topic of choice with you at a later date.”

Then, as soon as you’d finished, the people fell away and you spot Jihoon by a pillar, close to the string orchestra. Of course he was where the music was.

I sidle up next to him, watching the orchestra. “Evening.”

He glances at you and smiles. “Evening, Princess.”

“How’s your night been?”

“I did meet the conductor here. Got some tips, had a chat. I can keep myself busy.”

You mock frown. “That’s the conductor of Amaide’s Philharmonic Orchestra, you know - the queen pulled out all the stops. But, I had sort of hoped you would be at least a little bit bored. What am I supposed to do to top that for someone like you?”

“Not sure. Maybe become princess?” Jihoon smirks.

“You’re annoying. Lee Jihoon, will you do me the honour of being my first dance partner?” You pout up at him a little, clasping your hands in your lap. “I saved it for you. Even over my own parents!”

“Of course. How can I deny that?”

He guides you gently out to the mosaic floor, settling you in front of him. In your time training and with Jihoon as a music major, you yourself have come to appreciate the string set playing tonight - you might not know the song, but it’s very beautiful and fits the energy of the room. He starts with a simple, not very royal, sway. With your meticulously manicured hands slung up round his neck, you let the fact that this is your first dance as princess, in public, cameras shuttering only metres away fall to the back of your mind. You’re happy that this moment would be one of the first pictures for the news outlets. You wanted it documented.

“Are you sure you’re okay with a princess as a potential girlfriend? We’re very prim and proper and not very fun. We certainly shouldn’t be going out for fried chicken and drinks on a weekly basis.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sure you can make an exception.”

“For you?” You quirk a brow.

Jihoon gives you an unimpressed look. “Yeah, I guess for me.”

“Well, of course then!” You laugh. “Anything for you!”

And after all this, you really mean it. He grits his teeth and grins, tightening his grip on you and giving you a forceful spin that has you cackling. Jihoon doesn’t even get tangled in your dress!

“I didn’t know you could dance.” You chirp.

“I’m a music major. I’ve got rhythm.”

“Shut up.”

final notes: well, here we are. the end of an excessively drawn out two...three? year journey. i hoped you enjoyed it as much as i did. and i certainly hope i did justice any sort of expectation you may have had walking into this. thank you so much for all the support, i promise it did not go amiss! who knows? maybe i might pull a “princess diaries 2: the royal engagement” just to be funky...

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angelkissiies · 1 year

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Sorry for the long message. I've been having Thoughts. So, I've always had the hc that abby hasn't even thought about her sexuality yet, cos the concept is sort of alien to her. Like, idk if I'm projecting onto her (I'm 6'3" and built kinda like abby, so I have more ~experiences~ to project than average...) But I get the feeling that Abby hasn't necessarily had that much agency over her love life? Just a hunch, ya know.

Like, she's been taught that she is at her most valuable when she's efficient. Love and affection are luxuries. It's rude to ask for them and, when she gets them, she's supposed to take what she's given. Even Owen seems to treat her like a project where he's giving and withholding affection to try to teach her how to be a better person while cheating on the mother of his child with her. Regardless of if you think he actually loves her (not you, I'd never suggest you'd think such a thing, babes. I'm specifying for... them... if you decide to post this... they... might see it) he constantly holds himself morally above her, and you can really tell how much he values being 'the good one' in their relationship, so I don't imagine the goal posts of moral worthiness are exactly static.

I don't know if the idea that sex and romance aren't just "things that she has to allow people to do to her, otherwise she'll be inflicting herself on them" has occurred to her. I think that, if you asked her what she looks for in a partner, she'd say she just wants someone to actually want her. Which is the bare fucking minimum and should be a given. But any further answer is her being picky, which she thinks she can't afford. And you can see why she'd come to that conclusion cos, since her dad died, who has actually expressed that they want her outside of her capacity for violence, and without the stipulation that she has to abide by an amorphous moral standard to be deserving of it? Like, I love confident abby but I can never stop thinking about how 'what you want in a relationship' stops being a practical consideration when you're used to being unwanted, and being dismissed or discouraged whenever you express your wants.

But it gets really practical when you get to catalina Island and its full of people with EYES who recognise that ur hot as FUCK and everyone starts hitting on you which is what happens at the end of the game Neil Druckman told me himself. And I think Abby would have an 'oh fuck, I get to choose?' moment and start to actually think about her sexuality and her own wants, not just needs. (Yes, I grew up in a small village and moved to a city for university. What of it?) I forget why I started writing this, but I'm on anon so it's not my problem anymore

anon you have ripped my heart out and then stuffed it back into my chest throughout this ask bc — you’re so right. i’ve never spoken to someone so right. i wish i could find the adequate words to express how this has made me feel but know that you are quite literally 100% correct.

#YEOWCH #misc #tlou #abby anderson #tlou2 #abby tlou #the last of us

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cherishedproperty · 2 years

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Helloo I saw your answer to that anon ask earlier today talking about munches, and I was wondering if you could share your experience going to events, please? Just what kind of things you usually do, how it was the first times you went, especially if didn't know anyone yet? I'm thinking about attending local munches, but as someone with social anxiety just the thought of going can be overwhelming, but I thought if I knew a little more about them maybe I wouldn't feel so nervous :) Also any advice for joining fetlife? Please and thank you 💕

I’m actually going to start with the second question, on advice for joining Fet. There’s a lot to say here, from personal safety to finding events to meaningful interaction. I’m not going into all of it, but I’ll try to hit some highlights across the board. Also a caveat that my Fet experience is largely based on being a bisexual, cisgender woman in a large American city.

Fet isn’t as bad as people make it out to be. If you have a location listed (and an F by your name), you’re likely to get more men in your inbox with…unwelcome messages. But Fet does allow you to pick a fake location or not show your location except to friends. This keeps people from finding you by just searching your city and looking for the newest (young) women who’ve joined.

My #1 piece of Fet advice is to never, ever delete Fet messages. Archive them, but don’t delete. You’ll want to know if someone has messaged you before, especially if you meet them at an event. I’ve met guys at munches and then gone to check if they’ve messaged me before, only to realize they were a gross asshole previously.

Try to find some local community leaders, preferably women, who can help you make a friend group of other women in the scene. The kink community is small. One of my local female kink leaders hosts a regular munch and also play parties, but she also runs a chat group of local women. And she (+ the other ladies) have helped me to vet potential partners and learn who to avoid.

Fet isn’t really a dating site, but a lot of people (mostly men) use it as such. They think everyone is there for quick, easy sex. Again, this is where the archive button comes in handy.

As for events, you’ll typically find four kinds of events on Fet:

Munches/happy hours—These are clothes-on, vanilla events in public locations for the purposes of getting to know each other. While they are occasionally at private homes, I would not trust that unless you know the hosts and guests pretty well. More on munches below.

Educational events—These are often hosted at local kink clubs but may be at a private home. They might be on a topic like rope bondage and will have an instructor and time to practice the skill. These events are more likely to be clothed (or at least not fully naked), since they are educational.

Club events—These are kink/play events at a club, typically where you have to be a member. While there are going to be more people there, they also typically have dungeon monitors who make sure that all scenes remain consensual and are done as negotiated. These places may feel more public. But they can also be good places to try something for the first time, especially if it requires a skilled top (e.g., electro play).

Private play parties—These are kink/play events hosted at private homes. While it can be more intimate, especially if you know people, there’s also more risk dependent on who the host is. We have a nightmare host in my local area who does nothing about repeated consent violations, because he only cares about the money he makes off entry fees. But I also have a couple close friends who host great parties that are safe and fun.

Back to munches/happy hours and what to expect. I’ve been to a number of munches in my city. Here are a few things to know:

Typically, they are hosted at a restaurant or bar. Sometimes they are sit-down, dinner style events, and sometimes it’s more of a stand-and-mingle situation. There are even a few that are more activity-focused (seeing a movie with socializing after, athletic groups, karaoke). But the restaurant/bar ones are the most common in my area.

