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gotham-ruaidh · 3 months

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 15B: I Sing A Song of Love

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

~~~~~~~~

When I cannot sing my heart I can only speak my mind

- “Julia”, The Beatles (1968) [click here to listen]

“How was Alec?”

Jamie drew back the covers of Dougal and Gillian’s guest bed, bending to kiss his wife’s bare shoulder. “Good. He’s been producing a record for a local New York band – some punk kids he saw at CBGB. He wanted my advice on something.” He settled against the headboard, rolling his shoulders. “He also said that Faith took some really good photos at the wedding. I asked him to send them to Colum.”

“Hold these for me?” Claire slipped off her rings. Carefully he took them, watching her rub lotion into the palms and backs of her hands.

“I know you don’t like it when I take them off, Jamie, but it’ll just be for a moment. I’ve been feeling so dry since we landed.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. And I hope the dryness is something you can get used to. If we’re really serious about the house.”

Dougal, God bless him, had introduced them to Amy – real estate agent extraordinaire, and former patient at The Ridge (“white wine,” she’d explained in the car from the airport. “I thought I had it under control until I crashed my car into the house I was about to show, right in front of the clients, and two empty wine bottles rolled up from under the seat”). Amy was smart, and low key, and had lined up showings for six beautiful homes tucked away in the mountains.

So much to think about.

But they had time, now. All the time in the world.

“I can get used to anything, Jamie. When I want to.” She held out her hand, and softly, gently he slid her engagement and wedding rings back onto her finger. Kissed her knuckles.

She smiled. Reached out to trace her name tattooed over his heart. The only tattoo on his chest – proudly visible to the world on the nights he played without a shirt.

“Would you add our wedding date?”

His heart raced beneath her thumb. “Maybe. But I was thinking that I could save the space for something else.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

He smiled.

“Maybe – the names of our children.”

Her thumbnail grazed his nipple. Eyes searing into his.

And then his mouth was on hers, sharing breath and laughs as they struggled under the thick comforter to find each other.

Sometime later, he slipped from her to turn off the lights in the room. Paused to light the candle on the bedside table. Heart stuttering with love as the shadows played across his wife’s smiling, sleepy face.

“What was the first tattoo you ever got?”

He tangled his legs with hers. “On the top of my left arm. The name of our band. Me, Ian, and Angus all got it at the same time.”

He shifted a bit, and she squinted in the candlelight – but there it was.

“That’s adorable.”

Jamie snorted. “Angus was the one who wanted it. We’d just signed our record deal, after three years of playing shitty club after shitty club, and getting stiffed by promoters who didn’t pay us, and dealing with some real next level bullshit. So we went out to celebrate, and Angus downed half a bottle of tequila, and Ian and I helped him with the other half, and before we knew it we were on a quest to find a tattoo parlor.”

She smiled. “And you and Ian got them by accident?”

He traced the long, sloping line of her clavicle. “Fuck no. Angus cried like a baby because it hurt so much. And then I wanted to show him how it’s done. And then I bulled Ian into it. It’s still the only tattoo his has. Jenny was so mad. But she’s over it now.”

“Does Angus have any more tattoos?”

“I have no idea. Why don’t you ask one of the groupies?”

She pushed him gently. “Stop. Charlotte and Molly are actually really nice girls. I think they genuinely care about him. From what they told me last week, they had a wonderful time in Aruba.”

“Please tell me they didn’t share any specific details.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know they’re both on the Pill, because they asked me for a prescription when they learned I was a doctor. Kind of awkward when I told them my license had been suspended, but I helped them get what they needed.”

Jamie buried his face in Claire’s shoulder. “That’s good. But I really don’t need that mental image. They’re both a foot taller than him, for God’s sake. How does that even work, in bed? Sounds like a complicated math problem.”

She kissed his forehead. “From what they told me, it’s not an issue.”

He shifted up, mouth finding hers in a kiss.

“Will it ever stop, Claire?” he whispered against her lips, after a long, long while.

He didn’t need to be more specific.

“I don’t know, Jamie.” She kissed him, long and sweet. “I really don’t. But I don’t want to ever find out.”

Two A.M. Neither could sleep – too much on their minds.

Sometimes it was like this on the road.

They speculated why. Too much post-show energy. An uncomfortable bed. Because no substances were available.

Or, as Jamie would say – too much life to live, to waste by sleeping.

“Play for me?”

He kissed her forehead and crawled out of bed, toward the guitar case.

She recognized it from their time at The Ridge. A bit of mother-of-pearl inlay on the neck. Sides worn with time and love.

The guitar he had written all those songs on, at The Ridge. The songs he had always played to her first, in the early morning before everyone else woke up. Feeling like the two of them were the only people in the world.

The same songs he now played, night after night, for thousands of people.

Every time still felt like the first time.

She sat up a bit in bed, leaning against the headboard. Watched Jamie sit beside her, candlelight playing over his arms and chest and hips.

“Any requests, Dr. Mrs. Fraser?”

She smiled.

“Surprise me.”

He smiled back. Thinking.

Strummed a few chords. Thinking.

Launched into song.

Half of what I say is meaningless

But I say it just to reach you, Julia

Looked up at his wife.

Her beautiful, beautiful face stricken with pain and grief.

He lay down the guitar. Pulled her to him, skin on skin.

Holding her, smoothing her hair, as she cried.

“Sshh. I’ve got you. I love you. Sshh.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“My mother was named Julia,” she whispered into his neck. So softly that he felt it, more than heard it.

“I’m sorry. I never asked you about it. I didn’t mean – ”

“The White Album was the first record I bought with my own money. I used to listen to this song and think of her.”

He pulled her a bit closer. Wanting her to crawl inside his skin.

“I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like, if she and my dad hadn’t died when I was five.”

“If you would have become an addict, you mean?”

She twined her fingers with his. Thumb tracing his wedding ring. “If I would have married Frank. If I would have become a doctor. If I would have become an addict. If I would have met you.”

“All what ifs. You can’t drive yourself crazy that way, Claire.”

“It hurts, Jamie.” She closed her eyes. He kissed the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“I know, Claire.”

“I really wanted her to be at our wedding.”

“I know.”

“And your Mom, too.”

Ellen Fraser had died when Jamie was eight.

If anyone understood, it was him.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I never want to cause you pain, Claire.”

She took a deep breath. “I know, Jamie. And you couldn’t have known about the song.”

He kissed her cheek. “I can play another one.”

She shook her head. “No. I want you to play it. I need a new memory.”

He smiled. Gently turned her around so that he sat against the headboard with her back pressed against his front. Reached out for the guitar and settled it across Claire’s knees, his hands reaching around her to find the strings.

He strummed a bit. She relaxed a bit.

“You know, John Lennon wrote this song for his mother. She was also named Julia. He lost her when he was a young man – and he mourned her the rest of his life.”

He kissed the shell of her ear. Played another chord.

“It’s OK to mourn, Claire. And to remember.”

Began singing, low and quiet, into her ear.

Half of what I say is meaningless But I say it just to reach you, Julia

Julia, Julia, ocean child, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julia…

Safe in his arms.

“Love you,” she whispered, starting to drift away.

He finished the song. Carefully set the guitar on the carpet, and eased her back onto the bed. Holding her so close, so gently. A wonder.

“Dear God, I love you.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be #jamie and claire

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honeypiehotchner · 2 years

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Gravedigger’s Daughter (Hangman x Fem!Reader) -- part three

Hi besties we’re back!! Thank y’all sm for all the love on this story🥺 I’ve loved writing it & I love that y’all love reading it💛💛 (but also don’t quote me on the accuracy of some stuff in here,,, I’ve never stood underneath the wing of a Super Hornet like they fly in TGM but I’ve stood underneath an A-10 so I kinda went with my experience of that)

Summary: You’re finally back in Fightertown to visit Penny and Amelia, but there also happens to be a group of aviators back at Top Gun. One of which who seems dead-set on wooing you.

Warnings: ooh boy, lots of sadness in this one, lots of tears, I cried my way through writing this (but it has a very fluffy end)

WC: 3,859

Being back at Top Gun makes you feel 18 again. Showing your ID at the gate, being recognized and told to have a wonderful day. Driving around to the parking lot and parking in your dad’s old space; no one parks there anymore, out of respect or what, you don’t know.

You can’t bring yourself to get out of the car. You’ve turned the engine off. Unlocked the door. But you can’t move.

The last time you were here, it was to collect your dad’s things. Your mom couldn’t do it, so she sent you. You didn’t mind, not really. You were glad to be here alone that day. You didn’t have to hide your tears or be strong for your mom. You were a complete wreck and no one said a word.

You’re better today. You don’t feel as awful as you did that day, five years ago, but you’re not far from it. Tears sting the back of your eyes and you blink the sensation away.

You’re here for a visit. You want to be here to visit. Why is it so hard if it’s something you want to do?

Finally, you open the car door, throwing yourself out and shutting the door in one swift motion. If you didn’t do it quickly, you knew it wouldn’t happen. So you keep moving. You lock the car and head up to the front door. The guard lets you in, but if he recognizes you, he doesn’t say it.

The emblem on the tile floor is just the same. You used to try to jump from one end to the other when you were little, but you only ever made it to the middle. Now you can easily step over it.

The hallway here is the next obstacle.

When you came to collect your dad’s things a few years ago, they asked if it was okay to leave something here: his helmet. It sat next to a picture of him in the cockpit, in a glass case. His headshot was framed above, engraved with In memory underneath, as well as 1968-2015.

It’s still there, except his helmet isn’t. You guess they’ve just put it away for the time being, because a new picture is in its place. An old one of your dad and Warlock.

You lean in closer, not sure if you’ve seen this picture before or not. It looks new to you, but it’s the Warlock you remember. The two of them were nearly inseparable.

“Y/N?”

You turn your head, recognizing his voice immediately. “Rear Admiral,” you smile.

“Ah,” he waves his hand as he comes toward you. “Whatever happened to Uncle Solomon?”

You’re not sure what it is about him saying that, but the tears well up in your eyes and he’s bringing you in for a hug before you can question any of it.

You hold on tightly, burying your face in his shoulder, willing the tears to retreat back into your eyes. They do, but it’s a close call.

“I could hardly believe my ears when Maverick told me you’d like to stop by,” the Rear Admiral says, pushing back from the hug but still holding onto your shoulders. “My god, you’ve grown.”

“It’s been almost ten years,” you laugh. “I was thirteen when you deployed, remember?”

“Has it been that long?” he asks. “So you’re…”

“Twenty-three now.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’re making me feel old, Y/N.”

“That’s my job,” you tease.

He grins. “Oh, give me another hug, kiddo, I’ve missed you.”

You gladly do, letting him squeeze you tightly this time.

“So,” you start, “scale of 1-10, how much have things changed?”

