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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 14 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Blood. Assault in various forms. Miscarriage. Death/Mourning. Pregnancy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, y'all, cuz this one might knock you on your ass with its dramatic angst and give you whiplash after the last few chapters. Honestly, I hurt myself a bit with this one! *sob* Needless to say, the tone is a bit different here. Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics!

While I hesitated to make a part all in flashback, I couldn't seem to avoid it without creating a ridiculously giant chapter, and I also didn't want to make you wait that long, so here it is, complete with a cliffhanger!

Speaking of that, thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Life is kicking my butt a bit, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me!

Also, look out for some fun 1960 Elvis posts/reblogs later so you can get the full visual of his March 1960 glory, in case I haven't described it well enough LOL. I included a Rollerdome pic at the end as well.

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

March 1960

You shouldn’t feel nervous. It’s just Elvis. But having not seen him in person in over 18 months, or even really being able to talk on the phone, you wonder if too much time has passed, if too much has changed, if the man who went into the Army two years ago is still the friend you cherished.

You wait in front of Graceland in the icy March air with Jack and a multitude of other close friends and relations for Elvis to arrive, shivering in your heavy coat. It’s a strange limbo you all are in, this energy of the end of one thing and the start of something new and unknown. You can’t help feeling that everything is different somehow, that a new era has begun.

This feeling is compounded by the secret you are keeping. You had been wary to accept that your greatest hope is finally coming true, but after your appointment yesterday afternoon, you are finally starting to settle into the fact that new life is growing inside you. You haven’t told anyone yet, not even Jack, since Elvis’ imminent arrival has taken over everyone’s minds. While you have no need to be the center of attention, you also know that the news would get lost in Elvis’ return. No one could compete with Elvis for any sort of attention. It would be a losing battle.

Honestly, you are glad to sit with the knowledge on your own for a moment, to give yourself a minute to adjust to your new reality. And part of you is still quite scared that this could all be over in a flash. It’s still early, the doctor said, even though you were further along than you’d originally thought. But after two years of nothing, there is a piece of you that doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

Perhaps that is truly why you’re feeling nervous and it’s nothing to do with Elvis at all.

Everyone around you starts to buzz, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the police cruiser, lights and sirens and all, coming up the long drive. When it finally pulls up in front of the house and Elvis gets out, everyone explodes with liveliness.

It takes a moment for the small crowd to clear enough for you to see him fully. When his tall frame comes completely into view, you feel like all the air has been knocked out of your body. You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud.

He looks beyond incredible. So incredible, in fact, that your heart is suddenly fluttering in your chest like a schoolgirl’s. You have seen him in his uniform before, of course, but the last time, he was so miserable after the death of his mother that the uniform seemed like a prison, an unforgiving punishment almost. Of course, you’d also seen pictures for publicity and ones he sent home which would occasionally show him in his uniform. He always was handsome, to be sure, but now…now, something was different.

You try to put your finger on it because it really has thrown you for a loop. You aren’t some fawning, adoring fan, for god’s sake. But you cannot help but openly stare at the man in front of you. He positively glows. His blue eyes sparkle with the happiness of being home, but it’s not only that. Taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, he surveys the small crowd and his home with joy. The blue of his dress uniform brings out the reddish-blonde of his natural hair color and the blush on his cheeks. His hair is long again on top, grown out and curled up and mussed from his hat. Compared to the Army buzz cut, it is more reminiscent of his signature coiffed 50’s style, but somehow more mature yet rebellious at the same time. It suits him very well, you think, highlighting high cheekbones, long face, and his now quite chiseled jaw.

Elvis’ whole face is lit up with happiness, that signature grin white and wide, as friends and family gather around him. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy to see that smile again in person. When you finally catch his eye, you feel like the whole world stops. It’s ridiculous really, the way your heart throbs in your ears, but you swear his face changes almost imperceptibly when he sees you. You’re not exactly sure how, but it softens somehow, imbued with just a little more warmth than he’s already exuding. His eyes travel over you only briefly before Jack reaches out to embrace him, but in that short moment, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

Once his eyes leave you, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. You look down, clasping your hands in front of you, but when you look up again, Elvis is looking at you from over Jack’s shoulder. You are absolutely caught in his blue-eyed gaze.

Stop being stupid, it’s just Elvis.

Perhaps your sudden intimidation by your dear friend is that he left Graceland a boy but has returned a man. Even though he’s thin, it’s in a leaner, more carved, more refined way than before. He still retains a bit of his baby face, but his countenance is different, settled, more worldly.

After exchanging words with Jack that you are too overcome to hear, Elvis steps around him and comes towards you, his attentions focused completely on you.

“Hey there, y/n darlin’,” he says gently, his voice still heavily accented, high and bright.

“Welcome home, Elvis,” you say. It barely sounds like you, you think, too quiet and soft and breathless. You ring your hands nervously.

He begins to open his arms and you know he means to embrace you, and all of a sudden, you are certain you are going to faint. It’s as if you know that if he touches you, right here and now, looking as he does and with the way his essence is radiating around you, something will be irrevocably changed. Your heart flutters and your breath rate increases, and you almost panic as he closes the gap, those eyes of his looking at you in such a way that you feel completely, utterly exposed. You want to run away, but you are frozen to the spot.

Just as he steps up to you, he’s attacked from the side by his young cousin. The moment between you is thankfully interrupted, and you instantly step back and behind Jack as the boy wrestles Elvis.

“Jesus, kid, a little warning next time!” he shouts playfully, putting the kid in a headlock and rubbing his knuckle into his head. He catches your eye for a fraction of a second, his face somewhere between regret and chagrin at not being able to hug you. You manage a small smile, but practically hide behind Jack, grabbing his hand as you warily look on.

The horde gratefully moves inside, out of the cold late winter chill. The look that flashes over Elvis’ face as he crosses the threshold is one of trepidation, grief. You realize being home must come with mixed emotions; after all, the last time he was here was when his dear mama passed, and this was the home he’d gotten for her.

You’re not sure that anyone else catches how his breath hitches and how those pretty eyes become anxious. In that moment, you forget all about the strange reaction you had to him not a minute ago and you ache to go to him, to pull him into your arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

It seems like both forever and just yesterday that he wept in your arms on the stairs, bereft and inconsolable, as his mother lay in the other room in her casket. He had refused to leave her, petting her, and talking their baby talk to her for so long that they had finally placed glass over her to dissuade him. Even then, he had sat vigil by her side and as you all looked on in collective grief, as the concern for him and his deteriorating state was palpable. Almost no one was able to get him away for longer than a few minutes—first it was the Colonel near shoving him and Vernon out the door and into the arms of the vultures with the cameras outside. Then, Sam Phillips was able to console him for a bit. Jack and the boys and Anita all tried to pull him away, but they were only swept up by him to go see Gladys, and his tearful ramblings continued about how beautiful she looked and her tiny little “sooties,” and then his wailing and sobbing would commence once again.

His mama had always been more than kind to you, and you cried for her loss, but it was truly Elvis’ grief that had the tears rolling down your cheeks. But you hadn’t wanted to overstep your bounds. However, he’d stopped eating and drinking, and looked positively exhausted, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Eventually, you could stand it no more.

“Elvis, honey, I need you…” you’d said, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. He’d looked up at you sharply, eyes so bloodshot and filled with tears that the blue of his irises seemed unnaturally bright, his innocence and grief leeching out of them. You faltered then at the state of him, stumbling over your words, wanting to be as kind as possible. You cleared your throat, continuing, “I need you to come with me, sweetie.”

And somehow, against all odds, he listened to you, of all people. Wordlessly, he’d stood, drawing you tightly to him, his arm gripping your waist and his tall frame leaning on you for support, nearly knocking you over. You’d stumbled with him to the stairs, and he’d just collapsed into you, his head buried into your neck, clinging to you as if drowning in his grief and you were his life preserver. His heart wrenching sobs had silent tears flowing down your own cheeks, and you’d held him, petting him, cooing at him, your protective gaze shooing the onlookers away.

Eventually, after some time, he quieted. You could feel the heat of his head through the now-soaked top of your dress. “Oh, E, you’re burning up,” you’d said, feeling his face with your hands. He’d worked himself into such a state that his body was rebelling against him, and you’d whispered to someone nearby to call the doctor.

At that point, he’d had little fight left in him, and Jack and Sam had helped get him up to bed once the doctor had come. But he’d still clung to you, not letting you leave him once in his ornate, darkened cave of a bedroom. Elvis wouldn’t settle or let the doctor administer the much-needed sedative until you were in the huge bed with him and he was curled in your lap. You had looked to Jack wide-eyed for some sort of support, part of you feeling a little scandalized by being invited into Elvis’ bed, but none of the men knew what to do, and you were the only one so far that had been able to get him away from Gladys. You just got harried looks of bewilderment from everyone, and the doctor had just nodded to you, as if giving you permission to climb up in with him, doctor’s orders. Anything to calm Elvis down.

So you had, your heart breaking for him, confused as to why it was you who he needed, not Anita or Vernon or Jack. Regardless of how strange it was, you were his friend, and you’d do anything to help, no matter your own comfort. You’d stayed with him through the night, back leaning up against the headboard awkwardly, staying even after the sedative took hold because when you’d tried to leave, he’d still clung to you, heavy and feverish.

For hours you’d held vigil over him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, eventually drifting in and out of sleep, though any movement from him had you startling awake. And when you woke in the morning, stiff as hell, and Elvis blinked up at you with those huge, grieving puppy dog eyes, the pang in your heart was evident and confusing.

After those few horrid days, you never spoke of it again. You never asked him why it was you who’d been able to reach him through his grief, and beyond a whispered “thank you” in your ear before he left for Germany, he never mentioned it again. Not that you’d seen him for him to do so. Maybe that is why you are nervous, you think, because the last time you saw him, he was so utterly lost, and for whatever reason, you had been a lifeline in one of his worst moments. And that feels significant somehow, though you aren’t sure exactly how.

That look you see in his eyes now reminds you too much of that look from 18 months ago. But there are a bunch of family and friends between the two of you, crowded in the entryway, bustling with excitement, all seemingly oblivious to Elvis’ distress.

It angers you a bit, the way they all clamor over him without truly seeing him. You stand as rooted as he is, as if your being able to move is tied to him somehow. He looks at you then, sensing your gaze or your thoughts in that almost preternatural way of his, and you see the overwhelm in his eyes. The way the endless blue of them seems clouded over with pain and grief. The way they almost beg you to save him.

This, out of everything, gets you in motion, stepping towards him in the crowded space, but there are so many damn people that you can’t get to him. By the time you sidestep cousins and friends, you’ve watched as his face changes, a mask slipping over those handsome features so seamlessly that it takes you aback. You stop short, amazed at the way he now smiles and laughs at the antics around him, as if nothing happened.

You realize he must’ve had to do this to survive over there. There was no way he could show that kind of vulnerability during tank maneuvers or whatever they had him doing. He’s protecting himself, you think.

But it still rubs you the wrong way. The ease with which he switched emotions was disconcerting to you. Somewhat bitterly, you think that he certainly didn’t need your help through his pain this time.

Oh, stop, you chide yourself. He’s been home all of five minutes and first you wanted to run away from him and now you’re mad his grief isn’t crippling him? What’s wrong with you?

“Okay, okay, y’all, I need to go get changed! The press is gonna be here any minute,” Elvis chuckles and waves you all off, climbing the stairs. His eyes catch yours in the briefest of moments and you swear there is something unsaid in them. And then he’s gone, up into his room.