Mostly people just stand around and talk. Sometimes kink topics come up, but mostly it’s normal life stuff. What kinds of hobbies you have, have you seen the latest movie, etc.

Every munch I’ve attended has had a group of regulars, but they’ve also been very welcoming to new folks. Sometimes there are name tags, sometimes not. The host will typically introduce you around to regulars, if you ask. But people are generally super friendly.

Some folks use these events to find partners. But in my experience, most folks respect the unwritten rule that you don’t ask someone out at the event. You wait until after you leave and then message them on Fet. That’s how I met my partner. :) There are also folks who will use a munch as a first meeting place for a potential partner. Some of my friends refuse to go out with anyone who doesn’t or won’t attend munches.

My first munch was a lunch munch in my area, which I figured was pretty low commitment. I met a great group of folks with a lot of lifestyle experience. They recommended other munches that are good to go to, as well as various education/kink events. One of the women I met there added me to a chat group for local women, many of whom are still good friends six years later. This was my window into a whole support system of people who have helped me through a lot of life challenges and have kept me safe and informed as I got to know the local community. Honestly, I can’t say enough positive things about munches. I can’t vouch for your local area, but my experience here has been pretty good.

So basically my take is, you’re going to be fine! It will be fun. And you’ll meet people who show you the joy in kink, as well as how the kink scene is really just full of a lot of normal people. :) Folks, please feel free to share your own Fet advice or munch experiences!

#ask #my ask #starting out

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ellerevelle · 1 year

Text

hello again

Its been an eternity. I had to login with my yahoo email. My YAHOO. email.

I’ve been sitting in the same position, at my computer, slouched over watching netflix for hours now. Not accomplishing a damn thing except panic. I’ve been enjoying the program I’m watching but continually keep checking my phone. As one does.

I check Instagram to look for that little red message notification indicating a new DM. Its not obsessive, but I do feel relieved to see someone is there. I’ve been alone in my room, day in day out, for what feels like months now. I go to work, I go out dancing occasionally, but all in all, I’m lazing in my bedroom. Its basically my studio apartment, despite living in a 4 bedroom rented house.

I’m here to journal. Because my life needs an entire overhaul. I really wonder whats wrong with me. Today I examined a LinkedIn job listing for, upon reading the details, is like- THE job. THE DREAM JOB. And I have no qualifications.

If I had even remotely TRIED. AT ALL. the last, oh I dont know, TEN YEARS OF MY LIFE to do anything actually photography work related, I’d be maybe closer to qualified. But despite talking like I’m an artist, despite going to goddamn art school, despite telling myself or others I meet “yea I’m a photographer,” ... it has to be what you DO. As a VERB. And my cameras literally, absolutely, are coated in dust. I havent handled them in over a year. Probably more.

What is wrong with me. I read the job description, I even took a screenshot of the listing for when it goes down, because I want to dream about it. Study it. But it says at the top of the list “at least 5 years of experience.” My last five years? have been bullshit. I’ve just gotten fatter and lazier and probably less mentally healthy. I mean, I’m barfing my thoughts on Tumblr again, I’m probably not okay. I’m here feeling like I’ve squandered my fucking years, that my life needs a genuine total overhaul. I am not mentally healthy.��

Why. Am. I. Afraid. To. Move.

Not move away, but literally MOVE. Work out, create, explore my city, meet people, even pick up a new book. I’m afraid to move.

I need to clean my car. Its gotten out of hand. She doesnt deserve it. I feel like everything I SING about loving, I’ve stopped living up to. I talk about going on road trips ALL THE TIME. I feel like by letting my car fall into terrible disarray, I’m betraying myself. If I were to try to take a road trip, I’d have to do so much work. SO much work. Its so cluttered, the trunk is full of old clothes and weird concert souvenirs and random tupperware and literal trash. I need to vacuum it, I need to dust it, I need to clean the glass. I need to empty the entire thing out. I am afraid to do the work. I am unmotivated to do the work.

Want to know what I’m thinking about why:

I want someone to care.

I feel like I dont exist anymore. Like... no ones asking my any questions, no ones noticing me out there doing anything, I dont feel witnessed, I dont matter. So its really difficult to find motivation to do something that no one cares about. Which I dont mean to sound like the cliche “if you cant instagram it, did it really happen?” “if the tree falls in the woods but no one was there to see it, did it make a sound?”

Its a vicious cycle, I observe, because in not doing the thing I think no one sees or cares about, the thing I CARE ABOUT definitely never happens and, therefore, doesnt exist to be cared about or seen at all.

If I threw a party and nobody showed up, and quit throwing parties, then NO ONE would show up. Wayne Gretski “You miss 100% of the shots you dont take” la la la blah yes I know.

Its so fucking scary. I feel so goddamn freaked out. I feel so obvious. Everyone wants to be loved and noticed, obviously. I’m in part afraid of no one caring, but also I’ve become so egotistical in a way- that if I AM seen, I want to be seen right. I want the right people around me.

I’ve been dissappinted about people I’ve met or who has noticed me in this town. Again, ego, but like... I dont get hit on here. And those who DO, are AWFUL. I drive home after a night out and think - THAT guy? thought he had it to ask me for my number?

Not to sound cruel. But I’m talking like, total like... icky dudes. Or just blah dudes.

I sparkle, and I want to share it with somebody ... whats a better way to say “with somebody who matters”? Because that sounds horrible. I dont see myself as some queen diva champion, but I just... have a lot and have lived a very interesting life, and I feel like its just kindof. Stopped.

I hear some voices say that inspiration is bullshit. waiting for inspiration is an excuse. but like.

what... how... HOW? How to just go and do things anyway when theres SO MANY THINGS THAT CAN DISSAPOINT YOU. SO MANY THINGS THAT CAN DRAIN YOU. SO MANY THINGS THAT CAN HURT YOU. SO MANY THINGS THAT CAN LEAD YOU ASTRAY.

So in lieu of this fear, I’ve done nothing. I miss feeling fearless.

I’ve felt happiness lately going to kpop shows. When the artist looks at me. Not a sexy look or even a real look, but I still feel seen. Your eyeballs, You this Artist I care about, has seen my face. Has felt my presence in the crowd. And I like to delusionaly think that matters. I know in a woo woo way, everyones energy matters, but I’m in my head really BELIEVING that my presence is special. So when I go out, or try to meet new people, and just get met with duds or nothing at all - I feel like it was a waste. Or, worse, that I’m the joke. And that I’m crazy for thinking I’m special at all.

So. I need to clean my car. I need to get in shape. I need to dust off my cameras. I need to USE them. I need to play piano. I need to shred my magazines and make collage art again. I need to go out into nature and get attuned to the sunset and stars again. I need to even like, update my goddamn facebook page, and instagram and delete emails and FIX MY FUCKING LINKEDIN PROFILE BUT I’M SCARED. and lazy. And I want to have somebody to impress, but NOBODY. CARES. So why bother? But I genuinely feel like I’m disappearing! talking in circles.

By not doing things for myself out of fear, I’m essentially proving the world right. By not existing, I dont exist.

Why am I so scared? I mean, theres the Mom card. I’ve been aching to call her more than usual lately. This year I’ve felt the physical, tangible craving to call her. She died in 20...15? 2015. August of 2015.

And I never knew what being loved like that felt like until it was gone. She knew me, she saw everything. And she thought I was the most special, just for existing. She had 5+ miscarriages after having my older brother. She didnt think she was gonna have another baby. Let alone a little girl. Then she got the call, that the pregnancy stuck, that I was gonna be her daughter. The doctors literally SEWED HER CERVIX SHUT to keep me up there long enough. I was still born a month early, but I was her treasure. She wanted me SO BADLY.