“Eleven,” Warlock replies quickly. “Maybe fifteen.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should’ve expected that.”

“You know how it is,” he says.

“I know you can’t explain,” you remind him. “No need to be all vague. We can move on.”

He smiles gratefully. “Let’s take a walk. I have something in my office for you.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” you say, walking with him. “What is it?”

He almost answers, but stops himself. “You’ll see.”

You know better than to pry, so you drop it, knowing you’ll be at his office soon, anyway. If he’s the Rear Admiral, then it’s around here somewhere, and likely massive. And cluttered to all hell.

You pass many, many rooms with the doors shut and probably locked. Down one hallway is the barracks, where you’re sure Hangman’s room is. Warlock steers you in the opposite direction, making a big loop around, finally stopping outside his office.

“As you know, we kept something of your dad’s when he died,” the Rear Admiral says as he walks into his office, flicking on the lights.

Instantly, you know what he’s about to hand to you.

And you don’t want it.

“Please,” you interject. “You can keep it here. It’s important--”

“It is,” he agrees. “But it was important to your father that you got his helmet.”

“I can’t take it,” you protest. “It belongs here.”

“It belongs with you,” Warlock says, fighting each of your arguments.

He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the cabinet behind him. You avert your eyes as he opens the door, too afraid to see it. They hadn’t put it out just yet when you were here last, so you haven’t seen it. Not since the last time he was wearing it, which was right before he left.

Right before he left to die.

“Y/N,” Uncle Solomon says gently. “He made me promise to put this in your hands.”

You sniffle, the tears beginning to return with a vengeance, ready to cascade down your cheeks. You shake your head. It’s all you can do to keep staring out the window.

“If you really don’t want it, I will keep it. I’ll keep it until you’re ready. But it’s yours.”

Slowly, you let yourself look at Uncle Solomon, and then down at the helmet in his hands. Your dad’s helmet.

A broken sob leaves your lips just at the sight of it. The black background, red capital letters spelling out GRAVEDIGGER, but the A is gray, made to look like a tombstone. It’s exactly as you remember it.

You see it all the time in your memories, when it was tradition to slap your dad’s head. “Make sure my helmet works,” he’d say, and you’d hit it once, and nod seriously. “It works.”

Uncle Solomon brings you into another hug, and you grasp the helmet, clutching it to your chest. It feels like you’re getting to hug your dad again, and you smack the helmet once, finally doing what you should’ve done before he left. You never got to do it that last time because he was never meant to go up in the air. He was training them, not flying. But things went south, and he had no choice. He went up so the other aviators could come home. Even though it meant he wouldn’t.

You think of those lives he saved and you’re grateful. You don’t know who they were -- security reasons and all. You’re glad they were able to come home. But oh, how you’ve cried for hours upon hours at how unfair it is that your dad never got to come home.

He was supposed to be at dinner. It was a quick mission. He said he’d see you at dinner in two days. Those two days were up and dinner was cooked. The doorbell rang and you thought that was weird, but you went to answer it anyway. You opened it and instead of your dad, you were met with two men in uniforms, sorrow written all over their bodies.

“No,” you remember saying, and that’s all you said. Over and over again. “No. No, no, no, no, no. No!”

Your mom heard your cries and rushed to your side. She saw the men and they only nodded, confirming what she knew. “We’re so very sorry,” they said, but all you heard was your own sobs.

Like now. All you can hear are the sobs wracking your body, Uncle Solomon’s quiet murmuring as he holds you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Oh god,” you cry, wiping your face with the back of your hands, but the tears keep coming. “I miss him, Uncle Solomon, I miss him so much.”

“I know, kiddo, I do too,” he replies softly. “It’s okay,” he says, and his voice cracks, no doubt because he’s crying with you.

You realize your tears have spilled onto the helmet and you wipe them away, drying your hand on your pants.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to his funeral,” Solomon says.

You shake your head. “You were dark, there’s no way you could’ve known.”

“I know.”

You don’t know what mission Solomon was on, but he was unreachable. It was no one’s fault. He had a job to do.

“He’d understand,” you reply, sniffling. “I understand too. You’re here now. And you held onto this,” you murmur, thumbing over the letters on the helmet. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Warlock says. “I have been meaning to reach out to you, but never could find the right time.”

“I guess the right time came to us instead,” you chuckle, wiping away more tears.

“I guess it did,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you. “I didn’t mean to bombard you. I know this visit was very impromptu.”

“It was, and it’s alright,” you shrug. “I knew it was going to be hard. It took me five minutes to just get out of my car.”

“I understand,” he says. “I didn’t feel right coming back here without your dad.”

“But I know he’s glad you did,” you smile, giving up on wiping your tears away. “He’d be proud of you.”

“Of me?” Solomon says. “He’d be proud of you.”

“Don’t make me start crying again,” you groan, already feeling the lump in your throat. You take a deep breath and swallow it down. “I’m supposed to be getting a tour, you know. I can’t be sobbing the whole time.”

“A tour?” Solomon raises an eyebrow. “With who? Maverick?”

Shit. “Sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not technically.”

“Y/N.”

“With Hangman,” you cave. “But it’s not really a tour. I grew up here, for god’s sake, I know where everything is.”

“Ah, so that’s the one you’re smitten with,” the Rear Admiral starts to grin. “I knew there was one.”

“How?”

“An uncle knows,” he replies, and that’s all he’ll say about it. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Of course you will,” you mutter, knowing the only reason he’s doing this is so he can say something to Hangman.

You move your dad’s helmet to rest under your arm and follow Solomon out into the hall.

As the Rear Admiral is shutting his office door, he says, “You know they have an assignment coming up.”

This is all he can say, really. He can’t say what it is, where it is, when it is, or how long it will be. But he can say it’s an “assignment” and that it’s “coming up.”

“I gathered that,” you reply. Why else would they be here, especially Maverick?

“It will not be easy,” Solomon says, and that’s your clue. It’s highly dangerous. There are risks involved with everyday tasks and missions, but this is worse.

“Okay,” you nod. “Thank you.”

“Just looking out for you, kiddo,” he replies quietly.

“I know,” you murmur. “I appreciate it.”

The two of you walk in silence the rest of the way, outside toward the hangar. The jets are lined up per usual, but none of the aviators are in sight. They must be showering, or already headed to The Hard Deck.

Except one.

Hangman is waiting for you by his jet, standing at attention when he notices who you’re with.

“As you were, Lieutenant,” Solomon calls out once you’re closer.

“Sir,” Hangman responds, relaxing. “Y/N.”

You think this might be the first time Hangman has called you by your first name and not “sweetheart,” “honey,” or “darlin’.” It almost makes you snort.

“It was good to see you again,” the Rear Admiral says to you, holding out both arms.

You give him a hug as best you can while still clutching your dad’s helmet. “You too, Uncle Solomon,” you murmur. Hangman’s shocked expression is priceless.

“Have fun,” Solomon says. Then he looks at Hangman. “Not too much fun.”

Hangman nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright,” Solomon grins. “See you around, kiddo. See you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good night,” Hangman replies with another nod.

Solomon leaves and heads back toward the building.

Hangman waits a few moments for the Rear Admiral to be out of earshot before he says, “Uncle Solomon?”

“Bet you weren’t expecting that one,” you tease. “I’ve called him Uncle Solomon since I was…god, probably five. I think the story goes that I said it out of the blue one day with zero prompting, and it stuck. Apparently my dad said, ‘She has spoken,’ and he’s been my uncle ever since.”

The warm memory brings more tears to the forefront of your eyes. Hangman notices immediately and his soft smile turns into a frown.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

You nod, and the tears start falling all over again. “Because I have.” You take in a shuddering breath, pressing the back of your hand over your mouth. “Rear Admir-- Warlock-- He gave me my dad’s helmet,” you hiccup, your arm tightening over it. “I wasn’t expecting--”

“C’mere,” Hangman murmurs, not waiting for any sort of reply from you before he pulls you in.

Despite having just cried your eyes out a few minutes ago, you do it yet again, this time in Hangman’s arms.

You wrap your free arm around him, sobbing into his shoulder. He holds you tighter, wishing he could fix it, but knowing that he can’t. You feel him widen his stance so you can put all your weight on him. He rests one hand on the back of your head, shushing you gently, and you swear you feel him kiss the top of your head.

You grip his uniform, pulling him closer, and he hugs you tighter in response, knowing what you need without having to be told.

You’re inconsolable for who knows how long, and eventually you calm down, but Hangman still holds you up.

And you let him.

You bury your nose in his shirt, inhaling, loving the way he smells and how it fills your lungs. You don’t want to move, but you know you’ll have to at some point. Right now, though, you just want to stay here. Forever.

“I hate seein’ you sad, sweetheart,” Hangman whispers, and this time you definitely feel him kiss your head.

You nod into his shirt, which is more like rubbing your face and tears all over him.

“I got you,” he says. “You okay?”

“Better,” you murmur, turning your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. You take another deep breath, harsh and shuddering. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies, but doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You open your eyes and look at the jets, the sky, the hangar. The things that you’ve grown up around and loved. Things that feel like home to you.

You lift your head, eyebrows furrowed, looking up at the jet next to you. “We’re standing under a Super Hornet, aren’t we?”

Hangman grins. “As a matter of fact, we are.”

“That’s what my dad flew,” you murmur, your eyes filling with tears again. “Is that what you fly?”

“It is,” Hangman replies gently. “In fact, we’re standing under my jet right now. I was just finishing checks when you and the Rear Admiral got here.”

“Sorry if we ambushed you,” you murmur.

Nothing about this feels weird. Talking to him, still safely tucked in his arms. You know by now you probably should’ve stepped back, stepped out of his arms, but you haven’t. It’s like both of you are waiting for the other to let go, and both of you refuse to.

He shakes his head. “You didn’t.” He pauses, looking down at you, his eyes wandering all over the place. Your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips. “So,” his eyes snap back to your eyes. “Still up for a tour?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “Maybe a small one.” You lift your free arm off of him and reach up, cursing. “Damn.”

“What?”

“I’m still not tall enough to reach the wings.”

“You’re close, here,” Hangman, without warning, tightens his grip and lifts you skyward.

“What are you-- Hey!”

“So you can touch the wing!” he laughs, not even straining. “What?”

“Oh, fine,” you mutter, laughing with him, raising your arm and touching the wing easily. You can’t help but grin once you do. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, carefully placing you back down.

He uses this as an opportunity to let go of you entirely, but he doesn’t step away from you. Although your arms aren’t around each other, they might as well be.

You’re suddenly very aware of the helmet under your arm and you bring it forward, looking down at the call sign. Hangman looks down, eyebrows furrowing.

“Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I wonder if it fits me anymore. I used to try it on to be funny,” you pause to laugh, “but it always swallowed my head.”

“You could try it on,” he says.

“I know,” you reply quietly. “Just working up the courage.”