A shiver passes over you, your stomach flipping, and then a wave of nausea comes.

Jack sees you and comes over with concern in his eyes, cupping your cheek. “You alright, treasure? You look a little green in the gills,” he says.

“I…uh…my stomach is upset, sweetie. Excuse me,” you say quickly, the bile rising, and you make quickly for the bathroom down the hall. Once safely locked away, you rush to the toilet, sick. Luckily, once out, the queasiness passes quickly.

The doctor said this could happen, you think, looking at the reflection of your red face in the mirror. You rinse your mouth out and splash your face with cold water. It certainly has nothing to do with Elvis. That would be absurd.

It’s just the look in his eyes is haunting you and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just your hormones being in overdrive. Yes, that makes sense. You are on edge and not seeing things clearly. Or maybe too clearly.

After a multitude of deep breaths, you straighten your dress and hair, then head back out into the fray. You find yourself in an empty house. You wander about to find that most everyone has gone back outside to witness Elvis’ triumphant return to Graceland as procured by the press.

They have arrived, littering the snow-dusted lawn and taking photographs and recordings of Elvis as he sits in front of a huge guitar shaped cake. You peek over someone’s shoulder and your jaw nearly drops at the sight. Clad now in all black, his wool coat is appropriate for the chill, but his black shirt is open halfway down his torso, a large gold medallion resting on his bare chest. If he’d looked like the All-American boy getting out of that car not 30 minutes ago, now he looks like the perfect combination of sweet and sinful.

Oh, dear lord.

His chestnut hair is perfectly imperfect, a rogue lock falling over his forehead. You think perhaps he’s added a little shadow and mascara to his eyes, or maybe he’s just exhausted from the long journey home, but whichever it is, the slight darkness on his lids gives him a stunningly beautiful look, his blue eyes popping and dancing with a combination of mischievousness, aloofness, and candor. Somehow, he has retained the youthful swell of his cheeks while also now having a jawline that could cut glass.

As you watch Elvis pick at the cake, deftly putting pieces of it in his mouth with his fingers, the innocent gesture seems almost obscene and that lightheaded feeling comes over you again, this time with a swell of warmth.

You want to look away, you really do, but you’ve forgotten your friend’s natural charm, how his essence pulls even the most unwilling into his orbit. His beauty is one thing, but the feeling that surrounds him is another thing all together. It’s not just you caught in the pull, however. Friends and family gather around, too, though they are likely not experiencing the same type of reaction as you.

Oh, this is utterly ridiculous, you think. Elvis has always been pretty and alluring. Get ahold of yourself.

You think it must be the pregnancy hormones, the way your body flushes from head to toe just watching him eat his cake and play to the camera. You force yourself not to follow as they direct Elvis towards Vernon’s office for the press conference, his tall frame gliding across the lawn in the most confident and nonchalant of ways. He commands his audience as though he’d never left, born to be at the forefront of everything. Focused on the cameras, he does not see you, or so you think, until he catches you staring and quirks his brow.

This finally prompts you to move, turning away quickly and heading back into the warmth of the house. You are glad for the cold, as it gives a reason for your cheeks to be as red as they are, and it douses your heated body with a much-needed chill.

You are embarrassed by your behavior. Elvis is not some idol to be gawked at, not by you. Perhaps it is because you feel so removed from him in his absence, or it is the unasked questions that linger in your mind from before he’d left, but your nerves buzz annoyingly.

You manage to avoid him after the press conference, as he’s utterly exhausted from his trip back home and all it had entailed and sends everyone on their way with the promise of a party the next evening.

Later, lying in bed, you wonder what in the hell came over you. It’s got to be the nerves and excitement about the life growing inside you colliding with the trepidation of your friend’s return all at once. You also know that pregnant women have a multitude of strange physical symptoms, especially in the early days, which would explain nearly everything.

That must be it. It’s not about Elvis at all. It’s your body telling you that you are pregnant.

Finally.

The thought sends a flutter of a different kind through your chest. It’s one of excitement and hope and a little fear. You place your hands on your belly, imbued with a sense of motherly responsibility. You drift to sleep thinking of holding your child in your arms.

The party the next night has Graceland lit up in a way it hasn’t been in years. An air of celebration surrounds the place, chasing away any of the leftover morbidity from Gladys’ passing. You hold Jack’s hand tightly as you enter the mansion, that strange anxiousness from yesterday threatening to ruin your night.

Maybe you should have told Jack about the baby before you came, but no moment seemed quite right. Telling him before work would have distracted him and telling him before the party still seemed to be stepping on the toes of Elvis’ return. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him for sure tomorrow, you think pointedly.

The warm air of the house nearly overwhelms you, and the two of you strip your heavy coats and head towards the sound of Elvis’ boisterous laughter. Your dress is fitted only at the waist and not over the belly, which you are glad for, even though you are hardly showing yet.

You manage to find a seat in the corner with Jack far enough from Elvis that you can breathe, as the fact that he still looks incredible has not changed in the last 24 hours. Why you are so completely stuck on his shocking handsomeness and consumed by whatever prowess he is exuding, you still do not quite know, but it continues to affect you and keep you wary. Shaking off your unhelpful thoughts, you busy yourself talking with Anita, Pat, and the other girls as the men joke and play. After a while, this finally settles your nerves, but you are very conscious of not letting yourself get too close to Elvis as the night goes on, as if being too near will disrupt the tenuous equilibrium you are trying to maintain.

Later in the evening, you excuse yourself and head to the restroom. You can’t help but look in the mirror, rubbing your belly even though it’s impossible to tell yet. This puts a smile on your face, your sweet little secret. And this is how you exit, smiling, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Shit!” you gasp, jumping out of your skin at Elvis leaning casually against the wall across from you. Your heart gallops against your ribcage, one hand flying to your heart and the other to your belly in a protective gesture. “Elvis, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, y/n,” he says, pushing off the wall, eyes remorseful but watching you carefully.

You find yourself barely able to look at him with him being this close. You will your heart to slow, will yourself to act normal, but it’s like you can’t. You can’t quite meet his eyes, you can’t quite breathe and escape is all you can think of. You awkwardly gesture to the bathroom, thinking that it’s why he’s lurking in the hallway, and then you step away from him without another word.

“Hey, now,” he says from behind you, perturbed, “You wait just a damn minute.”

Elvis’ long fingers circle around your wrist, grabbing you, and it feels like fire. Startled, you turn back and look down at how he holds you firm. You hardly have a moment to process that he’s touching you before he’s pulling you into a room across the hallway. Yelping, you have no choice but to follow—he’s much stronger than you—and he holds fast as flips on the lamp and then shuts the door behind the two of you. He releases you, then folds his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Elvis…” you start, confused and shocked and trying to process whatever is going on.

“Did I make you mad or do something to offend you?” he interrupts, his voice laced with hurt. Those intense blue eyes of his lock you in place, betraying his churning emotions.

“What? No, what are you—?” you sputter out, faltering under his gaze and needing to look away.

“That! That right there. You can’t even hardly look at me!” he points, voice raising angrily. “You barely said three words to me since I been home!” He steps towards you and instinctually you step back, a hand flying to your belly, as the intensity of being this close to him has you completely overwhelmed.

His eyes widen. “Look at you, you can’t even be in the same room as me without skittering away like a little bird. I thought I was imaginin’ it for a minute.” Elvis pauses, looking you over. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly, the hurt palpable in both his body and voice.

Your heart aches at the sight of him like, forcing you to relax and be more mindful of your actions. “No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Elvis,” you breathe. You aren’t, truly.

“Then what did I do?” he asks with such childlike innocence, such hurt, that your heart breaks for causing it.

“Nothing, E, you didn’t do anything, I swear,” you insist, going to him, unable to bear the look on his cherubic face. You force yourself to get close, pushing through your silly fears.

“Why ya bein’ so strange then, baby?” Elvis asks, eyes scanning your face. This close, you realize you could fall and drown in their oceanic blue intensity.

How can you answer that? You certainly cannot say, “Yes, Elvis, I’m being strange because you came back too handsome and your charming presence overwhelms me, and I don’t know where I stand with you, and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

Your brain scrambles for an answer as the tension between the two of you increases to a level that has you sweating, and you blink up at him, flustered. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…I guess I am afraid that you’re different, or that things have changed too much while you were gone, or that it’s been too long and that you might not, I don’t know, you might not see me as your friend anymore?” you prattle on, the honesty in your words surprising you. The idea and the truth of it brings tears to your eyes.

His beautiful face softens, his mouth popping open as emotions flash over his features so quickly that you cannot grasp them completely. You feel utterly caught up in him, the loss of control and your feelings frightening you.

“Never,” Elvis whispers finally, “Never in a million years could that happen, baby.” The way he looks down at you is charged, confusing, intense.

Your heart flips. A rogue tear slips down your cheek. Stupid hormones.

You are close enough now that you can feel the energy of him pulsate around you. It makes your breath catch when he brushes the tear off your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. You’re not sure if you can bear him touching you more than that because it sends a shockwave through your body.

“So, you missed me?” he asks, a sideways grin beginning to widen on his face.

“’Course I missed you, you idiot,” you sniffle.

“Some way of showin’ it,” he jokes now, breaking some of the tension.

“Well, I’ve had some things on my mind,” you say pointedly. “Life didn’t stop just cuz you were in Germany, ya know.”

You don’t realize that your arm has been wrapped over your belly all this time. Elvis narrows his eyes at you, steps back, and then looks you over very deliberately. Self-conscious and confused under the scrutiny, you blush.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile spreads over his features and his eyes light up. “Congratulations, doll,” he grins at you.

He knows. Elvis, of all people, knows your secret after spending less than five minutes with you.

You are shocked enough that you don’t try to deny it. “I…How…?” you stutter out.

“You bein’ so skittish and protective, and the way you been holdin’ yourself this whole time is different. Explains that real pretty glow about ya, too,” he says, booping your nose playfully.

You blush harder. “Elvis, I just found out. No one knows yet, not even Jack, so don’t you dare go saying anything yet. It’s still real early,” you say in a warning tone.

Elvis nods, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Seriously, E, not a freakin’ word, promise me!” you say. He is a terrible secret keeper.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” he grins.

“Lord, with the way you’re buzzing, you’d think I was having your baby!” you laugh.

Something changes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quick that you can’t put your finger on it. He does still a bit, though, and you look at him quizzically. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you openly. The air has shifted once again.

“Well, we should probably get back out there. Everybody must be missing the man of the hour,” you say, clearing your throat and turning to leave.

Before you can go far, Elvis’ fingers dance over yours, reaching, as if wanting to hold your hand and pull you back but hesitating as if he shouldn’t. Your breath catches, an odd feeling blooming in your chest, like you are falling. You look back and down, seeing and feeling his fingers graze yours in such a strangely much-too-intimate way. He doesn’t stop, fingers brushing and winding through yours. You can’t help the way yours start to move around his in the now heavy silence. Your eyes raise to meet his, heart racing.

“Y/n, I—” he starts to say, voice low and gaze intense.

“EP!! Where the hell you at, man?” Red shouts from the hallway, startling you both, causing you to drop your hands as though they were suddenly on fire. As if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Elvis visibly shakes himself off and crosses in front of you to open the door. It opens a crack and then he stops, turning back to you quickly, mouth open as if he wants to finish what he was trying to say. He must think better of it, though, because he just shakes his head again and sucks in his cheeks before heading out the door without another word.