I still dont know if her death was an accident or intentional, and I’m afraid to ask. I dont even know if my father would tell me the truth, he may need to believe it was an accident. But she was deeply depressed and addicted to hydrocodone, and she was found dead on our living room floor, all alone, on the day of her’s and my father’s 35th wedding anniversary. He was in the hospital at the time, he’d broken his shin bone weeks prior and has bad bones so he was in a rehab place. She was home alone, encouraged by him to just stay in and enjoy the house, and that they’d celebrate their anniversary another weekend. He sent her a bouquet of roses that she’d never see. They sat on our doorstep while she laid inside on the floor. It was devestating. Well, duh, thats an understatement.

When I was going to therapy (I stopped over COVID and havent gone back) my therapist asked me “would it make anything different for you, if you knew?” and at first I answered No. But even the next day I was honest with myself and truly, it would make a huge fucking difference. Knowing if it was a mistake, too much wine, took an extra hydrocodone, got woozy and passed out, maybe hit her head, or maybe a heart thing. That would change everything, if she didnt WANT to leave us. If it was just a fluke. That’d make a very big difference.

I’ve gotten over a lot since then and the layers of growth and wisdom I’ve developed is indescribable. I’m deeply proud of myself and who I am inside. But thats what makes me angry and sad right now. Why have I become such a blob? Surely I miss her love, even though it was so broken the last five years of her life with her severe depression. I forgive that, and I think she’d forgive me for being too young to understand and fight harder for her. Our hometown doesnt have shit in the way of Mental Health services. She needed worlds more help, and I couldve fought harder for her. Alas, I think she would be upset with me for thinking this way. She’d express “we’re the parents, its not on you to parent your own parents.”

Anyways. I feel like my Father is loving me how he knows how. He’s great for sweet support, but not great with life advice. He’s the least ambitious man I know since he retired. He HATED work, but suffered and sacrificed infinitely for us anyway to keep our lives afloat, and for that I’ll be forever grateful. But since he got to leave work and came into family money, he doesnt do much unless he HAS to. He’s a music man, but hasnt played guitar or written songs or done anything creative in decades. He let it burn out. I respect him, I love him for him and try not to be disappointed about his choices but... its just difficult to express my feelings to him about these things. He’s like “Josie, dont worry I have money, you’ll never be in trouble.” And I just... I believe him but I dont believe him? I dont want to buckle into that. I feel like I need to earn that privelege. I cant just ask, I’m not a trust fund kid. Cant just be like DADDY I WANT TO GO TO MIAMI CAN I HAVE TEN GRAND? Like, no! First of all He’d never say yes to that hahaha. I’ve definitely lied (*white lied) to my family to sound more put together and “worthy” than I actually probably am. I talk about my job like its a bigger deal than it is, when in reality I’m only making $15 an hour and I’m late every single day.

Fuck, speaking of. I was supposed to take a shower about 6 hours ago, but its 11:30pm and I have to go to bed and still havent gotten clean. Its been too many days. I’m gross.

See!? my life needs a fucking overhaul. WHY AM I STRUGGLING TO TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER.

I am broken dude. wtf.

I feel more motivated to take care of myself WHEN I FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY GIVES A SHIT WHO I AM! Somebody to wash my hair for, dress up for. Even though truth is, I absolutely do it for me. I go out to a concert to be seen, sure, but when I’m getting ready, I LOVE my reflection. I love hanging out with music on and expressing artistry with makeup or clothing styling. I do it because IIIIII like it. And then out in the world, at least if no one else likes it, at least I do?

But it still requires an invitation out. Someone saying “hey come meet us at this bar!” or a great concert I want to see and SHOW UP for. TURN UP for.

How do I do these things, how do I give a shit about showing up, if theres no invitation? if theres no obvious purpose other than just doing the thing?

I fear by existing out there, youre inviting critique. If i carry a camera around, people will ask to see. And what if I suck!!! What if theyre like “oh my god who the fuck does she think she is, carrying that nice ass big ass camera and her photos are so mediocre.”

I dont want to be a joke.

Sometimes I go into massive panic attacks getting dressed to go out because I feel like, too old and fat or the wrong genre to pull anything off and if I go out like... it’ll be the “who does she think she is.”

fuck.

fuck fuck fuck. I need to wash my face. I need to brush my teeth.

I need to get a FUCKING LIFE.

I want that Hybe America job. Content Preditor, they mushed together the words pre- and editor to make PREDITOR. How sexy could that be!

The job description describes who I wish I was. Prepared, experienced, creative, multitasking, able to improvise, team leader, good with new people, passionate about the music industry.

I havent taken any vitamins today. the EASIEST thing to do. because I hate walking into the kitchen to get water.

Thats a WHOLE OTHER CAN OF WORMS. my living situation. this post is already too long. I’ve already procrastinated showering for far too long. I’ve already watched... lets see... NINE episodes, 40 minutes each.

I need help. Talk more tomorrow. Or, yknow, six more years or however long the previous gap between my posts have been.

#journal #venting #mentalhealth #family #real life #regret

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polyamorouspunk · 2 years

Note

How does one make friends as an adult? I could hardly do it in school, but now I've graduated and have no clue what I'm doing

My dude you are asking the wrong person I made exactly 1 friend and it was the most toxic relationship I’ve ever been in and it was only 6 months.

But if you find out let me know!!!

(Srs) find clubs/events going on. My mom joined a book club and throws axes in a league weekly. None of those people are friends she would like bring over or anything but before we left CT she was in a card playing group that she would spend time with outside of the actual games and two of them ended up getting married from it.

Idk though. Like I go to Pride and I went to the pride prom and it’s all fun but I don’t connect with people past the night there. I have someone I used to talk to more who literally just like every day was like “I’m going to a concert and then I’m going on a date with this friend the day after and then two days after that I’m hanging out with my group of friends and I might go to the bar and flirt with the bar tender I have a thing with” and honestly talking to them makes me miserable and I’m glad we don’t talk as much because they just constantly tell me how great their life is now that they can be out and themselves and they’re casually seeing like 10 different people etc and when I said something along the lines of “I’m not good at making friends like that” their response was “I guess it’s just different for you” which really stung because it’s like yeah it is I have at least 3 mental illnesses and I’m chronically ill and I can’t actually go out and do the things I want to do.

It’s very hard when you don’t have constant access to a big city. I live in rural North Carolina and I live half an hour from the city I work in and gas is expensive! I’ll be going back to college (hopefully) this fall in person. I met a few friends in college, one I still talk to and I actually have been talking to today and yesterday and we actually dated after I moved away but the long distance didn’t work for her so she broke it off and fuck it hurts because she is literally everything I’m looking for in a partner right now.

Dating apps don’t work for me. People are like “so you wanna meet up?” And im like no I don’t. People message me and get feelings for me and I’m like I’m not interested in you romantically. I don’t want to meet up. I just want to have the most shallow and casual of relationships where you know nothing about me really and I know nothing about you really but we just talk about how much work and life and relationships suck.

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I’m trying so hard. It hurts. It hurts like hell. At least I have my coworkers even if half the time they hate me because I’m still clearly weird and neurodivergent and not someone they would ever be friends with outside of work. I have one coworker I actually really like and she is the closest thing I have to a friend but like I want to go to Knotfest because the closest show is literally on my birthday and I thought about inviting her for a second and then I’m like we’re all broke as fuck because we work at fucking bloodbath and beyond she’s not going to want to spend what little money she has going to see a show she has 0 internet in in another state.

The one friend I did have I made at the concert and that was because he was the kind of person who literally talked to everyone around him including me which I was awkward about because he was hot as fuck but I noticed his brother was a bit left out so I focused on his brother and made sure he had someone to talk to and then op I spent a few months fucking the dude until he went to AZ and started seeing someone else.

If it’s any consolation my mom is almost 55 and my brother is 35 and they’re both having the same issues we are.

#punk gets mail

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woodsywizard · 1 year

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Hey, I’ve been on your blog for a minute now and wanted to ask a couple of things.

I am a trans man (20) and I finally live by myself and have a job and a means of starting to medically transition.

