#I think I'm more I'm inclined to think they didn't given the fragment of the opera we are shown

[fragmentedblade]

The story in the longetivity pill of cruelty, and Wenyuan's words when being offered to take it wow

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 15 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Mentions of Blood/Miscarriage/Medical trauma. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: The ANGST is real, y'all, and I'm not letting you off the hook after Part 14, sorry! This one was a beast to get out of my brain and the block was real for so many reasons, but we made it! It's here! Just so y'all know, this part is very much a bridge to all the crazy stuff that is to come. Reader is going through it and taking all of us with her. And I promise that more smut is coming (if you are only here for that, you horny animals! LOL). Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics that carry over from Part 14!

Thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Unexpected life crap/emotions/writer's block killed me on this one, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me! I rewrote the beginning of this part no less than four times, and FINALLY it clicked so here we are! Hooray! Thanks for helping me get through this!

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

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

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

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

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

No!

The scream catches in your throat as you wake with a start, clutching your belly in a panic, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you feel like it is attempting to flee your chest. It takes a moment to figure out where you are. The night is warm and the sky is vast, and you are so far up you feel like you’re still dreaming.

“Baby, are you okay?” Elvis sits up straight in his lounge chair and turns to you. You can see, or better sense, the concern in his eyes, even in the darkness. This sends a shiver of recognition down your spine as your dream (or is it a memory?) flashes back to you in fragments. His eyes are older now, but the look remains the same, feels the same. 

“I..I..I…” you stutter, shaking your head, unable to be coherent. No, you are not okay. Looking down, you half expect to see blood pooling between your legs, but thankfully there is none. You feel stuck in the haze between reality and dreams, or reality and what you are afraid might actually be the past.

You feel like screaming, but the impulse sticks in your throat, strangling you.

There was a reason, you think, that you never remembered that horrible night from nearly a decade ago. That you’d only been able to piece together snippets of what really happened from vague accounts of the people you’d been with that night. Elvis, in particular, had been purposefully scarce on details.

And you had been fine with that, truly not wanting to relive your trauma in any way, shape, or form. You’d even been grateful when the doctor told you it was normal for your mind to protect you from your near-death experience, that you might never remember the details of that night, and you determined the memory loss a blessing.

When you’d woken in the sterile hospital, drugged and dazed, the doctor told you’d had an ectopic pregnancy, that the baby—no, the “fertilized egg,” he’d said—had gotten stuck in your fallopian tube instead of your uterus. Unfortunately, your fallopian tube ruptured as the baby grew, and you had massive hemorrhaging, nearly dying in that skating rink. They were able to do surgery and stop the bleeding, but the baby was gone, and you were told it never would have come to term.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. The grief and heartache, the disappointment, the feeling like an utter failure that your body had betrayed you in such a way. No, you were fine not remembering the details. You’d wanted to forget all about it. It didn’t matter to you that the specifics weren’t there, that not everyone’s stories lined up or made complete sense. You just wanted to push it all away.

But now…this dream felt so incredibly real, at least the parts that you remembered. As dreams do, it begins to fade, leaving only a few missing puzzle pieces that start to slot into place. Desperately, you try to wipe it all away again, but it’s too late. You are trying to convince yourself it had to be a dream, that the flashes you are remembering (or more so feeling), couldn’t have possibly happened that way. Except many of the parts you do remember are true and really happened: Elvis’ coming home, how you’d been so inexplicably enamored with him, and how he'd been so concerned he’d done something to hurt you—all of that was real.

But the night of the Rollerdome is where things get choppy. Those parts of the dream are still but snippets and feelings, overwhelming ones at that, and you have no memories to compare them to. Could it be that you lost the baby and almost died in Elvis’ arms after he’d come to your rescue when…when…something else happened? You can’t grasp why he’d needed to come to your rescue or what led up to being in his arms on the floor—it all slips through your fingers like water through a sieve.

God, but the pain you are remembering right now…it is all so much worse than you’d imagined.