You pause, frozen to the spot, as your heart thunders in your ears. Befuddled, you try and process the last few minutes, try to piece out what the hell just happened. Your hand splays on your belly, your face hot and your body warm.

You were right, you think, a lot has changed. Everything and nothing, all at once.

After that, things move quickly. With Elvis’ new knowledge, you tell Jack immediately about the baby, pulling him aside at the party. He is thrilled.

A few blissful weeks pass. You’ve been feeling okay physically, just some nausea and lightheadedness, but your nerves are still a bit on edge. The strange moment between you and Elvis the night of the party lingers in your mind, just under the surface, and every time you see him, that odd falling feeling comes over you for a moment. It doesn’t help that when he sees you, something in him changes. It’s so subtle that you doubt anyone notices; in fact, you think you could be imagining it if not for the charged, unreadable look in his eyes. But to you he seems overly attentive to your every move, protective even.

You try and chalk this weird intuition and the way your body feels up to the pregnancy. Your body is changing a little each day, and maybe this is just a part of it.

Elvis has been enjoying his few weeks at home before everything starts up for him again, and consequently, so have all of you, finding yourselves pulled back into his orbit easily. He’s travelling down to Miami soon to be on Frank Sinatra’s show and then he starts filming his next movie in April. You have mixed feelings about this, dreading him leaving so soon again, but you also think perhaps it is a good thing to be away from him considering the tricks your mind seems to be playing on you.

Tonight, he rents out the Rainbow Rollerdome for an evening of what he dubs the “Roller Skating Wars.” You, of course, will not be skating in your condition, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from putting on a cute polka dotted dress and going to observe the chaos you know will ensue.

Jack, unfortunately, stays home, struck suddenly in the afternoon with a sore throat and fever. You tell him you will stay home and take care of him, but he brushes you off and tells you he’s just going to be sleeping anyway, that you should go and have fun. He practically pushes you out the door.

When you arrive at the Rollerdome, you quickly find the girls and plant yourself in one of the big booths with a coke, some popcorn, and some candy. Your cravings for sweets have been intense this last week, and you pick delightfully at the confections as you watch everyone skate around.

Elvis has a silly grin plastered on his face as he wheels up to your table, his hair so long and fluffy on top that it bounces with him, product keeping it standing nearly straight up. On anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but with Elvis being Elvis, it just seems to highlight how incredibly handsome he’s become. Honestly, he nearly takes your breath away in his dark polo with the popped collar, his eyes electric and dancing, his face long and jaw chiseled.

At least you know that you aren’t the only one noticing the change in his looks, because the other girls seem to blush and smile more as he looms over you all, the skates putting him nearly six and a half feet tall.

“Ladies, everybody got their skates?” he drawls charmingly.

Everyone giggles and there’s a chorus of “Yes, Elvis!” as they show off their skates. For a moment, you are a bit upset that you can’t skate, but that is quickly banished by the excitement of the life growing inside you.

“Well, go on then!” he motions, and the ladies scurry, happy to be summoned.

After they clamor out of the booth, Elvis looks at you more seriously.

“No skating for you tonight, right?” he asks protectively, cobalt eyes narrowing.

Your heart does that falling thing for a moment before you respond. “Nope, feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much!” you smile.

He nods, pleased by this. “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him,” he asks, looking around.

“Oh, he’s at home, sick. Booted me out of there. I think he was annoyed at me hovering, to be honest,” you chuckle.

“You gonna be okay over here? I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Elvis says, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll come and watch you all here in a minute. My back’s bothering me a bit, so I’m fine to sit for a spell.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, brow furrowing, as if sensing something about you that you couldn’t sense yourself.

“Yes, E, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Now, shoo, and go have some fun, but for god’s sake don’t go killin’ yourself or anyone else out there!” you laugh.

Elvis looks at you in that unreadable way of his for a moment, then a wide grin spreads across his face. “No promises!” he shouts as he skates away.

You let out a breath after he leaves. His presence is still overwhelming to you, no matter how much you try to logic it away, so for now you are just accepting it. Such is living a life with Elvis in it.

Your back really is starting to bother you, which you attribute to the obvious, and after a few minutes alone, you realize you would rather be around people than not. You get up from the booth, then a wave of dizziness overtakes you and you grab the edge of the table for support as you blink away the spots in your eyes.

You wonder for a moment if you might be coming down with whatever Jack has, but your throat is fine. After a moment, the wave mostly passes, so you make your way to the skating rink to watch the group from the sidelines. There are a few people on the sidelines, and you have fun making small talk and watching the antics in the rink. After a bit, most of the girls come back out as Elvis and the boys are getting pretty rough, and part of you is a little glad Jack isn’t here to get injured.

You ignore the ache in your back (it’s just something you’ll have to get used to, after all) and another wave of lightheadedness hits you as you all head back to the table. You are starting to feel distracted, your stomach churning now a bit, too, and you remind yourself that being pregnant isn’t necessarily a picnic. You feel a bit claustrophobic now, shoved in the booth with the other ladies, and excuse yourself to the restroom, thinking it might be time to go home.

Something’s wrong, you think, a feeling of dread coming over you. Forcing yourself to breathe, you remind yourself again and again that you are just pregnant and these are symptoms of that. You pause at the water fountain to drink, hoping the water might settle your stomach.

As you are bent over, someone zips behind you on skates, then suddenly you feel a hand groping your backside.

Yelping, you choke on the water and jump, turning around.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” a man you don’t recognize leers at you, way too close for comfort.

“Excuse me,” you say haughtily, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, making your lightheadedness even worse. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Naw, you’re the prettiest girl in here. Why ya all by your lonesome?” he purrs at you, the sound setting off every warning bell in your body, adrenaline clashing with your dizziness and churning stomach. He leans down, as if to try and kiss you and you push him back.

“Leave me alone!” you say, your voice raising in both volume and pitch. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs you hard and presses you into the wall. You think you might vomit all over him.

“Don’t be like that! All I want is a little kiss,” he says, one wandering hand groping your chest as his lips come at you.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it!” you shriek, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his disgusting mouth roams over your face and neck. Your body betrays you, though, your back throbbing, weakness overcoming your limbs, and you can’t fight him off. You curse the fact that the bathrooms are so far back from the rest of the group, and you pray that someone hears you.

“Get off of me!” you try to scream, but he’s trying to silence you with his hand. Panic overtakes you now as you realize this man is going to hurt you, but in your current state, you are unable to fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” You hear the low growl before the horrible man boxing you in is yanked backwards and sideways, his eyes bulging in surprise. You gasp as you watch Elvis collide with the man, his momentum from how fast he must have been skating sending the man flying.

The man stumbles and rolls, flailing and falling, and Elvis looks like you’ve never seen him before as he spins around. His eyes are dark and lethal, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his chest heaves with his breath. He looks terrifying, his focus singular, and you are almost afraid for the man. Almost.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Elvis growls again, pulling the dazed man upright by his shirt. “What the fuck were you doin’ to her?!” he yells, pulling back his arm and then socking the man in the jaw so hard you can hear the crack. The man is stunned for a moment, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth, but he recovers, taking a swing at Elvis.

It barely grazes him and doesn’t even phase Elvis, who seems possessed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch her!” Elvis shouts, then punches the man in the face again, hard, sending him flying.

Things are happening so fast, you can barely process it. You can hardly breathe, the waves of dizziness pouring over you, making it hard to focus.

Elvis goes for the man again, and suddenly you are fearful he might kill him because he seems so blacked out with rage. Elvis hits him again and the man falls to the floor in a heap, bloody and bruised.

“Elvis, Elvis, stop!” you try to call out, but your voice is too quiet, wavering, and he is too far gone. You need to stop him before he does something he cannot take back, and you know something is wrong with you because you can’t get your body to move the way you need it to.

It’s then that a sharp, searing pain burns in your abdomen, and a primal scream bursts from your lungs. A shockwave of agony rolls through you, knocking the breath from your body. It’s so sudden and all-encompassing that you see red, and you clutch at your belly, your head spinning, fearing the worst.

The baby.

Your cry finally snaps Elvis back to reality because he’s with you in a flash, fear and concern flashing over his features, replacing the fury that was there mere seconds ago.

“Y/n! Y/n, what is it? Did he hurt you?” he gasps, looking you over as tears stream down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath, and your heart is beating too fast. Then, you feel hot liquid spread from your belly downwards, life spilling out of you, running down your legs. You feel sick as you look down, Elvis’ gaze following your own. That’s when you see the dark red begin to stain your dress and your stockings.

It’s over, it’s over, the baby, oh god, runs through your head, a dismal chant in your mind. You look at Elvis with resigned horror, but you are feeling so lightheaded, you can barely focus on anything. Even the pain starts to wane and feel distant. You know this isn’t normal, even for a miscarriage. Something is terribly wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you hear him beg, his hands on your face, your shoulders, his eyes wild with terror now. “We need help over here!” he bellows, never taking his eyes off you.

They are so beautiful, those crystalline eyes, those dark lashes, you think absently as you begin to slump over.

You are somewhat aware of his strong arms catching you as he slides down with you to the floor. They feel so warm and comforting, you think. You blink up at him, your vision starting to dim.

“Y/n, no, don’t you dare, you stay w-w-with me, b-baby,” Elvis says in a panic, shaking you, pulling you into his lap. A sharp metallic smell permeates the air. “Somebody c-call a damn ambulance!” you hear him shout. You can hear the terror in his voice, in his stutter, and you wonder why he’s so scared. You’ve never heard him this scared.

“Elvis?” you whisper. You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard.

“Yeah, b-b-baby?” his voice shudders. You can feel his chest heaving as he presses you into him, rocking you, tucking your head under his. He always has to be moving, his energy always vibrating around him.

“I feel so strange…” you say, and you do. You’re aware of the pain but it feels so far away. Everything feels far away except for the heat of Elvis, which feels like a blanket around you. With the warmth pouring out of you, you start to feel cold.

“I-I-I know, baby. Come on, you stay awake, now,” he says in your ear as your eyes start to close. He shakes you again. You force them to flutter open. You think whatever is happening must be really bad if he’s so scared.

“Tell Jack I…I love him,” you breathe quietly, just in case.

“You tell him yourself, damnit,” Elvis chokes out, pulling you in closer.

“Thanks for…being…my friend…so good to me,” you say, but it’s not enough. You can’t seem to get the right words out, your mouth filling with cotton. You bring your shaking fingers up to his cheek, your face is buried in his neck, his smell surrounding you. He smells so nice. He feels so good wrapped around you. You’re not nervous to be near him anymore, all of that seems so silly now. Your hand drifts and you feel his full lips under your fingertips. They really are as soft as they look.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore and blackness starts to swallow you, your hand falling onto his chest, but you feel unusually calm.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I love you, y/n, please, I love y…” Elvis whispers pleadingly in your ear.

His quiet, startling confession fades away and is the last thing you hear before the world goes completely dark and silent.

Elvis at the Rainbow Rollerdome, March 19th, 1960

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld

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shiikiyun · 9 months

Text

Futa Kajiyama and Remorse

by someone that would hit him in the head if they had the chance

The discussion over whether Futa's shown remorse over his actions is genuine or not is something that has existed for years at this point, and it'll probably always be a debate. Just thought I'd give my personal take on it.