However I find myself being afraid because being on hormones is a big transition (ha) and I don’t really have anyone in my life who A) knows Im going to be on hormones and B) is immersed in enough of my life to help me navigate these changes. So Im a little scared when it comes to this aspect. I know a lot of it is fairly self explanatory when it comes to the physical changes but if you would be okay with sharing if there’s any changes that you’ve noticed that would give you pause.

I also wanted to say that Im very excited to get this opportunity, I am just very weary of my family and own physiological changes without having someone to lean on with this. Thank you for anything you can provide for me.

🫶🫶🫶

Hi! Firstly let me just say that pretty much everything I think and feel about testosterone comes from my transitioning experience so it may Not translate directly to yours because hormones react to genetics, and everybody’s genetics are different. Also I’m 21 so my initial reaction was to say We Will have the Exact Same Changes I don’t think that’s. How bodies work KbdjBdjbd

That being said I will say living by yourself and transitioning is exactly what I did my first year. I only had like one other person I talked to in my city for like all of that year and that’s my current roommate who’s cis.

Do you have anyone online who knows? I honestly got way more support and like, was able to document stuff happening from just talking to my online trans masc friends, but I’m actively one of the first in my friend group to transition so the hormone doctors were more beneficial for answering questions I find. If you DO want or need support from a trans masc you can also always message me or send me asks too I’m literally always trying to chat with people. I’m literally always down to talk.

I think transitioning is a big step but also it happens very much like getting really itchy and random pains and sensitivity in places for like four months and it’s not really a change that kicked me in the teeth. I mean for the most part I’m still watching my body work on making hair thicker at a snails pace right now, it’s kind of silly to me. I guess I’m in the slower stage now so I don’t feel it as intensely though, because year 1 of T was much faster changes.

In terms of physical changes that give pause uhhh let me think. I think the first year has more physical changes more rapidly but also it depends entirely on your dosage. Like I stayed on .25 mL for about half a year until my voice stabilized then went to .3 and it dropped again. You can sit on the lowest dosage as long as you want and the doctors will let you pick when to up it or if you even ever want to. Some changes may only be seen in you specifically if you up it, and some may show up immediately the first month.

Okay rapid fire changes I can think of you might be concerned about:

OILINESS AND ACNE!! That was instant and evil!! But honestly I’m already kind of an oily freak so I just modified my showering schedule to slightly more frequent and the problem was solved.

Voice drop was pretty much instant. It starts by getting really fuckinf creaky. I sounded like a god damn haunted house it was so funny. You WILL sound like a sickly beast and it WILL be funny or at least I thought it was funny. It can hurt sometimes to voice crack constantly but now my voice only cracks like once every few months thank god.

Sex drive 😭😭😭 I know it’s different for everyone but I went from being horny 60% of the time to like 99% of the time. It’s gotten better by year two but it’s STILL way more intense for me than it used to be and that has caused me active suffering sometimes so like. It’s not terrible but watch out for it.

For me bottom growth was pretty much immediate, which I liked, but it was sensitive and painful for the whole growing period and that can be annoying if you’re active. It stopped being sensitive and painful after a while and now it’s just sitting there like nothing happened.

Weight gain was big for me and fast but I was actively underweight before so I kind of loved that. You may become a lot hungrier than before and have to eat more than you used to, I know I do. I’ve been told some people don’t though.

The hair growth I pretty much didn’t even see until a year in, and it started as side burns that still haven’t quite grown out 😭😭😭. Literally so silly. I think most people however experience hair growth instantly so I’m including it here. Your arms, legs, butt, shoulders, stomach, chest, pretty much anywhere with hair will get thicker darker hair. And a happy trail 😳 and it’s kinda nice being like blanketed in a bunch of hair in places I was so cold before. I suffer the fate of having about 3 scraggly black hairs under my chin that REFUSE to grow out any more hairs to turn into a beard and this may happen to you too😔😔😔 that’s just life man

Fat redistribution happened kind of quicker than hair growth but didn’t happen for me until I was at .4 mL which is my current dosage of T every 2 weeks. Your hips will become boxier and your face becomes less rounded. For some reason my ass grew during this time and I have no idea why. I don’t care too much but it’s the horrors we have to deal with.

My period only stopped after a year and a half of T which I’ve been told is late for that, but some folks never have it stop so I’m just glad it did tbh.

This one isn’t scary but muscle growth stuff kicked in at like a years time when I upped my dosage and I felt like I was suddenly the hulk because I could carry about 5 more pounds than before. I will say it’s kinda amazingly fun to just have extra strength Bc now I pick people up too which I couldn’t do before. It makes for very silly goofing around. Good stuff.

I have no evidence that this one is universal and not me centric but I did have anemia before and when my period stopped the anemia went away, so I’m less easily made cold. Like it’s harder for me to suffer in the cold. I’m also hairier and fatter now, which I think adds to it. First winter I’ve ever gone outside in shorts in the lower 50’s but hey, my legs sweat if I don’t.

Also, I don’t think I had literally any emotion swings. Some people do! Some people go through it! But I was pretty much exactly the same. Only hairier. Eventually.

My grandma keeps asking me if I have a cold when I come by Bc literally the only thing she noticed about all these changes was my voice deepening. I’m on year two now and my voice is literally so deep and she still hasn’t connected any dots. People have almost never assumed I’m trans first unless you I expressed to them previously that I want to transition in some way. Literally no one but one other trans person I met has ever gone up to me and even asked for my pronouns like upon meeting me and I look very androgynous/leaning masc. If you don’t want to come out to people, tell them you have a cold, and it will solve that for the most part I find. However, I also live in like the Deep South in America where people don’t know trans folks exist, and if they do know, they don’t know trans men exist. If you live anywhere more liberal than that you might get asked about your gender if your voice is deep and you’re short.

I don’t know if that was helpful but I hope it helped 😭😭😭 feel free to contact me any time about this stuff though it’s literally so confusing to navigate being trans. I’m always open and I WILL send cat photos if asked.

#ask #hehe #trans stuff

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thecastingcircle · 2 years

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EXCLUSIVE: Singer/songwriter Katy Perry will star as the title character in Melody, an animated musical feature created, directed and produced by Jeremy Zag. Cross Creek’s Tyler Thompson will produce alongside Perry, Zag and Michael Gracey, The Greatest Showman director who helmed the upcoming big budget animated film Ladybug & Cat Noir Awakening, done by Zag’s Zagtoons.

Zag is also the director, producer and creator of the Miraculous Ladybug universe.

In this musical adventure, Melody is a kind-hearted, insecure singer who must overcome the evil plans of Rose Stellar, a jealous wicked pop queen who has vowed to destroy her. Set against the backdrop of New York City, Melody will take audiences on an adventure of song, laughter and heroic quest. In her arsenal, Melody has seven musical notes that set her apart and have magical qualities and help guide her moral compass. Perry is writing and performing songs for the film, and sparked to the themes of self-discovery and self belief that is key to the fulfillment of life dreams like the one she is living.

CAA Media Finance will represent worldwide distribution on the film next week in the Cannes Market, where Rocket Science will co-represent foreign sales.

Zag said the film has been in his head for years, but it was a challenge to crack the story line to convey a message of empowerment in a fantastical world that has music at its core. Having Perry as a collaborator, with her enthusiasm and booming voice, helped bring things into focus. “It’s very complex, but after all these years I am happy I didn’t do it before because only now do I feel ready,” Zag told Deadline. “Melody is someone who has to believe in herself, and in order to do that, she has to learn to love herself before considering how people look at her. Big pop stars live in golden castles, they’re famous with paparazzi all around, but for a little girl there is passion and fear. And I’ve never seen anyone as creative as Katy, who so personifies this character.”