“Want me to help?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Thanks, I just--” Another deep breath. “Doesn’t feel right. Not yet.”

“That’s alright,” Hangman replies. “You wanna take a walk? See the other jets and cool down.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling a little. “That sounds good, let’s.”

“Come on,” he nods down the tarmac, holding out his arm for you to take. It’s almost instinctual, the way he does it, his southern roots undeniable.

And you take it without hesitation, glad to hold onto him a little more as you walk.

+++

Hangman insists on cheering you up, so after dropping off your dad’s helmet at Penny’s, you head with him to The Hard Deck.

You wanted to spend the night inside on Penny’s couch, but the idea of hanging out at the bar with everyone is too enticing. Especially the idea of beating Hangman at darts and pool -- again.

All heads turn toward the door when you walk in, probably standing a little too close, but it’s not like you’re holding hands. Still, all the aviators eye you with suspicion, no doubt because they were wondering why Hangman stayed back at Top Gun.

“There you are,” Penny waves you over. “I was wondering how long you’d be.”

Maverick stands from his stool, grinning cautiously. You can tell that he knew today was hard. “I was beginning to think Hangman here kidnapped you.”

“Not quite,” you say.

Maverick pauses, still hesitating. “Did you-- Did Rear Admiral--?”

“Yes,” you nod, saving him the trouble. “It’s at home-- at Penny’s.”

“Good,” Maverick replies. “That’s good. And you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Mav nods.

Hangman hands you a beer. “Your usual.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

Maverick looks between the two of you. “Okay...”

You already know what he wants to say, so you remove yourself from the conversation. “If you need me, I’ll be at the dart board.”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Hangman follows you. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You’re full of shit,” you laugh. “But alright. Let’s see if you’re any easier to beat.”

He’s not. But he tries his hardest, which is adorable.

After a few rounds of darts, you move on to the pool table, not wanting the night to end anytime soon.

“You wanna rack ‘em this time?” you ask, sipping your beer.

“With pleasure,” Hangman grins.

He makes a whole show of it. It has you rolling your eyes and laughing, which was his plan all along. When you break, none of the balls land, but when Hangman has his turn, he makes sure to sink a stripe, letting you have the solids.

Midway through your second game of pool (you won the first, of course), you hear everyone get quiet as someone begins playing the piano.

“I forgot that thing was even tuned,” you comment, rubbing chalk on your stick.

“Rooster’s favorite party trick is tearing up the piano,” Hangman explains.

It’s true, Rooster is amazing. He’s just messing around right now, but it sounds insane.

“You know what time it is!” You hear Rooster shout. He plays a few chords, and then to your surprise, everyone, including Hangman, yells out, “Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

You hang your head with a laugh as everyone goes crazy. Even Hangman, who you’ve noticed has a bit of a frenemies thing going on with Rooster, is beaming, gearing up to sing along.

You expect him to join them at the piano, but instead he turns around and starts singing into his pool stick.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, too much love drives a man insane,” he nods his head dramatically. “You broke my will, but what a thrill.”

“Oh my god,” you shake your head at him with a smile.

This reaction isn’t good enough for him, though, and he continues singing, walking toward you with his pool stick in hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Kiss me baby.”

You give him a look.

“Ooh, that feels good, baby,” Hangman laughs, taking your hand to spin you in a circle. “I wanna love you like a lover should.” He pulls you against his chest. “I’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

He spins you again and you keep going, giggling like you used to when you were a little kid.

“Come on baby, you’re driving me crazy,” he sings, pulling you back in.

You shake your head. “Goodness gracious--”

“Great balls of fire!”

Everyone cheers as Rooster plays through the interlude of the song, his fingers gliding across the piano with ease.

You continue dancing with Hangman, having the most fun you’ve had in a long time. You feel free. Hangman leaves his pool stick against the wall, using both hands to dance with you.

“Kiss me baby,” Hangman sings, and you shake your head, but you’re still grinning. He pulls you in abruptly, one hand holding yours, outstretched, the other holding the small of your back. “I wanna love you like a lover should.”

“You’re fine, you’re so kind,” you sing.

And the both of you sing, “I’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

The dancing continues as Rooster plays the chorus one more time, everyone far from being done.

Unbeknownst to you, everyone is watching you and Hangman as you continue to dance in whatever way you two think is fun. All that matters is Hangman sees a smile on your face, and that’s what he wanted. After a day like today, he wanted you to have a night full of laughter.

#gravedigger’s daughter #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x fem!reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x fem!reader #hangman x you #glen powell

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smaptain-smerica · 1 year

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Female Reader x Rooster

Time: Post-Top gun: Maverick

Y/n Blackwood - L/n, daughter of Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood. Y/n took a strong interest in planes from a young age. Knowing her father was an esteemed pilot drew her even further into the navy. Quickly, she became one of the best solo pilots and graduating at the top of her class at Top Gun.

Her next mission? Return to Top Gun, Face certain death, romantic interests, and finally, her thought-to-be-dead, father.

This book contains strong language and sexual content that may be sensitive readers under the age of 18

This story was originally posted on Wattpad, follow me on there for faster updates. I have published a non-binary version of this story published there for those who do not identify as female or use she/her pronouns. It will follow the exact same story line. Link to Wattpad Account Link to the Non-Binary version

Disclaimers

I do not own the top gun characters. My writing is not a direct reflection of how the company wishes to portray their franchise.

I understand that both Tom cruise and Kelly McGillis both present ethnically white. Their relationship is essential to the story. However, I will be including skin color as a customization to the readers character. Inclusivity is important to me and I apologize for any disappointment or discomfort that it may cause the reader.

Master list

Pilot

Cherry red, 1968, Ford Mustang Fastback Shelby GT 500.

My moms most prized possession.

For a while I remember it just being me and my mom. When my mom was pregnant, My dad died in a horrible plane accident, leaving just the two of us girls getting into heaps of trouble together. My earliest memories are being babysat by my moms coworkers while she was busy inside the capitol doing important work. Because I didn't see my mom much, I constantly held on to a stuffed grey wolf. The animal never left my hands. I would prop it up on the table when eating and play with it outside. It had become a major comfort mechanism in my early childhood days.

A man I had never met before came to greet my mom one day, asking if he could watch me for a couple hours. He said he had to practice because he had a baby on the way. I remember feeling the stiff and grainy material of the clothes the man wore as I complained about the heat outside. When my eyes adjusted to the sun, there it was; An F-14.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I completely forgot that toy existed. I dropped it to the ground and wriggled from the man's arms in a full on sprint towards the plane.

He crawled up into the cockpit with me in his lap and let me control the planes joystick. I remember feeling overjoyed by the feeling of being inside of that closed and tight space. I knew in my gut it's where I belonged.

My mother was furious, of course, that her friend had taken me outside without her knowing. But seeing the smile on my face as I wiggled around the joystick and the large helmet fell in front of my eyes, her mind quickly changed. My mom picked up my toy wolf and brought it to the plane. She always explained the interaction between her and the man as such a turning moment in my life as well as hers.

"She's a natural, Charlotte. Just wait 'till she's old enough to fly one."

"I haven't seen this stuffed animal leave her hands in so long, it's such a nice sight."

The man flipped me around to face him, lifting me into the air to make me pretend that I was flying. I erupted with giggles, sticking my arms out like the airplane.

"Well let me be the first to give her a call sign then." The man said.

My mom laughed. "Call sign? What could iceman possibly want to call my daughter?"

"Wolf. It's already been decided. I'll help her be the best pilot in the program. She'll even pass me in the top gun records." He spoke as though it were a long lost dream of his, to teach. But Iceman was moving up in scansion, he didn't have time to do so.

"You'd do that for me and my girl?"

"Of course, Charlie. Anything for you."

In high school I played all four years of volleyball as well as two years in middle school. In addition to that I also took strength training classes where I lifted weights and worked out with all the other boys sports. There were a couple girls from my team in my class, but none of them pushed me as hard as the boys did.

I mostly focused on upper body. Arms, chest, back, core, all to prepare me for one faithful day junior year. The day that the recruiting scouts for the army came it set up their pull up bar.

They offered a free T-shirt to any student who could do over 10 pull-ups. I stood in a line of boys, confident and ready. I got up to the bar, looking up at its height. I got up on the stool and grasped the bar firmly. 10 pull-ups came easily to me. From behind i could hear some of my friends in my weights class cheering me on. I made it to 27 before I finally gave up.

I was frustrated with myself that I couldn't make it to 30, but seeing the smiles on the recruitment officers faces made that disappointment completely disappeared. A few weeks later, a recruitment package showed up in my mailbox. My mom and I were elated. I know I know, they probably send them to every kid who puts their name and address down for the pull-up challenge but it still felt good.

My senior year I enlisted the day that I turned 18. I was ecstatic for the dream to actually become a reality. I graduated high school with honors cords, sports cords, and a military service cord.

I quickly went into the Navy, completing the required boot camps and trainings in order to become an officer. In between my few years of training, my mom got married to a man named Harold L/n, but we called him Harrie. I liked him a lot, he was extremely supportive and proud of me and every step I took to becoming a pilot. To show my appreciation, I hyphenated my name to be Blackwood-L/n.

I got accepted into the Naval Air Forces program quickly and began my training to learn to fly the fighter jets I remember being obsessed with as a small child. By my senior year in high school I knew the book inside and out, so I was the know-it-all of my class. This caused some tension between the other students and myself, so I was mostly a lone wolf.

I excelled quickly, passing every other student with flying colors. Flying jets is what I was born to do, I could feel it in my bones. I completed the air academy and got deployed on a few missions, proving even more what an exceptional pilot and essential asset I was for the Navy.

One day I got called into my commanders office. He informed me that I had been selected to the Top Gun flight school. This was the moment I had dreamed of for my entire life, and now it was finally happening. There was a brief few month period where I could visit home before being shipped out to the school.

My mom and I spent that entire time finding the best instructors from around there world to teach me how to be the best pilot I could be. There was one man in particular I wanted, but my mom said they had too much history, It would never happen.

I looked up to Pete "Maverick" Mitchell for most of my time in the Navy. I admired his skill and his ego. No matter how many rules he broke or how badly they wanted to get rid of him, the Navy wouldn't let him go. And despite his efforts, he refused to die.

Even without the training of the legendary Maverick, I was successful. I mastered nearly every single skill that was required to fly a plane. Along with all the guts and glory it took to not get killed.

I arrived at Top Gun, introducing myself to all the people I would be beating. One man in particular, constantly got under my skin. Jake "hangman"Seresin. We butt heads more than any sibling or spouse could have. We were constantly one-upping each other. He did 200 push-ups, I did 201. If I got up early to get some practice in, the next morning he was up earlier. It was a constant battle, but I was always just a couple points ahead.