Starting off by saying that it is very ironic that a huge part of the discussion on his character and crime is how genuine he is when he admits fault, considering his case is entirely related to social media, almost like how when public figures online mess up and everyone else picks apart their apologies and rate the sincerity of them (not saying it's a bad thing, influencers will explode before handing a good apology, i just thought it was funny to point out). That aside, let me actually talk about him.

First, what did he do? In short, he began a witch-hunt campaign and doxxed a middle-schooler over a claim with no basis that said kid tried to reason with him over and he ignored, (pressumably) pushing her to suicide. Fucked up. Very understandable unforgiven veredict in the first trial, since his denial of his actions was so strong, he had it coming for sure.

Now, his feelings around his crime. It's said a lot that he doesn't feel sorry for his victim, that he only feels anxious and "guilty" because he's facing consequences and he's scared of dying, so he'll do anything to avoid that (so; admit fault, even if he doesn't believe he was wrong). And he is stubborn, so it's not crazy to see it that way, but—

Does he really not care?

From the way I see it, Futa is telling the truth when he says he never intended her to die. Personally, I would "should've thought about it twice then?" 'd him if I could, but I can't in good faith call him disingenuous for saying he didn't want it to end that way.

People don't take their actions on social media seriously. This happens all the time. People will say they most cruel things to strangers over minimal disagreements, and they don't consider it to be that damaging because "it's just social media". Futa is no different than that.

He got a power trip from the praise he received after he called out a teacher for sexual harrassment (which is obviously an actually fair reason to dunk on someone), took it too far over something mundane, and it actually had real life consequences on an innocent person. And he knows this. He's always known. The very moment he realizes what he did is when he's horrified of himself and is visibly shocked— He didn't want this. But he did it, and now there's blood on his hands.

To call that reaction disingenuous, or relate those feelings solely to the fact that he's facing consequences now, is completely ignoring that it happens before he's aware about receiving backlash from his friends.

That's where his anxiety comes from. He's always known he fucked up awfully. When ES insists on him being a murderer, what makes him stutter and show fear is that same word. He's a murderer, and he can't cope with that, but he knows what he did no matter how much he denies it. From the very beginning all Futa has been is a coward; unable to accept that his actions killed someone until he gets some sense literally beat up on him.

Now, this is where I drift onto something even more people might disagree with, but personally I think it's intentional. The representation of his victim, in both MVs.

Because Futa saw no difference between her and other people him and his friendgroup judged, firstly, she's shown as a videogame monster. Her silhouette changes to a more human-like one when he realizes she died, but that's about it. It shows more of his attempt at dettaching from what he did, refusing to see things for what they are.

But then Backdraft came and totally changed that.

I have to bring up the other 2 monsters to make my point clearer. Like I said, in Jihen Joutou, Futa pictures all of his targets as monsters. In Backdraft, the first 2 remain the same style, but Killcheroy changes.

isn't she adorable, by the way?

Unlike the other two, she's a completely different art style. Cartoony, cute, childish. Because Futa finally got to a point where he can't separate his actions from himself anymore, and had to recognize to have played part in her death, we see his victim for what she is—

A middle schooler.

Of course, her straight up appearing would've been enough to convey that, but the addition of making her character different (innocent, friendly, harmless) further shows how Futa does recognize that he hurt a child that ultimately wasn't doing anything wrong.

And, lastly, and this is entirely personal and where even More people might not agree: I just don't he's lying. I don't think he's trying to manipulate anyone into thinking he feels remorse just to get relief. I believe him when he says he knows what he did was wrong and he regrets doing it, that he wouldn't do it again. And I also understand (and agree) when he says ES, and us by extent, are doing the same.

People in the fandom like to act like he's crazy in the head (hyperbole) for saying that, that he is entirely saying it to guilt ES into forgiving him, and it honestly exhausts me. So like, hey, I'm not Futa, I'm part of the audience and I've voted. So let me say it: We are in fact the same.

He is not wrong in believing it. The MILGRAM system only abuses people under the excuse of giving justice and punishment to those that deserve it regardless of the degree of their crime— And I'm not talking about Kotoko. The psychological torture all 10 of these people are going through is not fair, not on the most forgivable one, nor the least. It is just an abusive system. This system killed people, some of which were teenagers, for having a troubled life. How is that any different from him?

Now I just said we are the same for the dramatism— Of course we are not the same on the basis that we are not actually hurting real people, but like, this fictional character doesn't have a conscience. By MILGRAM canon we really are just a bunch of people getting entertainment from 10 troubled people getting tortured. And as for ES, them continuing to partake on their role when they saw the extreme consequences it has just because they were told to do it is... Yeah, can you really blame any of the prisoners for thinking the guard is also in the wrong?

Ultimately, to conclude: I don't think Futa feels no remorse, nor do I think he only feels bad because he got consequences for it, and I don't understand this point of view. He's shown distress over his actions before backlash came his way, and right now he's at a point where he can't ignore that he fucked up and he will admit to it just fine. He is just simultaneously (and rightfully) upset that a fucked up system that does the same if not worse is the one that gets to decide whether he should be forgiven or not, because in all honesty, none of the prisoners deserve to be judged by MILGRAM.

Aaanyhow, that is it for me. I wrote this in a delirious state from sickness so I hope it's readable and coherent. Peace

Note: i know its implied es attempted to stop the trials and it didnt work, i dont think theyre evil and entirely on a power trip... please dont misunderstand the bit i talk abt es as me saying theyre evil and entirely on a power trip thank you

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #fuuta milgram #character analysis #i guess #theory too?#idk. its once again almost 4 am #ive repeated it a lot in the text but this is my PERSONAL take #if you disagree youre free to do so but i feel very strongly about my stance on this #specially the very end #this isnt an open for debate post #im just putting my thoughts out there. u may add urs if u want though i just wont be actively debating but ill read it

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danses-with-dogmeat · 8 months

Text

Y is for -- Yes Man

Yay! Golly, who doesn't love Yes Man? He's just such a sarcastic little sweetheart and I'm not immune to his adorable, securitron charms. So, here's this!

I hope you all enjoy!

And with this, that's it!!

Thank you all so much for being a part of my lil 2k celebration! It was so amazing seeing everyone's reactions to these prompts, and literally SUCH a treat to write for some of these more "unfamiliar" characters! Love you all, and thank you so much for celebrating with me!

Next event updates will be coming... very soon 👀 So stay tuned for that! ❤️😊

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

Pair: Yes Man & Reader

Dialogue: “Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up.”

Word: Yours

Rating: SFW

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1.7k

You paced back and forth around the hotel room, the only sound the scuffling of your slippered feet and the scrawl of your pen over the legal pad in your hands.

“Is it enough, though? Did we even cover the–” Your eyes narrowed as you looked over your scribbled notes, trying (and failing) to blink the sleep from them as you attempted to decipher the chicken scratch upon the page. “The Boomers? What’re we doing about them when we take power, I mean, I haven’t even met with them yet, what if I get–”

“Yep, we sure did talk about them, Six! Remember? In the first meeting we had today! The one at 4 in the morning that you insisted on! You remember now?”

“The one… oh yeah, I do now.” You chuckled, flipping through the papers on your pad to the notes you’d taken-- what was it now, ten hours ago?

My handwriting was much easier to read this morning, that’s for sure…

“‘Send a securitron with a note…' oh yeah, that was a decent idea.”

“Sure was!” Yes Man agreed with that same dopey, optimistic smile permanently etched upon his face.

After so long a day, the smile became much harder to believe.

“Definitely get your best ideas after having slept a full night, don’tcha boss?”

“Maybe…” You bit your bottom lip at that, catching his meaning through the words easily.

Time for bed, boss.

He’d never give you a command outright, you knew he couldn’t. It’s not what… what Benny designed Yes Man for, after all. Still though, suggestions he gave rather often. And this suggestion, most often of all.

How many days has it been since I let myself sleep? And here? Probably never…

Well, not since that first night, anyway.

“Six? Still thinking of some wonderful ideas, or do you want me to go and get your pajamas for you?”

“Still thinking right now, Yes Man.”

Though, you allowed yourself the small reprieve of sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave generously as you sat upon it, the plushness of it overwhelming you after so many nights spent down in Freeside at the Wrangler.

“Might head out pretty soon, here.” You told the bot, with the knowledge that he could easily guess where you meant to go. “You can stay here tonight though, if you want to. I’ll be back early enough, I’m sure.”

“Sure boss, sounds like a swell idea!” Yes Man paused, but you could tell he wanted to say more, you didn’t quite know how you knew that, but something about his tone, or maybe even his expression–

I really am starting to lose it, huh?

Yes Man’s expression doesn’t change.

Guess this is what happens when you get 3 hours of sleep a–

“Yes. I think it makes total and utter sense for you to walk to the Atomic Wrangler through the strip and Freeside– which is known to be quite dangerous– at two in the morning without me by your side to help you! And then to come back here in the morning, likely as early as four a.m. to chat with me some more! I’m so glad we’re going to have someone as dedicated, dependable and quick-witted as you leading all of New Vegas real soon! You seem completely equipped for the stresses that’ll bring!”

You pursed your lips as he spoke, your tired gaze resting on the dull, pulsing glow of his screen lighting up with each word, casting a green-tinged gleam over the carpeted floor of the Tops' hotel suite.

“I don’t know what to do, Yes Man.” You admitted with a small voice, and heard the turn of his wheel as he scooted closer to you to better hear your words. “I… I can’t stay here, can’t sleep in this room, after Benny…”

With a sigh, you laid back on the bed, your body aching and pleading for a rest, even as your mind cast the sensation of a thousand ants crawling over your skin at the feel of the familiar sheets. The smell of the room, the décor, even the sounds; the dull conversations and jazz music that were all blaring far down stairs, the squeaky whine of the elevator moving along its vertical track, footsteps pattering through the halls… Anytime there was quiet, any time you weren’t moving, thinking, that Yes Man wasn’t talking, you were sucked back into your memories of this place. Your first time here, with him.

That wretched man who tried to kill you. The asshole, who talked his way into your heart through the span of one night, who made you feel… singular. Like you could conquer the world, and run the whole thing, with him at your side.

Just give him the chip… Just stay the night…

Do what he said, and he would give you the world, and his heart, all at once.

You kicked yourself every night at the thought that you ever believed him.

But what could you say now? At the time, you were scared, you were alone and angry, and then… Then you were in love. Quickly, yes, but still, you were.

And for what?

You raked your nails down your face painfully, and a deep groan escaped you as you were caged by your own memories in this wretched room.

“Well, Benny… Well, that guy’s gone!" Yes Man piped up, "It’s just you and me now, Six! You don’t have to worry at all–”

“I know he’s gone, Yes Man! That’s the fucking problem!” You sat up suddenly as you shouted at him, and the bot backed away from where he’d started to approach you. “He and I were supposed to do this together! Not just me and– and– fucking you.”

You were on your feet now, and Yes Man was caged in against the opposite wall as you stalked towards him, with nostrils flared and teeth in a snarl, you continued.

“You were the enemy. You told him how to follow me, knew the best place for him to fucking shoot me and leave me buried in the dirt, you were meant to plot with him from the start, and now? Now... why? Why the hell do you care what happens to me? Why are you planning all this without him? Benny was the one who made you, programmed you, what… What the hell are you doing with me, when… When you’re his.”

There was no malice in the end, it had all escaped you in the first bouts of shouting. Now, all that was left was a somber sort of curiosity. Honest, but dejected all at once.