Perry said there is good reason for that. “I am 37-year old woman who still struggles with being insecure,” she said. “I’ve come to realize that everyone is insecure, and that if you are not, I wonder if you have some negative characteristics because of that. I’m such a big fan of the animation world, and because my daughter is two years old, I am more immersed than ever before. What resonated for me with Melody and her character is the overall storyline that has to do with self confidence. I’ve realized in laying the foundation for my own child to be fearless, confident and brave, that you cannot have enough films with such strong themes of empowerment.”

Perry didn’t start out the fiery songstress behind such supremely confident hit songs as Roar and Firework.

“I came up in a different generation from this one, where now there is feedback all the time that often comes in the form of comments, peer pressure and bullying,” she said. “Storytelling is a good way to help young people find their bravery and self confidence. For me growing up, all I needed was one person to help mentor me. I had that and I just kept swinging. I say peachy keen, jellybean all the time, but it definitely wasn’t always that for me when I started. There were many rejections, and many losses, almost a decade of that. I went to Los Angeles when I was 17, and I got signed and dropped by three record labels. I had two cars repossessed. But when I would go and busk at the Farmers Market on the street, people would stop, for a long time.

“So I knew I had something, and I just had to keep working on it and keep swinging. And if you keep swinging, the math starts to favor you, especially if you are really working on sharpening your craft and making it really good,” she said. “I think the first step for young people, is just trying, and engaging. I’m a big believer in trying everything once, and not to be on the sidelines. I am encouraging my daughter to be fearless, because she has a mother and a father who are fearless. You don’t want to live 10% of what life has to offer. Why not 100%? Melody is a great character, self aware, she’s been through struggles in losing her sister, who becomes a spirit guide. She goes to the big city, and she feels really alone. I’ve been through that process, leaving my little town of Santa Barbara and going to Los Angeles at 17, having to make a whole new set of friends. And almost having to rely on my imagination just like Melody, who has to rely on her seven magical notes.”

Thompson’s Cross Creek, whose past films include The Trial of the Chicago 7, Black Swan, American Made and Hacksaw Ridge, is next up with the Scott Cooper-directed The Pale Blue Eye with Christian Bale starring. Cross Creek is financing and producing.

#miraculous ladybug #first look #cool celebrities #katy perry

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hawkbitalpha · 1 year

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[REPOST, 2021] - "Kyle Rittenhouse as a symptom, not a cause"

(This was originally posted to my WordPress blog "Thoughts of the Free" in November 2021.)

Alright, overly long Steam break over. Let’s get the ball rolling on this blog.

Ever since I first heard the Kyle Rittenhouse trial was underway, I’ve been going out of my way to laboriously avoid any of the discourse surrounding it. That includes the fact that I also haven’t watched the trial at all. Now, why is this? Because, right after the Rittenhouse case first hit the news, I looked into the details of the killings, and figured that he had a strong enough case for self-defense to get off from at least those charges – I knew the outcome of this trial would, more or less, be a foregone conclusion. He ended up getting off on all of them, of course, but my overall take on him remains unchanged. This is for one simple reason:

The legal part of this case is a discussion I find to be extremely uninteresting. Whether Rittenhouse was too young to legally own a gun, broke state crossing laws, or met the legal threshold for self-defense, I don’t care. So, for everyone on both sides of the discourse who apparently went to law school and passed the bar exam in the last year since his killings, save your opinions about the court case for someone who actually gives a damn. (I will just stonewall you if you try to go there anyway.)

No, folks, the ideological part of this discourse is what really clicks with me. What happens to one Kyle Rittenhouse is effectively irrelevant to me, but since he’s the center of attention, let’s use him as the symbol of a larger issue, and dig in.

To start off, let’s get one very clear, but often-ignored fact out of the way: 93% of the BLM protests, by all measurements, have been peaceful. The fact that this known statistic has been out there for more than a year now, while the “common knowledge” of the right-wing mythology remains that “BLM and Antifa” are “burning American cities to the ground” as we speak, is a testament to how detached from reality one already has to be to think traveling to another city to “defend property” with armed force is a solid idea. There has never been a mass protest movement in the entire history of the world that didn’t involve some degree of violence (see: the 60s Civil Rights Movement and the many race riots associated with it, a la the “long, hot summer” of 1967; or, for analogues to Antifa: the Black Panthers or Deacons for Defense & Justice), meaning that anyone willing to give justification to armed opposition to BLM will also have to explain why they would justify brandishing guns against those civil rights protesters of days past. If you actually do want to be the one to defend the anti-protest actions of both Kyle Rittenhouse and the Klan in the same argument, though, be my guest.

Anyway, let’s keep riding this train of thought. What have we heard from Kyle Rittenhouse’s fans ever since he had his episode in Kenosha? That the people he killed deserved to die anyway, that “angels guided his bullets” (yes, that’s an actual quote from The Hake Report), that he’s a precious boy who deserves to be shielded from the media, that this case is so clear-cut that it shouldn’t even have gone to trial (that’s not how the legal system works), and so on. In more blunt words, for putting himself in a position to harm members of the political group that they don’t like, the American right-wing is celebrating this kid as a national hero, just as they have before with, among others, convicted killer Derek Chauvin (who, might I remind everyone at home, was so unambiguously in the wrong that he was a cop who managed to be convicted of murder) and the many rioters who attempted to overthrow the government at the Capitol at the start of this year.

Now, really, tell it to me straight: what does this all-consuming bloodlust say about the state of affairs of the Republican Party and company? Because I can tell you the message it broadcasts to me.

The common mantra about political discussions is that it’s alright to have disagreements of opinions as long as you both agree on what’s true, but here, we face another problem entirely: the American right-wing disagrees with the facts, andreality itself.What’s true, let alone what’s a correct belief, is only secondary to crushing what the divisive media has told them is their opposition (“owning the libs”, as it were in internet parlance), even if they have to spin a narrative to create the opposition themselves. So, naturally, if you take it all the way and kill your political opponents, who cares, as long as you’re convinced that you’ve just done good in the process?

The easiest way to get more Kyle Rittenhouses is to stay locked in this perpetual cycle of consuming rage piece after rage piece. For years, my dad would tell me to never listen to the media, because they’re out to divide us… and yet, he lets them do it. So many people, just like him, say they believe in looking beyond the media to the truth, only to gladly let their favorite TV host, online/alt media personality, Facebook influencer, or what-have-you get them stuck in a confirmation bias-laden, one-sided information silo.

So, to bring this meandering piece to a close, I want to ask a direct question to Kyle Rittenhouse’s fans: why, exactly, are you defending him? Is it on your own initiative, or is it because you’ve been told by your favorite source of confirmation that it’s the righteous thing to do? Once you’ve answered, I want you to ask yourself the same question about any other topic you may be focused on at the moment. Vaccines/COVID might be a good one to start. Be honest with yourself when you do.

This message goes for everyone reading as well. When you find yourself making a point, try to ask yourself the big question: “How did I learn this?” I know from experience that it can be hard to apply this rule to yourself on a regular basis, but trust me, it’ll make for a much healthier participation in politics, a field that’s already diseased enough as it is, both figuratively and literally.

…Oof, it’s now 2:25AM. I think that’s my cue to end this here. That’s all from me here.

PS: If you think Rittenhouse and his family are going to be able to launch an entire legal counter-campaign against the media for “slander”, I advise you to look into how hard it is to actually prove slander under the law.

PPS: Rittenhouse’s verdict wasn’t the only one that came out today. A disgraced Kansas City cop wasalso convicted todayfor the blatantly-unjust 2019 killing of Cameron Lamb. Just a little positive news on which to end this post of exasperation.

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worryinglyinnocent · 2 years

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Fic: Diverging Paths (21/31)

Summary: Xerxes falls and the only two survivors walk away from the dead city.

Homunculus is keen to make the most of the new human body he now wears, and he goes out into the world, still planning his ascension to godhood as he strips away his vices and turns them into homunculi.

Van Hohenheim believes he has become a monster, and he hides himself away, befriending the other abominations of the world, failed human transmutations doomed to agonising half-life without the intervention of a Philosopher’s Stone.