Halfway through my time at the program, I got a devastating message. My mother had cancer, stage 4. I was dismissed from the program but promised a second chance and was invited back. I rushed home as quickly as possible. My step-father was a wreck, he hadn't stopped sobbing for days on end. He had hardly done anything around the house to keep up. I told him not to worry, that I was there. I kept up with the house chores and eventually hired a maid to help us.

While I was cleaning I found an old box and inside of it was my Wolf stuffed animal I had as a child. It was beaten up and in need of a wash, but it made me smile. I visited her, the wolf in hand. Seeing my mom in the hospital, so weak and tired, it hurt me more than I can explain.

"Hey momma, somebody wants to see you." I handed her the toy and her face lit up, laughing for the first time in a while.

"I haven't seen him in forever, oh thank you y/n."

I visited her every chance I got, unfortunately her condition only got worse.

One Sunday afternoon I brought her lunch, her favorite food from our favorite restaurant. She stopped me before I could set up the food and handed me a small red envelope.

"When you go back to top gun, if you see Pete- um, Maverick, please give him this. Do not open it. You will know when the time is right." I was confused, but I knew better than to question my mother.

Then the time came, the hospital had informed us that my mother had passed peacefully in her sleep one night. It took my step-father and I a long time to process and cope with what had happened. Our grief was heavy those couple of weeks after her death, and then her funeral. We kept it small, just close family. Iceman made an appearance, wishing my family well.

"Are you coming back to Top Gun?" He asked. "I've got a spot open for you, whenever you're ready."

"Really? You don't need to keep a spot open for me."

"For Charlie's daughter, anything. Besides, Top Gun needs another graduate who was almost as good as me." He told me with a playful wink.

That's exactly what had happened. The next year I rejoined Top Gun and graduated first in my class. I was now considered one of the top pilots in the United States.

I had heard about the famous stealth mission in 2020 that Maverick led as well as other top gun graduates. I was upset I wasn't invited to participate. I called Iceman to complain but he told me the first person that they wanted was me, but I was unavailable. Earlier that year the navy had deployed me overseas, the lack of invitation made more sense now. The navy needed me elsewhere. Unfortunately, that was the last phone call I had with him before he passed. I was unable to attend the funeral. Devastated, I mourned his death of a father figure and friend from many miles away.

And here we are, 2021 and 32 years old. I rumbled into San Diego in my Cherry Red Mustang Hatchback ready to return to Top Gun for a classified assignment. All I have to say is, the other recruits better watch out, they've never been prey for a wolf.

Next Chapter

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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 3 months

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(Based on that one scene from “Shaun of the Dead”)

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todaysdocument · 1 year

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U.S. Marine Corps machinegunner on Hill 881 in Vietnam, on April 2, 1968.

Record Group 127: Records of the U.S. Marine Corps

Series: Black and White Photographs of Marine Corps Activities in Vietnam

File Unit: Divider/Subject - 88 - Combat - 1968

Image description: Two men behind a pile of sandbags. One is using a machine gun. He is wearing a flak jacket and a helmet. The helmet has writing on it. As far as we can tell, it says “WE ARE NO CHILDREN OF AMERICA WE ARE HEADHUNTERS,” although some letters aren’t visible due to the curve of the helmet.

Transcription:

127 GVB - 88

35mm Negative

3M-4-534-68

IIIMAF

Vietnam

2Apr68 Photog: Harlan

Machinegunner on Hill 881 returning fire at sniper after receiving heavy fire on resupply Choppers.

DEFENSE DEPT. PHOTO (MARINE CORPS)

fhm A191080

[handwritten]

CHECK WRITING ON HELMET. Top Mosch [?]

[arrow pointing from below stamp to above handwriting]

[stamped]

NOT CLEARED FOR OPEN PUBLICATION OASD (DA)(SR)

#archivesgov #April 2 #1968 #1960s #military #Vietnam War #Vietnam #USMC #U.S. Marine Corps #helmet art #firearms

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epiimetheux · 1 year

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"PHOTOS of a younger Maverick, with Iceman, at their wedding."

#icemav #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 1968 #their first wedding in the '90

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topgunruinedme · 1 year

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Does anyone else open there emails for updates on ao3 fics and read them over breakfast like they’re the newspaper?

#topgun #topgun maverick #top gun 1968 #top gun fluff #top gun fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3 #ao3 memes #ao3 fanfic

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shortpplfedup · 1 year

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My School President Episode 12: Curtain call

When a great show comes to an end there's always nerves about whether they can stick the landing. I'm here to tell you: My School President absolutely has, not a wobble. This show is about standing on the cusp of adulthood, about to take that first step into the future, and everything that comes along with that, looking backward and forward at the same moment. This episode put an exclamation point on that theme, not just for our boys, but for the people around them and the world they're inhabiting. Throw in a couple of absolute banger anthemic OSTs and they couldn't have ended this little high-school-musical-that-could any better. In this final episode, we say goodbye (for now, Our Skyy is coming) to Chinzhilla and crew.

Verse: The kids are alright

Love's in need of love today Don't delay Send yours in right away Hate's goin' 'round Breaking many hearts Stop it please Before it's gone too far, yeah

Stevie Wonder | Love's In Need of Love Today (1976)

One thing I don't envy about kids today is how exposed they are. As an elder Millennial, I straddle the line between the pre-internet world and the ubiquitous social media age, but I was already an adult when Facebook exploded into life. I can't imagine the pressure of trying to figure yourself out as a teenager in a world where it must feel like everybody sees everything you do and has an opinion on it. But the flipside of that is slowly becoming 'and?'. The student body's vociferous and overwhelmingly positive support for Tinn and Gun as a couple once the secret's out just about drowns out the bullshit coming from the adults about 'reputation' and 'manliness'. The kids are better than us, and they've got each other's backs, and they will ABSOLUTELY DECK A SHITTY TEACHER FOR SAYING A BUNCH OF HOMOPHOBIC GARBAGE OMG KAJORN! One of my favourite quotes of all time is from Martin Luther King Jr.: the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. Change takes a long time, but things DO get better, they're getting better every day, every moment. The dinosaurs do seem long lived, and they do lay eggs, but they're being outnumbered by the humans more and more. I watch these kids do their very best to be good to each other, and I feel like the good guys are winning.

Chorus: Rock & Star

For once in my life, I have someone who needs me Someone I've needed so long For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me Somehow I know I'll be strong For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of Long before I knew Ooh, someone warm like you Would make my dreams come true

Stevie Wonder | For Once In My Life (1968)

Gosh Tinn and Gun are lovely aren't they? The way they care for each other, how upset Gun is that Tinn was outed before he was ready, how responsible and guilty he feels about that, how he tries to put some distance between them to save Tinn's reputation, and how Tinn says 'screw all that shit, we're standing together'...that's love. How Tinn's winding up to punch that shitty teacher in the face for making Gun cry before Kajorn does it for him...that's love. How Gun wrote 'Rock & Star' from his heart and sings it directly to Tinn at prom, in front of everybody, telling everybody how he feels live on stage just like he promised he would if they won Hot Wave...that's love. Gun nervously practising how to greet Tinn's dad when he goes over to their house for dinner...that's love. And to top it all off, one very sweet, perfect kiss.

Bridge: A Tale of Two Moms

As today I know I'm living But tomorrow could make me the past But that I mustn't fear For I'll know deep in my mind The love of me I've left behind 'Cause I'll be loving you always

Stevie Wonder | As (1976)

I told y'all the words that were going to come out of Potjanee's mouth were 'I'm sorry', and I was right! I love how the show juxtaposed the two moms' conversations with their sons this ep, with Gun and Ms. Gim showing how easy it can be when you are open with your kid, and Tinn and Ms. Potjanee showing how it can be a struggle to communicate when you haven't created that environment. Gun is nervous to tell Ms. Gim, but not fearful. Tinn on the other hand...it's almost like he's bracing for impact the closer Ms. Potjanee gets to asking about it. Both moms love their kids and their kids know and feel it. Both moms are actually ok in the end with their kids being queer. But only one kid felt safe enough to tell their mom they were dating a boy. It's important nuance, that subtle difference in trust level. The pressures and expectations you put on your kids, what you label as important, they're seeing and feeling all of that, not just what you say. In this case, the messages growing up were different: from Ms. Gim, 'do what makes you happy' and from Ms. Potjanee 'do the right thing'. Neither is WRONG, but again that subtle difference. The circumstances were less than ideal, but I'm glad Tinn got to see his mom stand up so forcefully for his happiness, not just his rightness.

Outro: Chinzhilla forever

Music is a world within itself With a language we all understand With an equal opportunity For all to sing, dance and clap their hands

Stevie Wonder | Sir Duke (1976)

And so we say farewell to Chinzhilla, or at least to this iteration of it, with the promise of a new Chinzhilla to come as juniors apply to the club in waves. There's a comfort to knowing that even as we leave this universe, there will soon be some new group of kids who will become friends...nay, a family, eating BBQ pork, playing video games, making offerings to the Holy Chinchilla, and learning the chords for 'You Got Ma Back'.

Ad Libs

Of course our baby Por is the only Chinzhilla who DIDN'T know or figure out about Tinn and Gun. Sweet summer child. Who's going to law school. Prime setup for a BL Legally Blonde GMMTV!

Poor Pat, the 9th (!) wheel.

I didn't have a Sound/Win kiss on my bingo card, but that was a lovely little surprise. I adore these two.

So Pat is gonna be a pharmacist, Yo, a politician (!), Por a lawyer, Sound an actor, Win a sound engineer and Gun...Gun's gonna be a musician. Not bad for a bunch of slackers.

#my school president #chinzhilla rocks!#Spotify #bl meta series

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superfan44 · 4 months

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The 100 Favorite Movies Challege

As a huge movie buff, I thought I'd try something fun on here. I have decided to launch a new internet challenge: "The 100 Favorite Movies Challenge". The rules are pretty simple and straight forward. You create a list of 100 of your personal favorite movies in alphabetical order, post the list on your home page, then nominate other people/users of your choosing to do the challenge.

There is no limit to what movies can be included on your list. Films within any medium (live action or animated), genre, and decade are more than welcome. Whether it's longtime favorites you were introduced to when you were younger, favorites that you've picked up over the years, or recent discoveries or releases that quickly became your favorites, anything and everything is on the table here.

I'll start off by sharing my list. To be clear, I have way more than 100 favorite movies, but to have the number be anything past that may be a bit much for some people. Please don't judge me if it seems like there might be a few noteworthy titles missing on here. I mainly put this list together just for fun. Alright, here we go!