Even now, I’m still holding onto a part of Benny…

“Because, Six, well… I’m not his anymore. I’m yours! I like planning this hostile takeover with you, and I like the meetings and the way you ask my opinion!”

You looked up from where your gaze had rested on the dull, red carpet, your eyes now meeting Yes Man’s optimistic screen, and lighting up with the glow of it.

“Benny may have asked for me to be made, and programmed the way I am, but then… Well, he left both of us, didn’t he?”

Was that… a bit of anger and, even, a touch of sadness in his upbeat voice?

Maybe I am just losing it…

“He was my boss, but now you are! And even more than that, you’re my friend!”

You blinked at him, feeling your throat swell up with emotion at the word he used.

Friend.

“Y-you really mean that, Yes Man?”

“Sure do, pal! We’re closer than two buildings snugly adjacent to one another! And I mean it!”

A laugh couldn’t help but pry itself from you, and you nearly fell over from the force of it. Until you felt one gentle, metal hand brace on your shoulder.

“Don’t know why you found that so funny, friend, but I sure am glad you did! I like to see your smile! And I’m not just saying that to be nice! I know it can be hard to tell when I mean something because of the way Benny programmed my voice, but I really do mean everything that I said! And what I said right now!”

“Okay, okay!” You were still falling over, holding your stomach as you laughed until your eyes watered. “Thank you, Yes Man, I believe you, I do.”

Somehow, you were back on the bed, sitting with Yes Man’s hand still on your shoulder as you fought to catch your breath.

“A-alright…” You spoke, once you’d calmed down. “I… might be able to sleep here tonight. Maybe.”

You bit your lip again, knowing damn well you were one bite shy of making it bleed with all the nerves coursing through you.

“Just… Can you promise me something?”

“Sure can, once you tell me what it is!”

“Can you just… promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up? I know it seems silly, but–”

“Yes, Six. I promise I’ll still be here when you wake up!”

A smile touched your lips at his words, and even with that feeling of foolishness at the forefront of your mind, you felt… reassured; like the sustained, comforting pressure of his hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks… Friend.”

“Sure thing, Six! And, I want you to know, I’m not just promising that because I have to agree with everything you say! I would promise it either way!”

You laid back, finally feeling the fatigue in your body and mind take hold of you and force your eyelids to close and your muscles to relax into the mattress below. Still though, even in your exhaustion, you found it in you to broaden your grin at Yes Man’s words.

“Glad to hear it.” You told him, “And… goodnight, Yes Man.”

“Goodnight, Six!” His voice was quieter, as he wheeled himself back into his corner of the room and dimmed the lights down, “I’ll see you in the morning!”

It was almost a whisper, but still, the comforting words rang through you as you finally felt sleep take you into it’s comforting arms and lull you into a pleasant dreamland.

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout npc #fallout new vegas #fallout nv #fonv #fnv #fallout new vegas companions #yes man #yes man fonv #courier six #benny fonv

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miyagifangkai · 2 years

Text

Surprise, Surprise!

Tagged: @flowercrowns-goodvibes

Request: if possible could i request an eli x reader set in s5 with his post-hawk persona and after the championship and finding out reader is pregnant? and maybe like the ripple effect it would have on everyone else? honestly you can write whatever you’d like! thanks so much

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Surprise pregnancy, talk

of born gender, angst!!!, cussing!!

Characters Involved: Reader, Hawk/Eli, Miguel, Demetri, Robby, mentions of Johnny and Carmen

Couple Pairing: Hawk/Eli x Reader

!!!THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOFRED!!! forgive me!!!

A/N: hey! Thank you for the request! You’re always so sweet! 🥰 I hope you enjoy reading. I tweaked some things!

You stared down at the dreaded two lines on the test you had just taken. You were dumbfounded. You look up into the mirror and take in your tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes, “Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself.

You card your hands through your hair and take deep breath and look back down at the test. As your eyes begin to get comfortable you keep staring at your result and your mind wonders you start to think about how you’re going to tell your boyfriend, Eli, about this. You feel your heart rate start to rise. Eli was busy with other things in his life as well, he couldn’t focus on a baby right now. You two haven’t been together for a long time either maybe a couple of months. You had been best friends for years but didn’t make it official until recently. You couldn’t fathom to think about what he’s gonna say or his friends. You felt like they were going to judge you, you just knew it.

Eli had something going on today with his karate which you usually went to and supported him but you haven’t been showing up due to you feeling sick all of the time. You should’ve known since the first week with morning sickness that something was up. But you turned a blind eye and blamed it on something else. Eli started to question as well but you would always change the subject. C’mon, there was no way you were pregnant, right? Hah. Wrong.

You package the test back up to show Eli later. You weren’t sure if you were going to tell him tonight especially when he was at the championship but you had to tell him soon. You just weren’t ready to see his reaction yet. You didn’t think you’d ever be ready to see the look of sadness and regret that he was going to give you. You sigh.

You feel another tear roll down your cheek and you frown.

You decide to go to the championship to see him. You didn’t want to be left alone with your thoughts and the weight of the world on your shoulders for another minute. You get dressed out of your pajamas into something more decent. With shaky hands and another sigh you grab your car keys and decide to take the test as well.

You get in your car and sit there for a few minutes not sure if you wanted to do this; were you ready to ruin his night? Or what if he loses and he’s already down in the dumps and you just make it worse?

You facepalm and lay your head on the steering wheel, “Fuck,” you groan.

You lift your head of the steering wheel and adjust yourself in your seat and start your car.

You make it before Eli is about to take the mat. He spots you and immediately runs over to you his smile quickly dissipating noticing you obviously shaken exterior.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were sick,” he questions.

You decide to shake it off and feign a smile, “I started feeling better. I wanted to come see you.”

Eli gives you a perplexed look but lets it go, “Okay then. I’m next so–”

You grab his hand trying not shake too much, “Then go!” you smile.

Eli gives you a quick hug and runs back over to his Sensei’s. Miguel catches your eye because he was staring at you. You should’ve put makeup on before you came. You were pretty sure the puffy red eyes either made you look high or upset so you knew it would have drawn attention from others.

The fight was extremely intense especially with Eli getting hurt. You almost started crying again, you weren’t sure if it was the hormones but you kept your cool. But seeing Eli lose broke your heart. You knew it broke him too. He tried not to show too much emotion but you knew him too well. There was no way you could tell him now.

Afterwards Eli approached you and you two walked outside.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay?”

He nods his head, “Yeah. I guess so. Just disappointed in myself.”

“You shouldn’t be. You did great.”

“I lost.”

“That’s okay. You can’t win everything!”

He sighs, “Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who lost.”

“Eli–”

He looks at you quickly, “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

Your shoulders drop, “Okay.”

You wanted to tell him. You needed to tell him. He deserved to know. You couldn’t keep this from him forever. You can feel your body temperature start to rise from anxiety and your face starts to get red.

“Babe, are you okay?”

“Eli, I have something to tell you.”

Eli doesn’t break his gaze patiently waiting for you to talk.

You feel your hands start to shake and palms getting sweaty. You try not to look him in the eyes when you say, “I’m pregnant.”

Eli chuckles, “Yeah, right!”

He soon realizes that you weren’t laughing, “Y/N, come on. You’re joking, right?”

You lightly shake your head and reach in your purse for the test. You take it out and hand it to him and he takes it in his hands.

You see his eyes go wide as he almost starts hyperventilating.

“Eli–”

“Sorry, I’m just letting it sink in.”

You swallow thickly. You were waiting for him to drop the bomb. You were fully prepared to have your heart broken. How were you going to be able to take care of a baby on your own? So many questions and assumptions start chaoctically swirling through your mind. You expected the worst, as always.

He looks at you, “We can do this.”

You look in his eyes searching for any sign that he’s joking. You pay special attention to his body language as he talks.

“Really?”

He lets out a puff of air, “I mean, I think so. Are you wanting to keep it?”

You nod your head, “I was planning on it.”

Eli develops a small smile on his face, “Okay. Okay. This can’t be too bad, right?”

You shrug your shoulders with no answer for him.

“I’m gonna be a dad.”

You start to feel the tears in your eyes, “Yeah, you are!”

He gives you a hug and then separates from you, “We’ve gotta tell the others!”

You feel your anxiety creep back up in you. You still have nothing to say about that. You weren’t sure how they were going to react. You were so afraid that they were not going to see as their friend anymore.

“O–oh–okay, let’s go tell them then,” you pretend to be excited.

Eli grabs your hand and quickly runs inside with you tagging along behind him.

Eli and you join in the group and he interrupts their conversations, “Guys! We have news.”

You look up at Miguel and Demetri knowing that they and Eli were close and you were afraid of how they’d feel. Everyone looks at Eli furrowing their eyebrows from confusion.

“Y/N is pregnant!”

You see Demetri’s face drop from pure surprise. Miguel covered his mouth to hide his slack jaw but uncovered it and gained a smile. You looked at everyone else who were shocked to their cores.

“Do you want us to be excited?” Robby asks you two.

You and Eli look at each other and smile with you answering, “I think so! We are wanting to keep it!”

That’s when everyone breaks out with their excitement and all come in for a group hug. You didn’t expect this kind of reaction from them, especially when you were thinking of the worst.

Eventually it is just you, Eli, Miguel, and Demetri together.

Miguel asking, “So what’s gonna be the name?”

You laugh, I have no clue! I literally found out about it today!”

Demetri lifts his hand to his chest in shock, “No way! You need to find a good doctor so they can give you ultrasounds.”

Miguel hums, “Mhm. True!”

Demetri continues, “What if there’s something wrong? Or what if the baby isn’t healthy or somehting?”

You hear Eli chuckle, “Calm down, dude. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But what if she’s–”

Miguel puts his hand up to silence Demetri’s babbling, “You and my mom should get in touch! She’s pregnant too.”

Eli looks at Miguel wide eyed, “No way. With Sensei?”

You almost laugh at the boys shocked faces while Miguel shakes his head.

You say, “Maybe I should. I do need to know the ins and outs.”

Demetri says, “That’s true. This your first pregnancy. Your body isn’t used to this. What if you start losing teeth or your hair? It happens a lot with pregnant women!”

You look at him, “How do you know so much about this?”

Demetri shrugs his shoulders, “Research.”

You all laugh at him and Miguel goes on about Carmen and Johnny hooking up with a grimace on his face.

After the whole detailed conversation Miguel asks, “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

Eli, of course, wanted a son and you wanted a daughter.

Since the choice was a 50/50 split the boys started placing bets on what the gender would be making laugh.

You couldn’t believe how well everyone took the news. You also couldn’t believe how supportive Eli was. You were definitely expecting driving home with more tears and a dull ache in your chest. But that didn’t happen.

You and Eli were going to be parents. You couldn’t believe it.

#cobra kai #hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz #hawk moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz x reader #demetri cobra kai #miguel diaz #johnny lawrence #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai fanfic

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highcaliberstupidity · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 1 Cracked Brain Pans

Rating Mature CW's/Tags Major Character Injuries, concussions, broken bones, being partially buried, open ending, Ghoap if you really really squint Characters John 'Soap' MacTavish, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Johnathan Price Summary

"-Op, I repeat, what is your condition?" What was his condition? Wrenching his arm free of the debris, he wraps weak fingers around his radio, clearing his throat with a rattling cough. "Alive, sir." He manages, letting his head fall back against the sheetrock.

Soap doesn't miss things, not usually anyway.