Years later, Homunculus meets Trisha Elric and sires two sons with her before vanishing into the night, whilst Hohenheim tries to foil his doppelgänger’s schemes.

Years after that, Edward and Alphonse Elric are caught up in the middle of it all…

A Father-Hohenheim role reversal switcheroo, following Mangahood’s main plot with elements of ‘03, based on the premise ‘what if Father was Ed and Al’s father and Hohenheim was the one hiding under Central?’

Rated: Teen

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [Sixteen] [Seventeen] [Eighteen] [Nineteen] [Twenty] [AO3]

Twenty-One

It had been a strange month. If anyone had asked Ed, four weeks ago, where he thought he would be right now, hanging out in a house in the Ishvalan slum village outside North City, within sight of the Briggs Fortress (not that it could really be seen between the mountains), with his former enemy among his company would not have been his answer.

May and Scar had made huge swathes of progress with deciphering all of Scar’s brother’s notes, and thanks to a complete fluke, they also knew what they had to do to break Father’s control over alchemy. Now it was just a question of getting all of the pieces to where they needed to be in good time. Marcoh and Scar would be heading out as soon as Scar had fully recovered from the injuries he had received whilst fighting Kimblee. They had not told anyone exactly where they were going; with everything hanging on a knife edge, there was still so much that could go wrong, and even though trust was a precious commodity and no one was fully at ease, everyone had accepted the need for continued secrecy in case any of the group ended up compromised in some way.

Although everyone was getting along for the most part, there was still a great deal of tension in the air; understandable considering the vast history that existed between all of the players involved. Not only were there the tensions between Scar and the others, there was now the added tension between May and Ling. Ed was glad to get away from it to make the daily trip into the forest to the cabin they had stayed in when they had first come north, to pick up any messages that Abrams might have left them.

He still couldn’t get used to calling the guy Humility; Abrams was the first guise that they’d known him in and he maintained his cover so well that he pretty much was Abrams. Ed wondered if he’d actually enlisted in the military and gone through the training like any normal person or if he’d somehow managed to sneak his way in. The depth of his cover seemed to suggest the former. Ed would have to remember to ask him the next time that they met.

Considering the military had eyes and ears everywhere, they were taking as many precautions as possible to try and keep things out of Father’s knowledge, and even though the rigmarole of hiding out and the slowness of communicating through coded messages at their makeshift post office could grate at times, Ed was all for secrecy and getting the upper hand on the homunculi as much as possible.

“How do you think Abrams is getting on?” Al asked. “From what I’ve heard of Major General Armstrong, she doesn’t sound like someone who would take too kindly to finding out that someone managed to get themselves posted to the fortress under false pretences.”

“Yeah.” Ed had never really paid much attention to the gossip that ran around Central or Eastern Command whilst he had been there, but he knew that Al listened a lot more and he was not completely ignorant of Armstrong’s reputation himself. “With any luck she’ll forgive him on account of it all being in the name of saving the country.”

They were in luck, there was a note waiting for them, and they settled down in the cabin to read it. Ed flexed his right hand a few times; even though Winry had brought him a brand new arm and leg to deal with the cold, he was still having trouble getting used to the new weight, or lack thereof. He was grateful not to have the steel hanging off his shoulder and giving him frostbite, but the grip pressure was different and would take a while to acclimatise. He wondered whether he’d keep the carbon-fibre automail after they came down from the north. He certainly couldn’t deny it was lighter, but the fee that Winry had charged him for parts and materials was eye-watering even on a State Alchemist’s salary.

“What does he say?”

Ed passed the note over to Al. “He’s got a lot of news and some new allies; he wants to meet us here tomorrow evening.”

“New allies? Do you think he managed to convince General Armstrong and the Briggs Bears to help us?”

“Something makes me doubt it, but you never know.”

“Maybe Abrams has some news from Hohenheim and the other homunculi back in Central,” Al mused. “It’s a shame that we didn’t really get to say goodbye to them all, but I can understand why Hohenheim sealed up the catacombs. There were getting to be a lot of people who knew how to get in and out of them and I don’t know what would happen if Father’s homunculi found Hohenheim’s homunculi.”

“Yeah.” Ed didn’t like to think about it either. “I hope they’re ok. We should let them know about Scar’s counter-circle if nothing else. I know that Abrams said Hohenheim was heading out to put a failsafe in place for the Promised Day, but I think he’d want to know that there’s a way to counter Father’s hold on alchemy. That way he can know that when it comes down to it, he’s not alone. Once we can get rid of that null field and the Philosopher's Stones under the ground, all of the rest of the alchemists would be able to help him.”

“He must be so lonely.” Al sighed. “I know he has the homunculi but the thought of having to do all that on your own…”

Ed nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“I think he’s sweet on Diligence.”

“What?” Ed looked at Al in alarm. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood. And surely you saw it too, when he was talking to her and about her. I think he likes her.”

“Al, that’s our mom! Well, she’s sort of our mom. And he’s kind of our uncle! That’s just… That’s just weird! I don’t want to think about it.”

“I think it’s cute. It’s like you and Winry.”

Ed resisted the urge to kick his brother.

“Al, just stop talking, please.”

Al dutifully stopped talking and they made their way back towards their camp in relatively companionable silence. Even though Al’s face didn’t change, though, Ed knew that he was smirking.

“Stop it,” he muttered. “Stop thinking about it or I’ll start teasing you mercilessly about May.”

“I’ll be good.”

They reached the camp and everyone gathered to hear the news, such as it was. In the end, it was decided that just Ed, Al, Scar and Marcoh would go to the meeting with Abrams, just in case something untoward happened, the rest of the group staying safe in their camp - although Ed was not naive enough to think that Fu wouldn’t be following them and staying unseen in the surrounding area ready to jump in if he was needed.

They had been waiting at the cabin for about ten minutes when the top of a military issue snow cap appeared, and Ed set himself in readiness to deal with anything from friend to foe.

“Hey Elrics!” Abrams waved as he crested the hill. “Mr Scar, Dr Marcoh. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been keeping?”

“We’re doing ok. Kind of frustrating just being stuck here in a holding pattern though.” Ed looked Abrams up and down. “You said you had a lot of news and some new allies.”

“Yeah. It’s been a busy couple of weeks. You really have to have seen it to believe it. We’ve had everything from drowning generals in concrete to freezing homunculi with tank fuel. You name it, it’s probably happened in Briggs Fortress. Not to mention playing nice with psychopathic mass murderers and, you know, dodging bears.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Right… I think you’d better come in and tell us all about it.”

“Sloth turned up,” Abrams explained once they were all seated in the cabin around the lamps. “I’ve never met him before, none of us have, but his identity was obvious from the moment he broke through the floor in the fortress. He’s been digging a tunnel around the perimeter of the country to create Father’s transmutation circle. Hohenheim always thought that it would have to be underground and would have to pass under Briggs, but he couldn’t be sure. At least now we’re sure and we know how it was done. Armstrong had him shoved outside and frozen solid which obviously slowed him down for a while, but that was when Kimblee and Raven turned up and the proverbial really hit the fan. Armstrong’s been recalled to Central - they’re calling it a structural reorganisation but in reality it’s a very polite kidnapping. Kimblee got away from us and Raven’s now part of the floor. You really don’t want to know. Luckily Briggs can keep going without Armstrong, they’re completely self-sufficient in there, they’ll be fine. And that brings me to the subject of new allies.”

Ed nodded.

“I’m going to stay up here with the Briggs troops,” Abrams continued. “I’m already on thin ice for knowing way too much about Sloth and his brethren as it is and I’m pretty sure that me disappearing now would cause a lot of trouble. Besides, I think I like it here. It’s different. But over the last few days, let’s just say a lot’s happened and I’ve found some new friends who’ve decided to jump ship.”

Ed thought back to the plumes of smoke they’d seen coming from the abandoned mining town a few days ago.