9 (2009)

Airplane! (1980)

American Graffiti (1973)

Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)

The Avengers (2012)

Avengers: Endgame (2019)

Baby Driver (2017)

Batman Begins (2005)

Beetlejuice (1988)

Beverly Hills Cop (1984)

Big Hero 6 (2014)

Black Dynamite (2009)

The Blues Brothers (1980)

Broadway Melody of 1940 (1940)

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

Castle in the Sky (1986)

Chicago (2002)

Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (Knockin' on Heaven's Door) (2001)

Deadpool (2016)

Death Proof (2007)

Desperado (1994)

Die Hard (1988)

Django Unchained (2012)

Double Indemnity (1944)

Dragon Inn (1967)

Fantasia 2000 (2000)

Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)

Flash Gordon (1980)

Ghostbusters (1984)

The Godfather (1972)

Goodfellas (1990)

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

History of the World, Part 1 (1980)

Hot Fuzz (2007)

How to Train Your Dragon 2 (2014)

The Incredibles (2004)

Independence Day (1996)

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

The Italian Job (2003)

Jaws (1975)

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum (2019)

Jurassic Park (1993)

Logan (2017)

Lupin the 3rd: The Castle of Cagliostro (1980)

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Meatballs (1979)

Men in Black (1997)

Moana (2016)

Monsters vs. Aliens (2009)

Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005)

The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992)

National Lampoon's Animal House (1978)

Network (1976)

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

North by Northwest (1959)

Notorious (1946)

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)

The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976)

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)

Porco Rosso (1992)

Princess Mononoke (1997)

Pulp Fiction (1994)

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Ready Player One (2018)

Rear Window (1954)

Rio Bravo (1959)

Robin Hood (1973)

The Rocketeer (1991)

Romeo and Juliet (1968)

Scream (1996)

Seven Samurai (1954)

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Skyfall (2012)

Smokey and the Bandit (1977)

Spaceballs (1987)

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)

Spirited Away (2001)

Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi (1983)

The Suicide Squad (2021)

Surf's Up (2007)

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (2006)

The Thin Red Line (1998)

Tombstone (1993)

Top Gun: Maverick (2022)

Treasure Planet (2002)

Tremors (1990)

Tron: Legacy (2010)

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (2007)

The Wind Rises (2013)

Wonder Woman (2017)

Yojimbo (1961)

Young Frankenstein (1974)

Zombieland (2009)

Now, before I wrap things up, I would like to nominate @skygent, @is0gild , @firecraker-j, @mrcowboytoyou, and @piglets-not-so-big-adventure to do this challenge. Hopefully we can get the ball rolling so more and more people can join in. I look forward to seeing what kind of lists you guys will put together. Good luck!

#internet challenge #favorite #movies #100 #list #invite #fun #personal favorites #too many movies to tag #mediums #live action #animation #genres #years and decades of films

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

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DADDY ISSUES - Part Fifteen: Him & I

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's finally all over. After everything that you went through alongside your daddy, it's all over. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, alcohol, guns, lots of angst, i think that's it but as always please lmk if i missed something!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 7444

A/N: me, expecting this chapter to be shorter than the other ones 🤡 also this is the article i mentioned, if y'all are interested!

Song Rec: him & i - halsey and g-eazy

This is Part 15 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you sip your first taste of coffee for the day, you absentmindedly flip to the entertainment section of the newspaper. You almost spill your cup as you read the big, bolded headline at the top of the page: Elvis Sues to End Marriage of 5 Years

You put your cup down and raise the newspaper to your face. Your eyes peer through the grainy print of the photograph attached to the article, a beautifully captured moment of Elvis and Priscilla from the 60s. You can tell by her famous beehive hairdo, the one which inspired so many other women in that era. They both look so young, so beautiful, like such a perfectly matched couple. The caption doesn’t match the photo in the least.

Elvis Presley and his wife, Priscilla, in 1968 photograph, agree to end their marriage.

You gulp and continue reading.

Singer Elvis Presley has sued his wife, Priscilla, for divorce, attributing the breakup to the pressures of his frequent traveling. Elvis and Priscilla have agreed to termina-

You stop abruptly, crumpling the paper in your fingers and tossing it into the trash can. You can’t bear to read any more. You shakily reach for your coffee cup and down a bit of the liquid. After which, you realize your anxiety will probably only get worse thanks to the additional caffeine.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to flash back to sixth months ago, the last time you saw Elvis. Your brain can hardly even compare the two images, from the newspaper and from what you saw before you left. They are and will always remain two separate people in your mind. You can hardly keep track of the different versions of EP. And Priscilla was just a child in this photo. Now, she seems aged, drawn, hollow. Like a ghost of herself.

“Hey, how are you this morning?”

You glance over your shoulder at the soft sound of Trixie’s voice and smile. She’s wrapped in a purple robe and matching slippers as she shuffles over to you. You silently thank the universe for allowing Trixie’s heart to be so big.

You were shocked when she didn’t hang up on you completely. You were so expecting her to slam the phone down in your face (or in your ear) but she didn’t. Trixie waited, patiently, for you to explain your situation. You told her how far Elvis had fallen, right in front of your eyes. You told her how sour your relationship had become, how you were alone, poor, distraught. After you, quite literally, fell onto your knees to beg forgiveness, Trixie somehow found it within herself to forgive you for being probably the worst friend ever. When you burst into tears on the phone, she was as supportive and caring as ever.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. How can I help, honey?” he asked.

With a sniffle you replied, “I just want to come home, Trix. I’m so tired of this place, this prison.”

And that was that. You spent the evening packing up your belongings, just the ones you absolutely couldn’t live without, into boxes. First thing in the morning, there was Trixie in her Jeep Wagoneer, waiting with the warmest hug you’ve ever received in your life. With one foot in the car and one firmly planted on the pavement in front of the hotel, you looked up and scanned the rooms. You knew Elvis wasn’t looking down at you and, in fact, most of you hoped he wasn’t. But part of you…it still wanted him, despite everything. And when you thought you saw a reflection glimmer in one of the windows, you wondered if it really could be him. But then it was gone and you had to accept the fact that you would never know. You took one last look at the golden bars of that prison and, with a deep breath and all the courage you could muster, ducked into the car and shut your door.

“Fine. Just fine,” you reply. “A bit tired. How are you doing, Trix?”

“Oh, you know, a bit tired but excited,” she repeats your words with a smile. “How about some breakfast before we get going?”

You nod and she stands, waddling into the kitchen.

“You know, I think this will be good for you,” she says as she disappears behind the door to the fridge.

Trixie is referring to a vacation you’re both taking. You booked the trip the week after you returned home and today is the day. You’re leaving on an afternoon flight to travel down to Florida for a girl’s trip to Disney World. Trixie wanted something wholesome and sweet that wouldn’t require you to face any real life problems.

“It’ll give you something to think about other than…” Trixie trails off.

Neither of you have said his name since you returned. You used up the drive home to explain everything you could remember to Trixie, the events and emotions you suffered through during your time in Vegas. Of course, at first, it wasn’t easy to forget him. He was everywhere - on magazines, billboards, television, the record store. You saw his face everywhere you went and it hurt each and every time. You couldn’t sleep you didn’t eat, and you wouldn’t dare waste your time with any enjoyable activities.

Eventually, Trixie’s company announced an opening for a secretarial assistant, which you took greedily when it was finally offered to you. You threw yourself into work, trying everything you possibly could to forget him, for good this time. After a while, you became desensitized to seeing him around. You stopped paying attention and it seemed, almost, that he faded right before your eyes.

“Speaking of…that,” you say, propping your knees up onto the chair. “I saw an article in the paper this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” Trixie turns her head with wide eyes as she pours some pancake mix into a pan. “What’s the bastard up to now?”

“Getting divorced, actually.”

Trixie drops the spatula into the pan and turns back to you.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks with an open mouth. You shake your head.

“I threw the paper away but it’s in there if you want to read it for yourself,” you gesture to the trash can.

Trixie scoffs, shakes her head, and returns to cooking breakfast.

“Did they say why in the article?”

“‘The pressures of traveling,”’ you reply, curling your fingers for emphasis.

“Yeah…I’m sure that was it. Asshole,” Trixie mutters to herself. “That poor girl. I hope she has another, better one lined up. She deserved so much better.”

You gulp guiltily as you think about how you treated her, the disrespect and anger. The way you insulted her and probably hit her in a place that was already gravely wounded. You shake your head, hoping karma can hear you when you respond.

“She did. From everyone.”

Silence settles as Trixie continues cooking and you mindlessly read the paper. Your eyes are tracking each word but you’re not really taking anything in. Six months already. You can’t believe it. You were in Elvis’ service for almost four years and, in all that time, you still felt like you never really knew him. You didn't know how to get back to a normal life after the chaos of living in Vegas. Sometimes it still takes you a moment to remember where you are when you wake up.

When you arrived home in LA, thanks to Trixie, you hardly had the energy to carry your boxes inside and you still haven’t gathered enough interest to unpack everything. There’s one unopened box in the corner of your room, filled to the brim with all the gifts Elvis had given to you. You’ve managed to get everything else put away, back to the places they were before. Minus some key pieces of decoration: Elvis memorabilia. Every item you had with his likeness or name on it went out to the curb to be dmolished in some junk yard far away. Your records, posters, books, magazines, everything. All of it. Every last piece.

The sudden sound of Trixie’s spatula clinking loudly against the metal pan snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see your roommate drop her head into her hands, whimpering. You immediately jump to a stand and stick to her side, making sure to turn off the stove before wrapping your arms around her. You hold her thin body close to yours, rubbing her back gently.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Trix? What are you crying for?” you ask, pressing your cheek against her head.

“I just…” she sniffs coarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s partly my fault, too, since I’m the one who finally convinced you to go there and see him. I’m the reason you even agreed to his stupid proposal, so I’m to blame for all of this too,” she explains through snotty tears.

When she finishes, her shoulders start to shake harder and you both melt onto the floor. You gently manuever her head into your lap and stroke her hair back from her forehead. Your face screws up as you feel tears threatening to spill. You clench your jaw. No. You refuse to cry over this again. You did all your crying on the car ride home, confident and resolute in the fact that once you stepped food back on your own soil, you would never shed another foolish tear over that man again. Ever.

“No, Trix. Don’t say that. This was not your fault. Don’t you even think about blaming yourself for one second. You didn’t do this. I knew what I was accepting when I said yes. Well, most of it anyway. Steve even warned me and I didn’t listen. I could have still said no, but I caved like a pathetic little…little…”

“Groupie,” Trixie finishes.

You glance down at her with a stern expression.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” you dramatically hold a hand to your chest and gasp. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Trixie laughs through her nose, which is already stuffed up by, judging the sound of her voice. You smile fondly down at her and thank the universe once again.

“Trixie, please don’t blame yourself. This was my fault and mine alone. My decision, not yours. Plus, I mean it wasn’t all bad. I did get some pretty nice gifts.”

“But you never even wear them. You might as well not have them,” she says, sitting up to wipe her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…he did also buy us this vacation, though,” you say with a shrug.

The money you earned from your arrangement with Elvis did finance a lot of happiness. Not only has it been more than enough to pay off the remainder of your debts, but you’ve also been able to pay for a vacation with quite a bit to spare.