Because missing things in his line of work is deadly .

But, Soap is also human, unfortunately.

Going on 72 hours of five-second naps doesn't help either. His reaction time is buggered and he knows it, but the others are just as bad off.

Ghost on overwatch, running on caffeine pouches and disgusting mouthfuls of bitter MRE coffee grounds while the breaching squad relied on adrenaline and stims.

It sucked, and they'd all crash hard when it was over.

But all Soap could currently think about was getting out from underneath the door frame he was currently trapped under. He's not even sure how long he lays there, dazed and confused as pain splits his skull and he fights off waves of nausea and exhaustion.

It would be so easy, to give in to the crushing wave of black that keeps pushing on his eyelids, to just sleep , just for a moment.

But he can distantly hear Price shouting his name, somehow both muffled and ear-splitting all at once.

"-Op, I repeat, what is your condition?!"

What was his condition?

Wrenching his arm free of the debris, he wraps weak fingers around his radio, clearing his throat with a rattling cough.

"Alive, sir." He manages, letting his head fall back against the sheetrock.

"Sitrep Sergeant." Ghosts haggard voice crackles in his ears, and Soap groans as he forces himself to lift his head again and take stock of himself.

His left arm was pinned under himself, the shoulder on fire while his fingers remained stubbornly numb. Dislocated, could be worse. His spine was twisted at an odd, and not comfortable angle, but it didn’t feel broken. When he tried, his toes wiggled, which meant he still had legs and confirmed his spine was intact.

All in all, alive, but more than a little fucked.

"Yellow." Usually, tags were left by medics, but Soap and everyone else on the 141 understood them enough to understand the gravity of the situation.

He was stable but in a bad way.

"Left arms pinned, pretty sure my shoulders dislocated. Definitely got a broken rib or two, and I'm half-buried. Damn trip wires." He hisses, wincing as each breath puts pressure on everything .

"Hold fast Soap, we're coming to you." It's Price again, and Soap scrambles to get his fingers on the radio again.

"Negative, get that fuckin intel first, Sir." He barked, knowing he'd have hell to pay for that. "I'm solid here, no one's gonna come and look for me if you and Gaz are still on base. You said it yourself, we can't fuck this mission."

Silence falls for a minute, and all Soap can hear is the creaking of rubble and his own pained breathing.

"...Copy, but if the situation changes, you say something. Understood?" Price's voice is tight, and Soap can already see the expression on his face.

"Rog, make it snappy, aye?" He quips, before dropping his hand and letting himself go limp for just a moment.

He knows he needs to stay awake, knows he needs to start trying to free himself.

But fuck, all he wants to do is fucking sleep .

He doesn't even realize he's passed out until he hears shouting, feels the weight on his ribs finally lift .

He takes in a sharp gasp of air, eyes fluttering open as he takes in the first full breath of air he's had in hours . And then the pain hits, broken ribs screaming from the pressure of his lungs as he curls into himself.

"Soap, hold still son, hold still." Price's voice floats into his ears, and he can hear him and Gaz going back and forth over his head as agony runs like fire in his veins.

He opens his eyes when he feels a tap on his cheek, Gaz's face swimming into view.

"Come on, keep those pretty blues open MacTavish. How many fingers?" He sees his hand move, watches as it distorts, and watches it move three more times before his stomach clenches, and he has to shut his eyes again.

"Can't. F-fuck, gonna be sick if I open my eyes again." He groans, feeling more debris being displaced around him as Price continues to dig him free.

"Major concussion then, dislocated arm, definitely broken some ribs. Anything else feel broken?"

He shakes his head, only to bite down on his own tongue as he nearly hurls again. "Na, t-think I'm okay. Just fuckin knackered." He grumbles, feels hands roaming over his body, poking, prodding, testing.

"Sorry mate, no rest for you until we get you to med. Now hold fast, this is gonna hurt." And fuck, hurt it fucking does. Together Gaz and Price heft him up, firm hands guiding him up until he's propped with his good arm thrown over Price's shoulders.

His Captain slings an arm around him, and he looks thunderous . Soap's definitely going to get the reaming of his life when medicals finally done with him.

But Price doesn't say anything to him, instead gripping his radio as he hugs him close to his side. Gaz takes point and begins to lead them down the hall towards their rendezvous point.

"Watcher, intel and Bravo 7-1 secured, he's alive but needs immediate medical attention. Ghost, move for the rendezvous, we're heading out."

"Roger, on the move." Ghost responds, and he sounds relieved . Soap tries not to feel too warm about that.

"Bravo, exfil is five mics out. Advise you haul ass." The pilots voice crackles in their ears, and Soap can feel his eyelids drooping.

He knows he has to stay awake, that sleeping with a concussion can kill him.

But as Price hauls him across the empty compound courtyard and towards the green smoke of exfil, he thinks a nap might not be so bad.

He hears several voices yelling at him to stay awake, a growling staticky threat in his ear from Ghost, as his steps falter and his feet begin to drag.

"Mmmm, just a mo, m' solid." He slurs, and Price's arm around his middle squeezes.

"Almost to the helo son, keep your fucking eyes open, that is an order ." His Captain growls, and Soap tries, he really, really does.

But as his boots scrape against metal and a second set of hands reaches out to maneuver him with gruff instructions, he can feel his grip on reality slipping from his hold like grains of sand.

The last thing he hears is his name, from Ghost's mouth, as he's being laid out on the cold, vibrating metal floor of the exfil helo.

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forleejehoon · 1 year

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[Interview] Lee Je Hoon for 𝘔𝘌𝘕 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦 April issue — English translation

Translation by @forleejehoon. Please do not repost/share full or in parts without credits.

Lee Je Hoon is an actor that shines. There's plenty of inner glow coming from him – instead he wishes to become a light that's impossible to replace.

Taxi Driver 2's popularity is respectable. Apparently each episode garners over 10% of watch ratings.

I'm grateful just for the fact that season 2 was able to come out, as soon as the broadcasting started it got good reactions so I didn't know what to do with myself. It felt like being greatly compensated for the many hours I've spent filming.

It was intense since the shot of Kim Do Ki's back at the very beginning.

The very first line in the script director wrote was "Do Ki working out in a prison cell". One has to devote themselves to the scene, of course. (laughs) While thinking 'it's my last time showing my skin' I prepared for it diligently. Today at the promotion shootings, I'm flashing the little that remains of my abs. (laughs)

Kim Do Ki is a character that keeps changing his personas to punish the villains. You had to embody all these different characters in one project and although it's something to boast about as an actor, wasn't it difficult?

I filmed everything very happily while enjoying all of it. The difference between the personas is big so I worried a lot about what it's like for the viewers to watch it on screen. I thought a lot about how I should make it feel more continuous, too. Despite the times when I didn't feel content with my acting, I gained confidence since luckily everyone is enjoying watching it. For season 2 I filmed with the mindset “let’s play even harder”.

In the documentary Another Record: Lee Je Hoon you revealed to actor Lee Dong Hwi about your wish to do comedic acting. This time you happened to fulfill it to your heart's content.

In my case, I have no talent of making people around me laugh. Because of that, me doing comedic acting always felt far-fetched. In this project I formed a nice ensemble with the rest of the cast as well as the script was interesting and funny.

So this was a new challenge for you?

To be honest, I'm not an actor who's skilled in adlibs. If in the past I was someone who acted out the script exactly as it was written, now I have let my abilities come to surface and let them be seen. If I see some part in the dialogue or the script that could be filled, I express my ideas, so I play [characters] while contributing to the script.

As an actor you must've changed quite a bit?

Honestly there were times when even the act of familiarizing myself with the dialogue and simply acting felt like it was too much. Now as a person who's a narrator of the story, I feel the responsibility to lead projects. Once again it's the battle with time for filming sites. "Ah, why didn't I do this then", "why did I miss this" – I don't want any of such worries to remain so I have to distribute everything within the given time.

I could feel this passion of yours fully at the promotion shoot today, too. Felt like watching some sort of silent drama.

Promotion shoots aren't that different from when I'm acting. There aren't many chances to show myself equipped with cool and flashy jewelry. Now that I've left a memory of this new image of myself, I feel like I’ll be able to pull it off it in a future project. Through such collected experiences, I feel like I muster up courage to take on new challenges.

In the 4th episode a country boy Lee Je Hoon ordering around in Chungcheon satoori surprised the viewers with freshness, too.

It's the same for me. For Chungcheon people it'll look lame for sure. Despite that people have watched my trying self with affection. Through this opportunity both as an actor and as Lee Je Hoon I've acquired another thing I can do. If I happen to visit Chungcheon I shall try using it. (laughs)

I believe Kim Do Ki could become a character of a lifetime.

It can happen. It's truly fascinating to have been able to show so many varied personas in one piece of work. Although while I was acting I had thoughts like "other actors could pull off this role way better", but as long as it's Taxi Driver's Kim Do Ki – I think I can do it the best. Other actors substituting me wouldn't work. Of course there are better actors. But as much as it's hard to imagine [other actors playing as Kim Do Ki], Kim Do Ki is a character that I love and cherish.

Out of the entire bouquet of Kim Do Ki personas, who would be the closest to ordinary Lee Je Hoon?

To be honest, there isn't a single one that's similar to me. (laughs) Someone who's intelligent, someone who's humorous – both of these sides can be seen in little parts in me but even that would be an exaggeration.

To the viewers it feels cathartic to watch how the villains are punished. Was there any moment that felt the most satisfying for you personally?

Rather than action scenes, I think I felt the satisfaction when relaying a deep message.

What kind of message could that be?

Although I can't reveal any spoilers from the second half of the show, the most I can say is that in English you can express it as “memory” or “remember”. In season 2 these are the keywords that keep reappearing. "Do remember" is always what it ends with. In each episode it’s the crimes that are handled and the absurd reality of them. So such a message is the foundation of Taxi Driver.

Looking at your filmography including Taxi Driver, there are quite many works that are box office successes or are award-winning. Should I say that you have good luck with projects, or do you have a good eye when choosing them?

I do have my personal standards when choosing a project to work on. I want to do such projects that stay in viewers' hearts and minds for a long time. Not the ones that have no retainment value. It's good if fun is all that the experience of watching a movie gives, however there's nothing I'd need anymore in life if I can only be someone that leaves an effect on people's lives. Although I myself am an actor, when it comes to movies I have this same preference. Because I too get influenced by the works I watch.

Ahead of you there's the movie Escape that you'll star in together with actor Koo Kyo Hwan. In the 42nd Blue Dragon Awards you revealed that you'd "like to act with Koo Kyo Hwan once" and now it's a reality. Did your comment make any influence in the casting?

I was curious myself so I asked the production team. They said it did have an influence. I'm a lucky fan. (laughs)

Now that you have actually worked with him, how was it?

Although the movie is already a masterpiece, since I'm acting together with Koo Kyo Hwan it will shine even brighter. Once again I realized how an actor is an important part of a movie. Although we didn't talk too much, I have a partner with whom I can exchange feelings and the dialogue. Even though I haven't met Koo Kyo Hwan in private settings, the way we matched together felt like smooth sailing.

Let's talk about the days when you dreamt of being an actor. You dropped out of university and at 25 years old started attending Korea National University of Arts. Even before that, you were in the theater scene but then entered a university again – was there any particular reason that made you decide like that?