“When you treat people as expendable, they tend not to like that.” Abrams’ smile was disarmingly mild and at odds with the scheming expression in his eyes. “Kimblee brought a squad of the military’s chimeras with him when he came north. Just muscle to have around in the event of an emergency, I guess, especially since I think he’s on the lookout for you two as well. I get the impression that Father’s getting just a tad bit nervous about not knowing where you are. For all he might have given you his blessing to continue your quest to get your bodies back, I don’t think he was prepared to lose sight of you completely when you’re so essential to his plans. At any rate - leaving a bunch of chimeras to die in an explosion that you yourself caused is not really a great way to keep their loyalty. So I’ve got four chimeras ready to join the cause. They’re waiting about half a mile away; I don’t entirely fully trust them yet and vice versa, but we honestly need all the help we can get.”

Ed gave a huff of laughter. “Yeah, when you’re right, you’re right. I guess that it wouldn’t hurt for us to meet them on neutral ground here. By the way, have you heard anything from Hohenheim and the others in Central?”

“Yeah.” Abrams’ brow furrowed and Ed immediately wondered what could have gone wrong.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing bad,” Abrams said quickly. “Nothing like that, they’re just keeping themselves to themselves and helping Hohenheim get ready for the Promised Day. Hohenheim has met up with Mustang, and Mustang thinks that he’s got a plan. As soon as I know more I’ll let you know.”

“OK… Why the frown?”

“Tempe’s found out who she was in her first life. It was pure chance, and it knocked us all sideways.”

“Oh.” Of all the things Abrams could have said, that definitely wasn’t something that Ed had been expecting, but he could see how it could cause consternation. “How did that happen?”

“She’s Lieutenant Hawkeye’s mom.”

“What?”

“Apparently it was just after we all left to come up north. They just met in passing. So yeah… Things in Central have been a bit strange.”

“Huh, I can imagine.” Of all the people who could have ended up being connected to the homunculi, Ed would never have put Hawkeye down as one of them. He’d heard in passing that Mustang had learned alchemy from her father, but he’d never thought much about it - everyone had a teacher, after all. He remembered what Hohenheim had said when they had spoken to him about Diligence and asked about how much was known of the others lives - Temperance’s husband had brought her back, so they thought, and she’d had at least one child. On the face of it, Tempe didn’t look old enough for Hawkeye to be her daughter, but then again, she would not have aged past the age at which she had died, and that could have been any number of years ago. Coming to think of it, Diligence probably didn’t look old enough to be their mother. Mom had been twenty-six when she’d died, and Ed was about to turn sixteen, after all.

It was strange to think that they now had something in common with Hawkeye, knowing that they had mothers who were now homunculi. Ed pushed the thought aside. They had to survive everything and get back to Central and get through the Promised Day before they could start comparing notes.

“Are Lieutenant Hawkeye and Tempe ok?” Al asked.

“I think they’re both in shock a bit. Tempe’s a lot calmer about the whole thing than Dili was when she met you; maybe because Hawkeye wasn’t the one to bring her back, and the one who did bring her back is now long gone and that’s something that can be put in the past and forgotten about. She’s frustrated at her lack of memories though.”

“Yeah, Diligence said that it wasn’t so much that she couldn’t remember as that she suddenly knew how much she couldn’t remember.”

Abrams nodded. “That’s about the shape of it.”

There was a pause for a while before Al asked the question that Ed knew he wanted to ask. “How are all the others? How is Dili?”

Abrams smiled. “They’re all fine. It’s all Hohenheim and Chass can do to stop Patience coming up here to say hello. Hohenheim keeps telling them they’d never survive the cold and that seems to be working.”

Ed laughed. Although they had not known each other for long, Patience had certainly become a friend, and he hoped that they’d meet again. Knowing Patience, they’d turn up out of the blue on the roof.

“Anyway, enough about my family. Shall I introduce you to the potential reinforcements? I need to get back to the fortress before I’m missed. Not that they’d miss me, if you know what I mean, but I need to at least try and stay out of trouble. I’m supposed to be the oldest and most responsible sibling in the family and Patience would never let me live it down if I got myself killed.”

Ed and Al followed Abrams down to the tree line. It felt like things were definitely moving along now, for better and for worse. Mustang and Hohenheim were planning for the Promised Day in Central, and it looked like Father’s plan was nearing completion too.

Soon, everything would come to a head. Whatever happened, only one thing was certain. Very soon, it would all be over, no matter how it ended.

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Edward Elric #Alphonse Elric #Fic: Diverging Paths

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ducktales-and-ducks · 2 years

Text

Family, Adventure, and Gold

If you thought I’d stay silent this day, you were wrong, but you also were almost right.

Why? Well, I’ve been trying to write since early morning a special message for the anniversary of the last episode of Ducktales (2017), called “The Last Adventure”, but every time I started to write, something felt weird. I didn’t know what was happening, it’s like I couldn’t find the words to properly write what this show means to me, I couldn’t find a way to express all the emotions and passions these ducks woke up in me, and honestly, I still can’t understand why my passion for them hadn’t changed at all, even a year after the last episode.

I didn’t know how to start, so I decided to watch that episode again today. I’ve watched all the episodes 5 times already, but every time I watch every episode again, I always find something new, something that makes me love that adventurous family even more, and after those amazing credits of almost every character falling out from the plane into the blue sky, I understood that my message for this Last Adventurversary are three simple, but at the same time, strong words:

Family, Adventure, and Gold.

I’m someone who believes in the power and meaning of the words we say. That’s why I’d like to explain why each one of these words means a lot to me.

Family:

In real life I’m shy, usually a lonely person or the silent one of the group, not because of any personal reason, but mostly because I discovered I’m confortable being more open with people who also loves what I love. I’ve joined the DT17 fandom on September of 2019, and through all this time, I’ve met a lot of people, some of them are writers, some are artist, and some of them are like me, enthusiasts of everything related of the show. Some live in different countries, other even live in different continents, but what we have in common is the love we have for this show, and this common love made a lot of us the family we didn't know we needed. This show is about family, not just blood-related family, but found family.

Adventure:

“Ducktales” without aventures are just “Ducks”, and without ducks, are just “Tales”. The essence and engine who moved this ducks to be so fun, relatable and iconic are their adventures. Thanks to Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby’s shenanigans, the constantly unintended accidents of Donald, or the umbreakable desire to solve a mystery and rewrite history from Scrooge, I realized that adventures are not only intended for historical figures or “the chosen ones”, because, everyone is the protagonist of their own story, you can find or make your own adventures in your life, you don’t have to stay in your common routine, you can do something new everyday, discover new places, research what insterests you, make new friends and allies in the way, and the most important thing, keep learning more and more about this world of untold history and undiscovered places.

Gold:

This one is important. I’m not talking about the gold that Scrooge keeps inside his Money Bin, but the the fact that this show was, “gold” in many aspects. In my case, I’ve seen other current and previous TV shows, like Gravity Falls, Amphibia, The Owl House, Phineas & Ferb, Star, Hilda, Big City Greens, etc etc, and those are good, precious gems with many things that makes each of them special, but Ducktales is different, it has this background history that comes from the legendary Donald Duck, the uncountable comics from him with Scrooge and the triplets, and the iconical childhood show Ducktales (1987) which was the main inspiration to this reboot. All these modern shows may be awesome and popular now, but the history, importance and legacy of more than 87 years (since The Wise Little Hen, 1934) isn’t something that any show of this century could make so easily, specially when Disney prefers to stop any solid project if it doesn’t mean money to the company.

I don’t want to get controversial here, and I’m sorry if I do, but it has to be said: Disney gave Matt and Frank the chance to tell their story in three seasons, which is great, but if Disney had not been interested only in money and rather in the quality of its current programs, right now DT17 should have more than 4 seasons, spin offs, a huge diversity of toys, park attractions, and even movies, but they prefer to prioritize sells ($) and popularity over quality and potential, and Ducktales has A LOT of these last two.