“Thank god, huh?” she laughs and you lean over to bring her into a hug.

“I never could have made it without you,” you whisper. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. How much you’ve done for me. You saved me, Trixie. I mean that.”

“Oh, Foxie…” she replies squeezing you tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Trix.”

You pull back and hold up your hand, sticking your pinkie finger out for her to wrap hers around yours. You both giggle as your fingers intertwine. After breakfast, you start getting packed for the trip. You’re scheduled to leave this afternoon for the plane ride all the way down to Florida. You and Trixie listen to the brand new Elton John album and dance as you pack up your belongings for the vacation.

As you board the plane that afternoon, you breathe deeply and feel your chest untighten. Despite yourself, you find a small grin spreading across your face. Happiness, pure and real, for the first time in a long time.

~ four months later ~

You jolt up at the sound of the telephone in the living room. Before you have a chance to remember your surroundings, you’re hopping up and stumbling out of bed. Your feet are tangled into the blankets as you trip through the apartment and lift the phone from the receiver. You glance over at the digital clock on the kitchen counter and read 3:34 am. Your eyes widen and you yawn.

“Hello?” you say groggily into the speaker.

“Hi, sorry for contacting you so late, but I’m calling for Y/N Y/L/N,” the voice sounds vaguely familiar but with the early morning and your exhaustion, you can’t place it exactly.

“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling, please?”

“Oh thank god. Y/N, it’s Jerry.”

“Jerry? Oh my god…”

“Y/N, something terrible has happened.”

“Oh no, what?” you drop onto the couch, your heart starting to slam against your chest. You grip onto the phone cord as you anxiously await his response. “What happened?”

“It’s Elvis. He needs help. He blacked out today and…I’m really worried about him.”

“Oh my god. How did that happen?”

“Well, you know how much he’s been working. He just got back from a third U.S. tour and he’s been hopped up on drugs like crazy. I’ve tried to help him cut back but I just can’t get through to him, no matter what I do.”

“I understand, believe me. Where is he now? Is he okay?”

“Yeah. We were going down for his show, the later one, and he just sort of collapsed there in the hallway. Y/N, you should have seen it!” his tone changes into one of anger. “The nurses were trying to say that he needed to go to the hospital, for god’s sake. But the Colonel…he just said nothing mattered so long as Elvis got up onstage to perform. He told them to shoot him up, Y/N. And Vernon, Elvis’ father, just agreed. Just like that with no argument. I tried to stop them but I...I didn’t know what to do. Elvis is upstairs now in his bedroom, asleep. God knows what else they’ve given him since.”

“Oh my god…that’s horrible,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not surprising but god awful. I’m so sorry, Jerry. I don’t know wha-”

“I think he’s going to fire the Colonel.”

“Wait what?” you ask, doing a double take.

“Yeah…they got into it the other night backstage. It was pretty ugly. Elvis was high and drunk and he just started slurring and shouting…it was…hard to watch. He just wanted to know what was going on with the Colonel. Oh, speaking of which. You’ll never guess what I found out.”

“Hit me.”

“The Colonel isn’t even a citizen. He has no citizenship here in the United States. He has no right to be ruling Elvis’ life like he is, morally or legally.”

“Oh my god, are you joking? That’s…I can’t believe it. I mean I can believe but I just don’t understand how someone could be capable of such deception and manipulation. That fucking asshole…”

“I think Elvis is going to fire him tomorrow night onstage, although I can’t be sure. He mentioned something about it to me, but I never know how much of him is really there or not these days.”

“Well, he damn well should. Jerry, I know how much you care about him. Do whatever you have to do to make him fire that bastard. Whatever it takes. He has to be freed.”

“My thoughts exactly. Actually, that’s why I called.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“We need you here.”

“What? What could I possibly do?”

“Don’t be so modest, Y/N. He needs you.”

“No, that’s ridiculous. He very clearly does not need me. I-I’m incapable of helping him. I couldn’t do it when I was there, and I just made everything worse for him anyway. He needs therapy not me.”

“No, he needs you. Listen, I know that your relationship didn’t exactly work out. I was there every step of the way, I remember. But what you two had…it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“What about Priscilla? They were so in love and they were married with a baby. That’s so much more than whatever Elvis and I were. We were just…convenient, that’s all.”

“You were so much more than that, Y/N. And everyone knows it. Everyone saw those pictures on the tabloids of you together. Did you ever actually read any of those stories?”

You tilt your head as you realize that no, you hadn’t actually ever read what the press was saying about you. You didn’t want to know; you were afraid they were spreading horrible lies about you.

“No…I never did. I guess I was worried I’d see something I didn’t want to.”

“Well, I read them. And so did millions of Americans. Maybe you didn’t notice, but the way he looked at you, the way he looks at you, it’s special. I saw it every time you were together. It was like the room lit up, even when you were fighting, even when you weren’t getting along. Priscilla may have been his wife but you’ve always been the one. Why do you think he chased after you for so long? Why he wanted you so badly? Why it broke him into pieces when you left? Since you’ve been gone, he’s asked for you repeatedly, over and over again. After the divorce, especially, he’s been a shell of a human being, barely hanging on. He needs you. He was at his best with you, you made him a better man.”

His words overwhelm you. You release a thick breath and reach up to touch your head. You can feel your pulse throbbing through your skin. You also feel woozy, like you stood up too fast. Your head swims in circles with images of Elvis. The way he looked at you, how his crystal blue eyes gazed down at you, moments when you felt seen, understood, adored. Moments when you felt loved in the quiet dark hours of the morning, the intimate spaces between you, the warmth of his touch on your skin. You feel a tear streaking down your cheek and reach up to catch it, wiping the wetness between your fingertips as you stare at it in the moonlight.

“Don’t you remember what I said to you when you were leaving?”

You hear Jerry’s voice but you can’t reply. Goosebumps raise on your skin as you think about the moment Jerry’s referring to. Before you left Vegas, you did your rounds throughout the hotel, saying goodbye to everyone you came to know and love there. You gave Stanley the security guard a big hug and he wished you all the best. You even managed to get to Max and apologize for everything you put him through. To your surprise, he accepted and even pulled you in for a hug. He asked you to keep in touch, hinting at another possible date. You always knew he was a good one. And maybe, one day, when you aren’t still broken into pieces over Elvis, you’d take him up on it.

Of course, you also said goodbye to Jerry. When you first met him at the special, you thought he was a cynical, judgmental, typical Hollywood producer with no genuine concern for Elvis at all. You have never been more wrong. Jerry tried to convince you not to leave, asking you about a thousand times if you were sure this was the best decision. You assured him again and again that you had to leave. You just couldn’t take it anymore. You wouldn’t stand by and watch as Elvis faded into something unrecognizable. Of course, Jerry supported your decision and offered his help should you ever need it. As you hugged Jerry, he whispered in your ear.

“You always have a place here if you decide to come back. You helped him dream. You helped him hope.”

At the time, you didn’t think anything of it, too emotionally compromised to pay attention to the words but now…everything in your body pulses with a desire, a need, a yearning. You’re wide awake. You’ve never been more awake. Your heart stills and a tranquility settles itself in your brain, heart, and body. You’re at peace.

“I love him, Jerry. I thought I knew before but…now I’m sure. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I love him.”

“I know.”

“How long have you known?”

“The special. When you were spying on the ‘If I Can Dream’ recording session. Yes, I saw you,” you open your mouth to speak but clamp it shut when he answers your question. “The look on Elvis’ face was…I could just tell. That’s why I pushed you so hard to be together, to take him up on his offer. Because I knew that you were meant to be, in one way or another. You made him happy, truly happy, for the first time since I’ve known him. You fill a void that no other person in the world has been able to. He needs you, Y/N. More than ever now.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Promptly after hanging up, you gently wake Trixie to tell her what’s going on and why you have to leave as soon as possible. Being the most amazing person in the world, she understands immediately.

“I love him, Trixie. I really do,” you say with a shrug.

She smiles and gently reaches out to stroke your arm comfortingly.

“I can see it in your eyes. What can I do to help? Anything for true love.”

“I have an idea that I think you might be able to help with,” you say and Trixie nods determinedly. You explain your plan to her and she smiles.

“We’ll have to wait until the morning to call, since no one will be in the office until 9. But as soon as the clock hits that time, I’ll make my calls. I’m sure I can make it work. I’ll find a way.”

“You’re the best, Trix.”

You’re far too wired to go back to sleep but, seeing as there’s nothing more you can do until the morning, you spend your evening unpacking the final box. You lift out some of the trinkets and photos that you stuffed inside and pause rigidly when you spy a record album. The Genius Hits the Road. You lift it out and press it to your chest, remembering when Elvis had given it to you. At the time, it was everything. It showed you that E paid attention to you, that he listened to you, that he knew what you cared about. That was when you could see that he understood you in a way no other man had before. You carefully set the album up by the rest of your records.

As you start to stuff your clothes into a duffel bag, your eyes drift over to a very specific spot on your dresser: the corner where you keep your jewelry. Although you refocus on packing, you find your attention constantly returning back to that spot. Giving in, you drop the shirt you’re folding and walk over to your stash, reaching immediately for a familiar blue velvet jewelry box. You run your fingertip over the soft fabric before opening it. You suck in a breath at the sight of the ring, still there in all its glory. You run your finger over the letters TCB. Takin care of business, just what you intend to do.

By the time the sun is finally rising, you’ve already packed and Trixie is in talks with her family friend on the phone. You call the airline and pace while they try to fit you on the next flight to Vegas. You could drive but the flight will get you in so much faster and you want to be there as soon as possible.

“What do you mean there are no flights? None, at all?” you shout into the phone.

“Well, it is Valentine’s Day and Las Vegas is a very popular destination for newlyweds. Perhaps if you had called before now, w-,” the airline worker responds. You sigh frustratedly.

“Well…thanks anyway.”

You flop onto the couch and drop your head into your hands.

“Okay, I’ve gotten everything set up,” Trixie’s voice snaps your head to the side. “You have a meeting with Mr. Benson, my family friend, in an hour. He’ll get everything wrapped up for you and you should be good to go by this afternoon. How’s the flight search going?”

“It’s not. There’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Not a single open seat.”

“Well, fuck them then. I’ll drive you.”

“Trix-”

She holds up her hand.

“We’re on a mission to save Elvis Presley but, more important, we’re on a mission to save my best friend. Anything for true love.”

“Anything for true love,” you nod. “We better get ready for that meeting.”

It took you a good while to sort out the special plan you had and, as a result, you leave far later than you would have wanted. Nevertheless, five hours later, you and Trixie are in the car with your bags and materials, ready to make yet another trip across the dessert into Las Vegas, Nevada. You waste the entire drive nervously ringing out your fingers and, when you encounter a massive semi-truck wreck on the highway, you practically rip your hair out. The sun set hours ago and Elvis is probably already preparing for his second show. You’re still an hour out from the city.

“I have to get there before the second show,” you say, shaking your head.