I decided I wanted to act and hung around the Daehakro [Arts Theatre] when I was 21-22 years old, somewhere around that time. I’ve experienced acting for only about 1-2 years and believed I could make a decision. Whether I really have the talent and interest to pursue such a road. But as time went on, I still couldn’t find answers to both of those questions. I didn’t give up and in order to fulfill my dream completely I thought I needed some kind of opportunity to reach the finish line.

But the people you’ve worked with are very sure [about your talent]. Director Yoon Sung Hyun, while recalling the filming for Bleak Night, has observed that you’re a born actor, as well as actor Park Jeong Min has said that you’re an actor who has great inner charge of pathos-energy. You’ve been getting such comments since the rookie days, doesn’t that make you a natural?

I’m not too sure about this. When someone discovers me, something inside of me seems to bring out some things in them – I can imagine hearing comments like that. Directors and writers cast me so it’s possible that the director adds more focus onto me. My presence can come out when lighting directors shine their light onto me. No matter how well I can act or how confident I am, it’s the fact that such people exist or else I couldn’t shine as an actor.

It’s been around 17 years since you’ve debuted in a short film Litmus of Truth. Maybe it’s because I didn’t see current you being that different from Architecture 101’s Seung Min but I didn’t really think you’ve had such work experience.

Wow, it’s been this many years. Come to think of it, I’ve set up a production company with the people I’ve worked with on Litmus of Truth. (laughs)

It’s been 2 years since that, right? Since you’ve set up a production company named “Hard Cut” together with director Yang Gyeong Mo and producer Kim Yu Gyeong.

That’s right. If there comes a time when, willingly or not, I wouldn’t be able to act, I’ve tried thinking about what kind of job I could do. Will I be able to do another job, do I want more burden. But I didn’t have much of a choice. Even if I couldn’t act, I still want to be someone that’s present in the filming site. I could be someone that generates ideas, or I could be a maknae that holds the light reflector. That’s why I’ve created “Hard Cut”, there are many things I’m learning about myself. How much I actually love movies or what kind of acting I should show from now onwards. The things I couldn’t see before are now right before my eyes. When it comes to making movies, it doesn’t matter from which position or what I do – I have the will for anything.

I’m wondering about what kind of concerns does an actor of 17 years have.

Instead of having concerns I believe I should be putting much of continuous efforts. There are many things that I still don’t know and things that I still lack in, however I have great desire to make good movies. Suddenly I thought to myself what would I answer to this question if 10 years from now I’m asked a similar one – in the future I’d like my answer to be the same as today. I wish to be an actor that feels such thirst [to make great movies] persistently.

Are there any moments that felt monumental?

When it’s a national holiday? (laughs) When it’s a holiday, they broadcast special selection movies. Whenever a movie I worked on is chosen to be shown, I’m very thankful. There are movies that are box office hits, or that have a good message behind them, whatever the reason – all of them are works containing great meaning.

What adjective would you like there to be in front of your name?

An actor that’s impossible to replace. Isn’t that truly the greatest praise.

In brackets I’ve personally added more context to help understand the meaning more clearly.

#up:Interview #lee je hoon #sbs taxi driver #taxi driver 2 #kim do ki #architecture 101 #koo kyo hwan #kdrama #t:Translation

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bookqueenrules · 7 months

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Why NYCC Was Good News/Bad News for Beth and Daryl Fans

First, you will noticed that there was ZERO discussion about a love interest for Daryl or his happy ending which was supposed to be the premises for the entire spin-off.

So, the good news is that it appears that the story for the spin-off has been planned for a very long time. So, the idea that TPTB “changed their mind” about Beth and Daryl as a couple doesn’t hold. The bad news is that it may take quite some time to play out.

The spin-off has been in the works for 8 YEARS. That had been mentioned previously by Nicotera in an interview, but it was really expounded upon here. Eight years ago was 2015, just after Coda. So, I believe the spin-off was always planned to be where Daryl and Beth reunite. It was ALSO always planned to be Daryl and Carol going off just like in Consumed. I sort of think that the spin-off would have happened while the flagship was still running except that the actors playing Rick, Maggie, and Michonne all decided they wanted to leave. For some time, Daryl and Carol were the only original TF members. None of the later cast additions were as popular. That is why they had to stall Daryl’s story and keep him on the flagship.

I don’t believe Gimple’s plan has changed. He and the fellow writers planned this out long ago which is good news for TD. Bethyl is still the endgame. The bad news is it can take a LONG time for that plan to come to fruition and no one seems in a rush. Gimple doesn’t seem to be moved much by ratings either. It’s almost like this is the story I am telling if you like it, great, if you don’t, don’t watch. Norman said he would play Daryl as long as the audience will let him, so he is no rush either.

Seeing how the story is playing out, IF we see Beth alive at all in Season 2, it will be towards the end. I will not be at ALL surprised if it doesn’t happen until Season 3. 3 is the number of resurrection after all.

When Norman talked about his and Melissa’s reactions when the idea of the spin-off being set in France was pitched, he said, “Melissa and I were excited. We all were excited.” Who else could have been in the “we”? Possibly Emily?

Norman talked about the French story being the “first 12 episodes” and(jokingly) maybe Costa Rica would be next. That tells me that Season 3 will be somewhere else. Hopefully, leaving at least Isabelle behind. I just don’t care for how manipulative the character is. I don’t believe any female in TF would have tried to guilt Daryl the way she did over wanting to go home. I’ll post more about that later.

However, a fan did ask Norman what he would have chosen on the beach, the boat or Laurent. Norman said he would have picked up Laurent and took him back to America with him. I noticed Zabel, the showrunner, and Gimple looked down when Norman said that. They were uncomfortable with his answer. It makes me think Laurent might be around for longer.

#twd daryl and beth #beth is coming #team defiance #team delusional #beth greene lives #bethyl #beth greene

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atlasdoe · 11 months

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I have been thinking many thoughts about the love of my life Hope Lupin so here’s a little piece of my brain surrounding her

also for context this is part of my cannon-compliant series where Hope and Lyall separated and Hope got together with Paris who is Dorcas Meadowes mother making Dorcas and Remus step siblings (Dorcas and Remus also have an older sibling each. Dorcas has an older sister called Dawn and Remus has an older brother called Romulus)

I imagine this happened around the Prank just after Hope was a little rude to Poppy because she’s jealous of how Poppy is able to take care of Remus Once Poppy had left, Paris turned to Hope, her voice was firm as she spoke. “Hope, that was rude. She’s one of the biggest factors for Remus’ health. She should be praised not dismissed!”

Hopes face didn’t change. She paced up and down the room with her arms crossed. “I don’t care what she's done. She can’t talk about my boy as if he’s hers. I won’t allow it.”

“She’s not taking him away,” Paris argued. “I know that you sometimes get insecure-”

“Insecure?”

“Yes, Hope. You get insecure over the fact that you’re new to this world. But it’s no excuse to treat Poppy like that. You wouldn’t treat a Muggle doctor like that.”

“A Muggle doctor wouldn’t treat my son as if he’s her own,” Hope said, taking a break from her pacing as tears formed in her eyes. “A Muggle doctor wouldn’t see my son more than I do.”

Paris sighed at the sight. Her face dropped slightly, her eyes becoming softer. It was a look that she often got when the subject of the wizarding world came into play.

Hope had read many fantasy books when she was a young girl. She had selves upon selves of different worlds and being and adventures that she could explore at the tip of her finger. When she would speak to her friends about books they would speak of how jealous they were of the characters that got to live in those worlds. They wished that they were Dorothy or Alice or Wendy. They wanted to be taken on their own journeys and live in those nonsense worlds.

Hope didn’t. She didn’t want to be the main character of any of those stories because each of those characters all had one thing in common and that was the act that they were new to the world.

Dorothy, Alice and Wendy had never stepped foot in Oz, Wonderland or Neverland before the first chapter had begun. They were finding everything out as the reader was and throughout their time in the made-up worlds, their oddness and lack of familiarity were known by every other character in the books. Hope never wanted to be the odd one out. She didn’t want Peter Pan to take her somewhere she had never been before. If she was going to have magic in her life she wanted it from birth. She wanted to be one of the lucky few that got to know things that others didn’t. She didn’t want to be the fish out of water.

When Lyall told her about the Wizarding World her heart sank. So there was a secret world; she just was never part of it.

When Hope asked Lyall about what would happen if they were to ever break up he was honest.

“He said that he would have to erase my memory! So not only am I not fully a part of this fantasy but my involvement in it all together is limited to who I’m dating!” she ranted to Paris mere hours after Lyall had confessed.

Paris watched as Hope paced, sipping her cup of tea quietly. “Well considering your first reaction to this was to tell me everything I wouldn’t be trusting you to keep any of that secret either.”

Hope rolled her eyes, “Well I had to tell you, he should’ve known that,” she said. “If we ever do breakup then I’ll let him know that he’ll have to erase your memory too. I’m not letting you remember all of this while I’ll forget.”

Paris’ face went funny as she slowly lowered her mug. “Yeah… That won’t be necessary,” she said in a shaky voice.

Hope stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Remember how I told you that Lyall and I went to school together?”

“Yes,” Hope answered, feeling her heart rate pick up as Paris spoke.

Paris let out a shaky laugh. “It wasn’t exactly a normal school.”

And that’s how Hope found out that not only was her best friend also magic and keeping secrets from her but that there was an entire school filled with witches and wizards. It was how Hope found out that unknowingly coming across someone from this world wasn’t as uncommon as she thought it might’ve been.

“No. I don’t believe you. There is no way that the woman who works in the chippy is a witch!”

“She is!” Paris laughed. “She was three years above me and Lyall in school.”

“Were all of your school friends wizards?”

Paris nodded. “Every wizard in the UK and Ireland go to the same school pretty much. It’s called Hogwarts.”

Hope, who at this point in the conversation was now sat down, rested her chin in her palms. “So every wizard in Wales, England, Scotland, Northan Ireland and the Republic of Ireland all went to the same school?”

“Yep. It’s in Scotland.”

Hope sighed. “That sounds fucking awful.”

Paris laughed. “You have no idea.”

Hope lowered her arms and folded them into herself. “Is magic genetic?” she asked.

Paris shrugged. “Depends. It’s pretty political but there are certain types of blood you can be,” she said, making quotation marks with her hands as she said types of blood. “But in general the answer is yes. Though Muggles can give birth to wizards and wizards can give birth to Muggles, or Squibs. That’s what we call people who don't have magic when their relatives do.”

Hope listened to all of this carefully. “What’s the possibility of mine and Lyall’s children being magic?”

“Pretty big,” Paris told her. “More likely than them not being magic I reckon.”

“Will they-” she hesitated. “If we do have kids and we then break up. Will they be taken away from me? Will my memory still get wiped?”

“No,” Paris answered immediately. “Once you have kids with magic that's it, you're in for life.”

“Oh,” Hope replied dryly. “Is that all?”

When she allowed herself to look back at Paris she was wearing that look on her face for the first time ever. “Hope it’s just luck. It has nothing to do with anything else. And besides,” she took her hand from across the table, “If you and Lyall do break up, I won’t let him obliviate you. You’re important to me and that’s enough.”

There was no doubt in Hope's mind that Paris was telling the truth, yet Hope could never let herself feel comfortable in the Wizarding World. While Paris and Lyall freely started using magic in front of her Hope realised that they didn’t quite know how to live without their wands in their hands. Neither of them even knew how to use basic cleaning supplies, and every time Hope had insisted on doing things the normal way they had laughed with amusement and told her that magic was much easier.