This amazing Ducktales crew created a real complete duck universe, with multiple amazing characters who had the essence of the past perfectly adapted to the modernity of the present, with opportunities to include all the shows from the Disney Afternoon, with epic stories that could face other “multiversal” shows such as the MCU, with a proper construction and interesting growth planned for each character, and with excellent animation that depicted perfectly the lessons in each episode and all the emotional moments. As I said, Ducktales is pure gold, and it’s sad that the company who was supposed to support it more only sees gold in money rather than in the shows itself.

Ducktales means so much to me, and every time I see some new fanart, fanfic, fan project or anything related to them, I’m always happy to reblog it here in this fan blog, and I’m happy to do it daily even a year after the TV series ended. I’m always happy to see a new creator of content or a new follower, and I deeply appreciate all your likes, comments and reblogs with my heart, because those always remember me that I’m not alone with this love of the ducks. During these last months I’ve also seen many artists, writers, friends and enthusiasts move to other shows or interests (and with some of them it has hurt me a lot to see them leave), but I’m happy they have something new that makes them happy. It’s awesome to see that many of them started their journey or were inspired to do what they like thanks to this show, and it also makes me happy every time a new Ducktales fan or content creator appears, giving the fandom more amazing enthusiasm and content to let this fandom stay alive.

This is my message for this anniversary of “The Last Adventure”, it may be the last adventure of the canon, but the fandom always shows me that adventures are endless, because family is the greatest adventure of all.

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales #dt 2017 #ducktales reboot #dt17 #thank you Ducktales #The Last Adventure #annyversary #message #disney tva #disney shows #webby vanderquack #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #The Last Adventureversary #Ducktales forever

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prof-peach · 3 years

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if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

#if you dont want to use the refs #im really cool with it #just enjoy yourself buddy #pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #prof.grey #pari #dotaku island #dotaku staff #PLEASE #just ask me if you dont know something #or feel i missed something in what i wrote

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic

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stylesticketexchange · 2 years

Photo

The Official STE Love on Tour 2022 Masterpost!

I meant it when I said we never really know when he will drop another tour on us, and here we are!

This is the post where you’re going to find the rules and regulations of posting/sending asks/etc. You must like and reblog this post to show that you understand. This is to make sure that we make this as smooth and easy for everyone as possible.

Everything is going under a cut, because it’s going to get long:

THE RULES

1a. When sending me an ask, I need you to be as clear and informational as possible. If you’re selling, I need:

The place of the show (and if it’s a city that has multiple shows, i need to know if it’s night 1,2,3 etc)

The date of the show (you can check here)

The price at which you’re selling your ticket. If you bought it off someone and are reselling, please be transparent! The whole point of the STE is we want to make sure fans get to see Harry.

Whether you’re ok or not with being contacted by DM

IF you’re selling on behalf of someone else

NEW: You must provide proof of purchase. Screenshots w/watermark, and screen recording. Failure to do so will result in your ask being deleted. You can upload those items here.

If you are buying, I need:

What show(s) you’re looking for (be specific with dates, please)

What part of the arena you want to be in

Whether you’re ok or not with being contacted by DM

1b. NEW: I will only post tickets that are being sold at what people paid for them, or lower, and below what they are going for on resale sites. I don’t care what the resale sites are selling them for: if you want to resell them that way, there are multiple options available to you.

I know buying tickets with the platinum pricing has been tough, so I have opted to allow people to sell their tickets for what they paid for them *on ticketmaster*. This means no resales, purchases off stubhub etc.

2a. Multiple asks/spam posts will be deleted. I promise I see your ask, and I will post it when I get the chance. This isn’t my day job! I have a strict 3-strike rule: if you spam ask me three times with the same ask, I will block.

2b. Followers who spam posts will also be blocked/banned from the account. Give people time to respond instead of spam-responding, please.

3. Anonymous asks will be screened and will not always be given priority. Since I can’t go through a blog to double check if it’s legit or not, I will give priority to those who send through asks non-anonymously.

4. I do try and screen every ask to make sure that I’ve not been duped by a bot or a scammer before I post or reblog. I’m still trying to figure out a way to combat that, but until then please do your own digging and only give out information you are comfortable giving out. I know this is a good community and I know we all want the same thing, but it’s important to know that there are people out there who will….not be so nice. That’s the dark underbelly of it all. That being said: if you think someone might be scamming you, feel free to message me and we can flag them on the blog!

5. I do not work for TM/Live Nation/etc. Most of the information I have, I have through taking a little time to research. While I am happy to answer questions, please do take a look for yourself first before sending me an ask about Ticketmaster policies or why certain things don’t work, etc!

6. If you do sell a ticket from here, please shoot me a message so I can edit the post/reblog it to say it’s sold! That way I can keep tabs on the ones that have been sold/unsold!

BLANK/NEW BLOGS

Going forward, if your tumblr blog is blank (i.e. you’ve made an account specifically to look for Harry Styles tickets and have zero posts - or even only posts about buying/selling/trading tickets) - you must provide us with one of the following -

an active twitter account

an active instagram account

as there is no way to possibly to make sure a tumblr account is legitimate if it has nothing on it. This is to ensure that you are indeed a real person, and that you’re not a bot/scammer.

NEW: If either of those accounts are less than a month old, I will not post your queries.

At the end of the day we want to protect everyone who comes looking onto stylesticketexchange, but there’s only so much I can do.

Failure to do so will result in your ask being deleted. There will be no three strike rule. It will be at the discretion of the mods of STE.

TRADES

Because the pricing is so askew right now, I will not be posting trades.

“BEST OFFERS”/Negotiations

We do not do ‘best offer’ or negotiations here!

Please be transparent with your asking price, and what you paid for it. We do not allow bidding wars on tickets. The whole purpose of the site is to make sure that tickets go to deserving fans. If we find that your ask is teetering on the ‘best offer’ line, we will shoot you a message to re-send.

Failure to do so or consistent ignoring of this rule will result in your ask being deleted.

Payments

The safest, easiest way to buy and sell right now is through PayPal Goods and Services. I ask that anyone selling or buying tickets use this method, but if you mutually agree on another method of payment, make sure you’ve read through the terms and services of those sites. PayPal is currently the only site that protects buyers should something go wrong. If you use Venmo/Cashapp etc, you do so at your own discretion.

The not-so fun stuff.

Because it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, right?

A reminder that while we would hope people are being honest and open about their tickets, a word of caution: make sure you are getting all the information and doing everything you can to protect yourself before making a decision to buy. That means:

Being aware of the people who are trying to scam money from others because they think they can make a quick buck.

Reading the rules/regulations of ticket resale sites such as stubhub/ticketmaster/stubhub/etc.

Not giving over *any* personal information that you’re not comfortable giving.

Do not give money over before you are sure you have the tickets. (come to a mutual agreement on the exchange!)

Make sure your tickets are real - you never know what people are capable of!

If you’re going to pick up tickets, make sure you’re in a public space, or with a friend/family member.

I hate that any of it has to be said at all, but I have heard absolute horror stories of ticket fraud and people being taken advantage of. We all want to see Harry, and I want to help people do that - but you do have to be aware of the dangers and repercussions of doing ticket exchanges or buying tickets from resale sites.

I am always happy to help out in any way. If you believe that something suspicious is going on, please feel free to shoot me a message and we will go through it together!

I think that’s it! On a personal note: I’m not here all the time: I am dealing with a sick family member and the pandemic and my own life. I do this out of the kindness of my heart and in my spare time. If I don’t respond or post right away chances are I am not here. I do my best, and all I ask for is a little patience in return.

I will more than likely add things to this post as time goes on, and thank you for reading/liking/reblogging. Thank you for supporting stylesticketexchange and helping fellow fans see Harry in concert. Here’s to Tour 2022!

x STE

ps: if you’ve truly read this you will like and reblog it before you send an ask :)

#stylesticketexchange #hslot22 #hs2t2: 2022 #harry styles #masterpost #updated: 05.27.2022

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