“What exactly are you going to do?” Trixie asks nervously, glancing over at you as you uselessly try to peer around the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“I don’t know, but I have to do something to stop this. I have to save him. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Finally, somehow, you arrive at the International Hotel. You feel physically sick at the sight of it, but you stomach the view anyway by summoning every ounce of anger you have for the Colonel. Before hanging up, Jerry had told you to meet him at a specific place at a specific time, where he would explain everything. You’re quickly coming up on the specified time. You were planning on changing into something a little nicer to see Elvis again. The thought of him laying eyes on you after so long makes your stomach tingle. But you’ll never have enough time now. As Trixie pulls up, the clock hits the time of the second show: 11 pm exactly.

You hardly even wait for the car to stop rolling before you hop out and run around the parking lot toward the back of the hotel’s entrance to the showroom. You know it well. You used it several times when you and Elvis returned from being out or just wanted to sneak around without being detected by paparazzi or suspicious staff. You stop short when you see someone standing in front of the door. This back door has never been guarded before. Bur as you approach the entrance, you smile.

“Stanley! It’s so good to see you,” you say with a smile.

“Miss Y/L/N! What are you doing back here?” he replies, looking up at you with a smile.

“I’m just here to visit. I guess I couldn’t stay away,” you laugh. “What are you doing back here? I thought you were stationed inside by the stage doors?”

“I was but the, uh, Colonel wanted me moved back here. He said it was a better fit for my personality, whatever that means.”

“Oh, Stanley. I’m so sorry. Don’t you pay any mind to that asshole. He’s nothing. In fact, why don’t you just come inside with me now. I don’t want you getting too cold out here.”

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N, you’re so kind. Do you know, interestingly enough, the Colonel told the security staff to watch out for you.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yes. He said something about suspecting that you’d be crawling back and not to let you in if we did happen to see you.”

Your face falls at Stanley’s words. After all this time, you can’t imagine that Stanley would prevent you from coming in but, then again, he does have a job to do and the Colonel is ruthless when it comes to those who don’t play by his rules.

“But,” Stanley says, leaning forward just slightly. “Since I see you’re wearing your ring,” he gestures to the TCB ring and you grin, glancing down at the shining diamonds.

You slid it on right before getting out of the car, hoping it would embolden you and also remind you of the Elvis you used to know.

“I know that Mr. Presley is expecting you,” Stanley continues. “And Mr. Presley is the boss, after all, so whatever he says goes.”

You smile and throw your arms around Stanley’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you Stanley. You’re amazing. Don’t let the Colonel tell you what to do. You keep doing things how you do them.”

Stanley opens the door with a wink and you rush inside, trying to be as sneaky as possible. Music from the show rages in the background as you push past the stagehands and vaguely familiar faces of the staff. You search desperately for Jerry and breathe a sigh of relief when you finally recognize the back of his head.

Before you can get to Jerry, you notice the horrible figure of the Colonel standing beside him. You stop and drop back, pressing yourself behind a column. Your eyes take the Colonel in. He’s not a stupid man; he knew you would be returning for Elvis. And you finally realize his game: eradicate anyone who is capable of helping Elvis. He killed Gladys, played Vernon like a fool from the start, cut off Jerry and all of Elvis’ previous friends and band members, pushed away Priscilla, and then barred you from seeing Elvis. He even went so far as to prevent Steve from contacting EP. Anyone who tried to be there for him, support him, or love him. The Colonel eliminated them all, one by one. Your attention is pulled to the stage as you realize Elvis is out there now.

“Fuck the international,” he says and your eyes widen. You peer closer to try and get a better look at him. He’s stumbling around with his head turned upward to the ceiling. “And Las Vegas.”

Elvis continues to mumble around as you watch the Colonel and Jerry whisper to each other. You can tell by his body language that the Colonel is irritated.

“Ohhhh, security,” Elvis slurs, gesturing toward the side stage. “Securityyy, securittyy!”

You watch from the wings, unsure of what to do. Elvis turns to face the Colonel directly.

“800 hundred shows!” he shouts. “You don’t have a goddamn passport you son of a bitch!”

Although you’re terribly worried about Elvis, your heart leaps with joy at the fact that he knows the truth now. That Jerry told him everything. As the curtain starts to drop down, your day just gets better.

“You are fired!” Elvis shouts and you step out from behind the column. “You are fired!”

The Colonel approaches Elvis and you step up to take his place next to Jerry. In the awkward silence that follows, Elvis repeats the phrase to the Colonel’s face and drops the microphone before spinning on his heel to stomp away. The moment Jerry’s eyes lock on you, you can physically see the relief on his face. He pulls you into a hug and you close your eyes.

“Hi, Jerry.”

“Y/N, you don’t know how glad I am that you came.”

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for him,” you offer a tight smile. “I take it you broke the news already.”

Jerry nods and opens his mouth to speak but, before he can get a word out, the Colonel’s irritating presence breaks through yet again.

“You! What in god’s name are you doing here?”

You turn to see him pointing a finger out at you. You cross your arms over your chest as he waddles closer to you.

“Mr. Presley released you from his service, you stupid girl. That means you leave and don’t come back.”

“Oh? Well, I believe Mr. Presley just released you from his service, you asshole,” you say, leaning in close to him but speaking loudly enough that everyone around you can hear. “And everyone just saw it. So that means you leave and you don’t come back.”

You step closer to him, your eyes bearing into his face. Summoning every ounce of rage that you have into your next words, you shove your finger into his face.

“You stay the fuck away from him. Do you understand me?” you hiss.

“Or what? You’ll call your little stagehand boyfriend to save you?”

“No. I’ll do what Elvis should have done a long time ago.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“That’s for me to know. If you’re smart, you’ll never find out. But if you come near him again, believe me when I say you will.”

The Colonel laughs and takes a puff of his cigar.

“You’re clearly bluffing and you’re not very good at it, my dear.”

“Afraid not. I’m not about to reveal my entire plan to you so you can find a way to con yourself out of trouble. Not this time. Let’s keep it simple, Colonel. You should be scared of the information I have.”

You watch as a momentary glimmer of panic shines in his eyes. You don’t give him a second more to consider your offer and turn around to grab Jerry by the wrist, pulling him behind you.

“That fucking bastard has no idea what’s coming,” you mutter as you and Jerry sprint down the hall toward the elevator. Once safely inside, you turn to him and let your hard exterior fall. “Jerry, he looks awful. He looks so high and bloated, I hardly recognized him. I…”

“I know. But listen, you’re here now and it’s the best possible thing you could have done for him. When he sees you,” Jerry shakes his head with a smile. “I think it’s exactly what he needs right now.”

“Tell me everything, Jerry. I want to know it all.”

The short elevator ride is just enough time for Jerry to fill in the blanks, describing how the Colonel can’t leave the country and that’s why he refused to allow Elvis an international tour. It never had anything to do with money or Elvis’ safety. It was for the Colonel’s own selfish reasons. Not surprising, but your blood is boiling even hotter now. In turn, you proceed to explain your plan for freeing Elvis for good this time. Jerry nods enthusiastically.

“I don’t know how you pulled this off but I’ve never been more simultaneously impressed and scared. I think it might just work,” he says.

When you step out of the elevator, your entire body suddenly floods with fear. What if he doesn’t really want to see you? What if he doesn’t even recognize you? What if he’s even less the man you used to know? When Jerry’s fingers curl around the door and pull it open, your heart pounds in your chest. As soon as it swings open, Elvis’ head lazily tilts upward. He’s wearing a bright blue jumpsuit which is now half-unbuttoned all the way down to his navel. Your eyes immediately fall to his chest and you remember the feeling of his hair, his skin, his warmth, the way he used to sigh happily when you gently touched him just as he needed it.

“Elvis, it’s Jerry. I have…someone here to see you,” Jerry says before he steps out of the way.

Your heart hammers loudly in your ears as you step into the room. You’re nervous, anxious. What if he doesn’t like you anymore? What if he doesn’t care about you? You shakily breathe and glance up to meet Elvis’ glazed-over eyes. You can tell that it takes him a moment to understand who you are but his expression immediately clears and brightens when he finally sees you.

“Princess…” he says quietly, reaching to stabilize himself on the back of the couch so he can stand.

He wobbles a little and you take an impulsive step forward to help support him. You wind your arms around his torso and allow him to lean on you. You breathe in his scent, familiar and musky. As you help maneuver him to sit back down, you feel the sticky sweat on his forehead and his back. When you hold him, you can tell that he’s much thicker than he used to be. He feels bloated and pudgy, not firm and healthy like he once was. When he’s seated, you drop to your knees between his legs, a comfortable spot that you’ve missed dearly.

“How are you here?” he asks, his head tilting as his eyes trace around your face. “You really here?”

He reaches out and places his warm palm on your cheek. Without thinking, you lean into it and close your eyes, his touch like drinking warm tea on a frigid winter day. His fingers curl around your face.

“Yes, I’m really here, Mr. Presley. I’m right here,” you take his other hand in yours and grasp onto it firmly.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Let me know if you need anything,” Jerry says with a curt smile. You thank him as he shuts the door behind him.

“Oh, Mr. Presley, what’s happened to you?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in sadness as you look at him.

“How can you be here? Why would you come back here? To this prison,” he slurs slightly, neglecting to answer your question.

“I came back to help,” you say, squeezing his fingers and then releasing them. His hand falls from your cheek “I want to help you get out of this. The Colonel is a very, very bad man. We need to get you away from him as soon as possible. Jerry and I have been working on it and we can finally do it. Everything is ready. But we have to leave tomorrow, okay? You and me both.”

“Leave? C-can I do that?” he asks, shaking his head. You can tell that he’s still a little buzzed from whatever drug cocktail was shoved down his throat tonight.

“Of course you can. No one can keep you here anymore, Mr. Presley. Not even the Colonel.”

“How did you do this?” he asks.

“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about. I have it all figured out. You just need to take care of yourself, sober up, and pack up what you want to take back home to Graceland.”

Your own mention of Graceland shocks you into the same vision you’ve had a thousand times: a healthy and strong Elvis sitting on the front lawn of Graceland with your children, playing with them, laughing and tickling them, smiling from ear to ear as the orange sun sets behind him, casting beautifully golden shadows on the house. And you, watching from the front step, with a hand on your swollen pregnant stomach. You shake your head, scolding yourself for dreaming.

“What bout Cousin Billy and Jerry and all them?”

“They’re coming, too, of course. All of us. We’re going to escape, okay? Everything is going to be just fine. The way it should be. You’ll be free. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

You hold out your open palms, begging him to place his hands in yours. His eyes drop down to your wiggling fingers and he stares at them with furrowed eyebrows. You take a deep breath. His fingers lazily drop into yours and you immediately curl your grasp over him.

You help him up and to the bathroom, where you turn the water on warm and help him bathe himself, washing off the sweat. You run your fingers through his hair gently and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. You make him drink lots of water before bed and, once finished, dry him off and get him dressed in something comfortable. Lastly, you tuck him into bed.