Easier it might be; but Hope refused to allow herself to become reliant on it. Magic would always be in their lives, but one simple spell could take it away from her forever.

Luckily, the time for Hope to be obliviated never came. Only two months later Lyall proposed and Hope accepted with the added news that she was pregnant. Nine months after that and they had Romulus, then Remus came seven years later on their ten-month wedding anniversary. By this point, Paris had married Dominick and Dawn and Dorcas had also been born. All four of the children showed early signs of magic and sixteen years later Hope still couldn’t figure out if she was happy about it or not.

“Hope,” Paris breathed, taking her hand and leading her into the seat next to her, “This has nothing to do with you. If you were a witch you wouldn’t be any closer to understanding this. Look at Lyall; Look at me. We both grew up with magic and yet we were prejudiced against werewolves. None of us are above Poppy’s help, but we’re trying our hardest and we’re all loving him and taking care of him the best way that we can. That’s all Remus and Romulus and Dawn and Dorcas need from us. No different to any Muggle parents.”

Hope sighed. “I know. I just feel so helpless sometimes. They keep going places where I can’t follow them and now it’s getting in the way of protecting them.”

“Hope…”

“I’ve never been able to protect them. Children are supposed to think of their mothers as magic. They’re supposed to think that our kisses really make their injuries better and that we can find anything that they lose in a heartbeat. But I’m so obviously normal to them. After the moons, it's Lyall who heals Remus while all I can do is just watch and wait until I can hold him without hurting him any worse.”

Paris squeezed her hand, “I know it's hard.”

“I can’t even see the school that they go to. I don’t know what Quidditch is or how hard certain spells are or anything. Their teachers see them more than I do, they’re all going to marry wizards and have wizarding careers and I will always be just… this.”

Paris’ voice was firm. “Hope you are the best mother I have ever known. You don’t understand this world as much as the rest of us but the boys know that and yet Romulus will still invite you to every one of his Quidditch games even if you don’t understand the rules.”

“Remus spends the full moons with his friends-”

“Remus comes straight home afterwards and lets Lyall go over any injuries and lets you smother him until he can’t breathe. That’s just as important.” When Hope rolled her eyes slightly (lovingly) Paris pulled her in closer, until their faces were inches apart. “We are surrounded by wizards every day, that’s normal for us. But you? You manage to do everything we can do and more without a stick in your hand. You don’t have magic, you are magic. That’s why we’re all so attached to you.”

Hope curled her lips as Paris talked. “You’re such a sap,” she teased. “But you're right. I’ll apologise to Poppy in a bit I just need a moment.”

Paris’ smile was soft. “Take as long as you need. We have all the time in the world.”

#Harry Potter #the marauders #the marauders era #hope lupin #hope howell #lyall lupin #Remus Lupin #dorcas meadowes #wolfstar #my writing

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gracesshelves · 2 months

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Jurassic Park (1993)

Jurassic Park (1993) was based the book written by Michael Crichton. While this was not my first time watching Jurassic Park, I knew quotes from this movie before I ever saw it. In my opinion, this is the biggest blockbuster we’ve discussed so far. I would rate this four and a half out of five stars. As someone studying the Save the Cat method for my novel, it was so cool to see how clear the beats are in this film. The moments of building and releasing tension were so well crafted. I found myself getting stressed, even though I knew the characters I cared about would live. The characters feel so alive and even those who had smaller arcs, such as Dr. Grant learning to like children, had me emotionally invested. Speaking to the hubris of humanity, I believe Jurassic Park will always be relevant.

As a new horror writer, I wanted to take notes while watching this movie. This comes as no surprise as the film was directed by Steven Spielberg, who’d already had a massive number of hits under his belt by 1993. The writing, acting, directing, and cinematography work together seamlessly. I particularly enjoyed how we switched between the two main groups in the most dramatic scenes. The camera work during the scene where the visitors are attacked by the T-rex heightens the fear by focusing on different characters' reactions and switching rapidly between them. I felt like we as the audience were looking around frantically with them, unable to see the dinosaur, yet experiencing its impact on the environment. The horror is hidden until we are at the edge of our seats, and then lighting strikes, revealing the dinosaur as it eats the goat. Spielberg maintains our fear by switching between Hammond and his employees in the office, and the people being attacked. We have moments of respite, but during that time we are thinking about what is happening to the kids. He does the same thing later in the film when Dr. Grant climbs over the electric gates with Tim and Lex, as Dr. Sattler turns the power back on. Seeing both perspectives makes it more stressful because we know how close she is to turning it back on, versus how slow the other three are climbing. At one point Dr. Grant told the kids to take their time and I yelled out loud: “No! Go faster!”.

I admired so much the way this movie was structured, however, there was one thing that bothered me a little bit. You can only do so much character growth in a movie with this big of a cast, but I would have liked to see more from Dr. Sattler, Ian Malcolm, and Tim. I picked up on three arcs of change: Hammond realizing his hubris, Dr. Grant learning to like kids, and Lex being able to face her fear to save her brother. These arcs were done so well and did not take time away from the story to complete, that I wished we had seen growth from the other three. If they’d had less screen time, I would be more okay with them being flat, but they were in so much of the movie that I wanted more. Again, this is a very picky complaint, but I think it would’ve just leveled up this already great movie even higher.

The whole theme of humans getting their hands on a power they don’t know how to control reminded me of how we treat technology today. We are making progress in so many fields, especially AI, but I don’t think we are spending enough time considering how this will affect our society. Tech companies may have some good intentions, like Hammond did in the film, but ultimately what they are creating has the potential to hurt a lot of people. Already people have used AI to create sexually explicit images of others as a way to harm them. We’ve seen so many cautionary tales, and yet we do not seem to be taking their advice. Hopefully, before anything else happens, we can sit and think about potential consequences. Personally, I do not want to be eaten by the AI “dinosaur”.

#my reviews

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gedeonburkhard · 7 months

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FROM GEDEON

Award-winning actor Gedeon Burkhard stars opposite Brad Pitt in the much anticipated Quentin Tarantino film Inglourious Basterds. Burkhard plays American Jew Sgt. Wilhelm Wicki who serves as a translator for Pitt’s character. Some of his other film credits include: The Last Train (directed by Joseph Vilsmaier), Melodies of Spring (directed by Martin Walz), Golden Times (directed by Peter Thorwart) and Making Up (directed by Katja V. Garnier).

Burkhard is the recipient of the Best Actor Bavarian Award for his work in Acting It Out and also received a Romy for Best Actor for the acclaimed his television series Detective Rex, which went on to sell to over 140 foreign territories. In addition, he also helmed a successful television series Alarm for Cobra 11 that aired in 120 countries.

Burkhard’s success in film and television has catapulted him onto the main stage in one of the most highly anticipated movie releases of 2009, Inglourious Basterds. IFQ caught up with Burkhard on the eve of the film’s premiere at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival.

IFQ: You play opposite Brad Pitt in the much anticipated Quentin Tarantino film Inglourious Basterds. Without revealing too much about the film, can you tell me about your character Sgt. Wilhelm Wicki?

Gedeon Burkhard: He’s a Basterd! One of 8 Jewish American, Nazi killing predator’s, in a world gone awry. Especially for Jews! As far as his history goes, he was born in Austria, immigrated to America in the early 1920’s, became American and was one of the first in line to go fight when the US entered the war. Aside from killing and mutilating, he also translates for Brad Pitt’s character, Lt. Aldo Raine.

IFQ: You are an award-winning star of consecutive top-rated television dramas in Germany and over 120 territories worldwide, as well as starring in many films in German-speaking territories. How did you cross over and score a supporting role in Tarantino’s film?

GB: Ten years ago in Vienna, I come home from a night shoot and find one of the greatest Directors of our time, fast asleep, on my couch. As it turns out, my girlfriend at the time, Emma Hickox, and Q are old friends. Actually, one of the characters in Inglourious Basterds is named after her late father and director Douglas Hickox. One year later in L.A., Quentin tells me about this character he has me in mind for and then, very generously, gives me eight years to prepare for the audition.

IFQ: How did you prepare for this role? Were you previously familiar with the old school WWII epic films?

GB: When I was 11, working on a miniseries dealing with the rise and downfall of the Third Reich, I was confronted with the subject matter for the first time. Since then I have played a Jewish prisoner picked from a concentration camp to act in Jud Süss (Anti-Semitic propaganda film) and a Jewish boxer fighting for his family’s survival on the way to Auschwitz. So since a lot of research was already in place, I mainly concentrated on playing around with knives, handling guns, slitting throats, scalping and so forth. As far as WW II epics go, any existing gaps where closed by Q’s weekly screenings during preparation.

IFQ: What was your initial reaction when you first read the script? While shooting, did Tarantino make everyone stick to the script or was there any room to improvise?

GB: My initial reaction was, God I can’t wait to see this! And, who do I have to kill to be in it?! I’m not quite sure about the order. Who, in his right mind, would want to change a Quentin Tarantino script? You’re just happy to be one of the lucky f***’s chewing his dialogue. But Quentin is the easiest going Genius I ever met and he is always open for someone bringing something to the table.

IFQ: How was the experience working with Tarantino himself? What’s his working process like on set?

GB: A film set is always the realm of organized chaos and to me, Quentin is King Arthur and Merlin wrapped into one! So being one of his chosen Knights, I naturally look to him for direction and guidance, which he readily gives. But Quentin also likes to let you run free in his magic castle; his only demands are devotion to the cause, passion and concentration.

IFQ: What was it like working alongside such a diverse cast: Brad Pitt, Eli Roth, Samuel Jackson, Maggie Cheung, Julie Dreyfus and Diane Kruger? What was your rapport like with them on the set?

GB: I never had the pleasure of meeting Maggie or Samuel. Quoting Quentin, Brad’s not a star; he’s a planet! And still he manages to be nothing but inspirational and a pleasure to be around. He is a wonderful colleague whose huge talent just drags you along, making you be the best you can be. Eli is a great buddy, but on set he was also our boss, Sgt. Donnie Donowitz! So if you mishandled your weapon, on or off camera, he chewed your ass out! Julie and Diane are both gorgeous, inside and out! I didn't have the honor to work with Julie but Diane, who I worked next to for weeks, was an endless fountain of entertainment and laughs.

IFQ: How do you think the German population in general will react to the film? Will they be able to separate history’s past and appreciate it as an entertaining film on its own merit?

GB: Quentin has managed to deal with this difficult subject matter in a way that gives everybody in his right mind the possibility to access and partake in the story and the ones that don’t, can as far as I’m concerned go F*** themselves!

IFQ: You have worked on both German-speaking and American films. Can you compare and contrast working on German-speaking films/TV and the USA/Germany co-production film Inglourious Basterds?

GB: Crew size and Production value. Aside from that, everybody is trying to do the same thing: make a good movie!

IFQ: Can you tell me how your educational background has allowed you to play both American and German speaking characters?

GB: Being an impossible child and always getting kicked out of schools was, not at the time but in retrospect, a good thing. It led to me being educated, first in England and then in America, giving me the gift of two languages and two cultures.

IFQ: Since Inglourious Basterds will premiere at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, will we see you there?

GB: Since I have never been to the Cannes Film Festival, you can bet your ass you’re going to see me there this year!

IFQ: Any upcoming projects?

GB: I just finished shooting a film called Mazel. It‘s a Jewish take on My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

#gedeonburkhard

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

TW: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it. Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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