“How bout some television?” he asks.

You glance over your shoulder to see that one of the shot-out televisions has been replaced. Just one. You sigh at the horrible memory and shake your head.

“No, I think you need to rest tonight, Mr. Presley. Just rest,” you say.

When you pull the blanket up to his chin, his fingers curl around it like a small toddler and you can’t help but smile. He already looks so much better, cleaner and fresher. You gently place your hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back. He closes his eyes. You consider leaning forward to press a kiss to his head but you still can’t do it.

“I’ll be out on the couch if you need anything. Just shout for me. Goodnight, Mr. Presley,” you say, moving to pull away.

But as soon as you take a step back, he jolts up in bed, grasping at your arms.

“No, no, no,” he says panicked, his fingers literally pulling at your skin. His force pulls you forward, and you collapse onto the bed as he pants with wide eyes and grips at your wrist. You wrap your fingers around his hands and hold him steady.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you say, carefully maneuvering him back down onto the bed. “No, Mr. Presley…Mr. Presley, what’s wrong? Everything’s gonna be okay. Everything is just fine.”

“Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave,” he repeats over and over, his face screwing up in grief.

You stroke his forehead as he begins to cry. His voice cracks and his body shakes, tears streaming down his face. You bite your lip to keep from crying and climb further onto the bed. You pull him down on your lap and he rests his head there, his hands gripping harshly onto your thighs. You can feel the wetness of his tears as they fall onto your jeans. You repeatedly stroke his head and cradle it in your arms, gently rocking back and forth with his body.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you repeat in whispers.

“Please don’t leave me, princess,” he says in between shaky breaths. “Errebody leaves me. Mama left me, Priscilla left me, you left me. I’m so lonely. Please don’t you leave me again.”

He breaks into sobs, burying his face in your legs. You lean down and press your lips to his hair, holding him tightly.

“No, no. I’m never gonna leave you again. I won’t leave you, baby. I’m gonna make it better, daddy, I promise. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna fix this for you. I will. I’ll never leave you, do you understand?”

You slide your hands underneath his cheeks and lift his gaze to yours. You hold firmly onto his cheeks in the darkness, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones.

"You gonna fly away with me? Aren't you princess?"

He gazes up at you with wide glassy eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy just begging for someone to give him pets. You clench your cheeks and nod.

“We're gonna fly away, baby, together. I love you, Elvis.”

His tears have stopped and his shoulders rise and fall evenly now. He gazes into your eyes in the darkness, his attention so unwavering that you feel goosebumps rising on your skin. Your stomach flips and you feel them again, those pesky butterflies. You’ve never been more terrified in your life than you are right now. You’re both frozen, caught in one another’s gaze, in the other’s trap. He darts forward and you lean toward him, his lips catching the very corner of your mouth. He presses a warm kiss there and then rubs his cheek against yours, his arms snaking around your torso. He pulls you forward, against his body and up onto his thighs as he sits on his knees. You wind your legs around his back and squeeze yourself against him. His head drops into the crook of your neck, his breath warming your skin. He rocks back and forth as he embraces you.

He doesn’t say it back but he doesn’t need to. You can tell by the way he holds you.

He loves you, too.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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sadrockandwaltzes · 3 months

Text

Film Class Rankings

Finally, after 4.5 months of my film class, it is over and the rankings are out! (Long list ahead)

First, my class's ranking:

Top Gun: Maverick (2022), Joseph Kosinski

Inception (2010), Christopher Nolan

Jurassic Park (1993), Steven Spielberg

Black Panther (2018), Ryan Coogler

Jaws (1975), Steven Spielberg

The Killing (1956), Stanley Kubrick

The Third Man (1949), Carol Reed

Arrival (2016), Denis Villeneuve

Rear Window (1954), Alfred Hitchcock

High Noon (1952), Fred Zinnemann

All The President's Men (1976), Alan J. Pakula

Vertigo (1958), Alfred Hitchcock

Casablanca (1942), Michael Curtiz

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Stanley Kubrick

Maltese Falcon (1941), John Huston

Citizen Kane (1941), Orson Welles

I personally did not care for the majority of their placements... after some deliberation I decided to place the movies based on my own personal enjoyment of them rather than how good of films they were.

I sorted them into 3 categories:

Liked: Black Panther, 3rd Man, Arrival, Rear Window, All the President's Men

Eh: High Noon, Space Odyssey, Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane, Top Gun, Vertigo, Jaws

No: Jurassic Park, inception, the killing, casablanca

And here was the final ranking:

Arrival (2016), Denis Villeneuve

All The President's Men (1976), Alan J. Pakula

Black Panther (2018), Ryan Coogler

Rear Window (1954), Alfred Hitchcock

The Third Man (1949), Carol Reed

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Stanley Kubrick

Top Gun: Maverick (2022) , Joseph Kosinski

High Noon (1952), Fred Zinnemann

Jaws (1975), Steven Spielberg

Citizen Kane (1941), Orson Welles

Maltese Falcon (1941), John Huston

Vertigo (1958), Alfred Hitchcock

Inception (2010), Christopher Nolan

Casablanca (1942), Michael Curtiz

Jurassic Park (1993), Steven Spielberg

The Killing (1956), Stanley Kubrick

1-2 I was deciding between All the Prez and Arrival for the top spot, but even though I liked Prez's plot better, I think that Arrival was good in pretty much every category and had the best parts of Inception and Jurassic Park, with the cool shots of Vertigo. It's also the only one with a female mc? What's with that

3. Black panther's a good movie and has nice visuals, but I've already seen it before and it's the kind of movie I'd probably only want to watch once.

4. I liked the concept, and it was very colorful. Character wise it's not the greatest, but I still maintain that Rear Window with the characters of Saw would be the greatest thing ever... Also I liked Grace Kelly's outfits. She had some great (and a few less great) styles.

5. 3rd man. I think the score could've been better, but I liked the characters, plot, and setting. Also it's the only one on the list directed by a woman? How'd I not notice that. It's also one of the few with an interesting female main character so.. go figure.

6. Plot and character wise... I didn't really know what was going on at the end, and the other parts weren't super interesting. It was super beautiful though! I felt like I was watching an art piece or one of those no word heavy detailed picture books. Music not bad, and points for managing to look movie poster ready in the majority of scenes

7. Top gun was pretty good. I haven't seen the original, but it kind of made me think of those family spy movies or suicide squad, if they were members of the military and not utterly despised. I was wondering if Iceman had a thing for him, and then found out that people had been thinking similar things in the first movie too. So props for consistency. It's hard to make good sequels.

8. I don't care for Westerns, but I actually liked this alright. Also it's short. Space Odyssey was so long that everyone was snoozing at parts, but this one was just a drama about a guy and his lackluster relationships. Also ngl Gary Cooper in that movie kind of looked like the police chief from the Arcane series, so that made my day.

9. Not much for sharks or the ocean, but it wasn't bad. They got the obligatory team bonding and tragic backstories, random kids whose purpose is only to be cute/innocent and/or a martyr, the mysterious crazy old guy, and the good old state of Massachusetts. I probably like it more than I would Moby Dick if I ever got around to reading it. Would consider watching again.

10. Citizen Kane wasn't bad to look at, and plot was pretty straightforward. I guess it's sort of funny if not sad to hear all this guy's associates rag on him after death, but I thought it was interesting. The 2nd wife was my favorite character.

11. Best character was the secretary. Kind of sad how a lot of these movies are clearly written by people who don't like/understand women, but they still often end up being the best characters. Anyway the movie was pretty dull, but it really turned around in the last 20 or so minutes. Went from being 30 to 100. It also had one of the greatest movie endings I've seen, even outside of this class, that completely turned around my opinion of it.

12. I really wanted to like this movie. It had nice visuals, I liked his ex, and the plot seemed interesting. And then it turned scifi and weird, and then just went kind of gross and disturbing. And then it had this random goofy bit and the worst transition ever, to finally making sense and being interesting again. And then it had a terrible ending and I was not pleased. I give it points for a lot of things- great visual, interesting story, and it created some interesting special effects. The plot kept me guessing and I seriously had bo idea what was actually going on into the movie slapped me in the face with the answer.

13. I didn't like this movie. I like Elliot Page, but I didn't think the acting was that good (DiCaprio was ok, and Saito was fine). The plot was confusing, keeping track of characters was difficult, and I didn't really care about any of them (with the exception of Saito). I pretty much understood everything by the end (honestly, a lot of the dialogue I just couldn't hear because the teacher wouldn't put on subtitles, so that could be a factor). I also didn't know most of the characters' names throughout the movie so I had to give them nicknames.

14. Visuals were eh, the music was fine when they weren't playing that BLASTED SONG, and I hated the love interest. She has the perfect man who she wants to break the heart of and hurt the war effort, just so she can get with her ex that she didn't even know all that well? More than that, she brought out the worst in him. Love ought to make people better, or happier, or something. Hers just made him act scummy. I also don't know if he really just left his friend/employee? To run off into the sunset with a nazi? Speaking of bad endings, what was that? I'm all for gay subtext but what exactly were they going for. Plus Louis was the most interesting character to watch, and again, he's a nazi. I just found it a little odd. (I also liked Victor but they barely gave him any screentime. Did him super dirty)

15. I don't like dinosaurs. I really don't like people stranded in the jungle and eaten by dinosaurs either. It's a personal taste I guess. Characters were eh.

16. I actually was having trouble watching. I was bored for most of it, the characters didn't really interest me (the wife, Sheryl? Did a little), and it wasn't that interesting visually. I feel like it's a more boring black and white Pulp Fiction, another movie I didn't care for. No likeable characters. Anywhere. But I do have to give it credit for having an outright gay character instead of thinly veiled like some of the others.

At the end we were supposed to give suggestions for other films to watch in the class (I had to come back later and do it cause I misunderstood the directions 😅), so here were these in no particular order.

Missing (2023), Nicholas D. Johnson + Will Merrick

Pleasantville (1998), Gary Ross

Clue (1985), Jonathan Lynn

Kill Bill (either one, I've only seen the 2nd) (2003-2004), Quentin Tarantino

Enchanted (2007), Kevin Lima

I figured it'd be a good addition for a film class since it's mostly shown through screens (camera, phone, etc). It's not the first to do this, but it's probably the best.

Movie's eh, but I like the color and black&white mixing, and its importance to the plot

it has 3 endings, and is based on a board game. It's also a cult classic, which I think makes it historic/relevant enough to discuss

We didn't watch a single martial arts movie, and this one is a mix of a few different genres. It's bright and flashy, it's well loved, and I'm pretty sure we skipped over 2000s movies anyway.

Cartoon and animation. Also it's a good movie.

Good job getting to the end😅 These were just my opinions of the movies, so sorry if any offended you. I like discussions though, so feel free to comment or disagree with any of these.

#movies #movie list #movie review

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