It’s like you can sense it happening all over again rather than simply remembering, your belly cramping and lightheadedness threatening your vision. The frantic panic of fearing the worst pours through your veins now almost as it did then. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Then there was Elvis, pulling you into his lap; you can feel the terror he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, how obvious it was in the shaking stutter of his voice as he was doused in your blood. Then, it fades again, leaving you with the distinct feeling that something important (other than losing the baby) happened on the floor of that roller rink, but it disappears into the ether before you can lock on to it.

“…Oh, God, don’t—”

All of it is too much, all at once.

You are barely conscious of the tears pouring down your cheeks, and you awkwardly stagger up from the lounge chair you’d fallen asleep on while traveling to the moon and the stars. Just you and me and the moon and the stars…You feel dizzy from getting up too fast, from the physical memory of it all and you sway, but your body overrides it with the need to flee, as if you can outrun the past.

“Hey, hey, hey! Honey, what’s happenin’? What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, confused, leaping up, grabbing your shoulders.

You tear yourself from his grasp, staggering for the door that will lead you off the roof and hopefully out of this hell your mind has sought to drag you into. Nothing makes sense. You feel trapped in a daze of psychic and physical pain, none of which is helpful or wanted. All the peace from your moment with the moon and the stars has evaporated in an instant. You reach the door and yank it open.

“Y/n, stop! Wait just a damn minute!” he says firmly, pulling you back to him, his cold rings digging into your forearm like chains.

“Elvis, let me go! You have to let me go!” you shout, trying to break free, but his hold on you is fierce. “Oh, god, I can’t do this,” you gasp, barely able to look at him.

You know you are being unfair to him in your reaction, but you feel betrayed. Betrayed by your body, betrayed by your mind, and betrayed by him, all at once. All logic is lost.

“Can’t do what, honey? I don’t understand what you’re goin’ on about,” Elvis asks in confusion, and you can tell by the roughness in his tone that he is frustrated but is trying to be patient with you. You don’t blame him. You must seem out of your mind, having a breakdown every other minute you are with him.

A deep part of you feels absolutely mortified at the entire situation. You’d had no idea that it was Elvis who’d found you and that something so horribly personal and tragic, your worst failure, was laid out before him so vulnerably. And to think he never mentioned it again makes you both grateful and angry. How could an experience like that be brushed under the rug, like nothing ever happened?

Suddenly all the beautiful bouquets of flowers he sent from afar in those weeks after it happened start to make a bit more sense, as does the distance that started to grow between you two. You had originally blamed it solely on him having to leave right away for Florida (he hadn’t even been there when I’d woken up in the hospital), then it was all the recording he’d needed to get done, and then just like that, he was out in Hollywood filming again. And when he was home after that, you remembered, he did not seek you out to spend any one-on-one time together. Now you wonder if he’d been purposefully avoiding you, and that makes you feel both offended and embarrassed.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe somehow while still feeling like the world is closing in on you. The way your heart beats so quickly drives you to escape, but Elvis’ grip is like a vise, anchoring you to the spot. Everything hurts—a long-buried grief radiating through you like a tidal wave that has been held back far too long. Its icy flood consumes you, tightening your chest, and the healed scar on your belly feels like it’s being ripped open.

Finally, you say with shaking breaths, “I had a terrible nightmare. Or…or a memory, I’m not quite sure which…It felt—feels—so real, like it’s happening all over again.”

“What? What’s happening all over again?” Elvis asks with concern in his azure eyes.

“The baby. The night I lost the baby…god, there was so much blood. It was awful,” you choke out. “Were you really there? Was it you who found me, who held onto me?” you ask frantically, looking up at him for answers, for confirmation.

If you weren’t so consumed by the overpowering feelings rolling over you, you might catch the fleeting panic that flashes across his face before that unreadable mask he’s so carefully crafted over the years takes its place.

“What do you remember?” he asks evenly, calmly.

“Well, I…it’s all jumbled, flashes really. Being at the rink. Then suddenly blinding, horrible pain,” you grimace, arms wrapping around your abdomen, “and then I’m in your arms, bleeding everywhere, and everything gets distant and cold and numb and terrifying. And then it all fades away,” you whisper, looking at him for any sign of the truth of it.

You almost think you see relief in his eyes (why?), but it’s only for a second and then is gone. “That’s what you remember?”

You nod.

He continues, “Yeah, it was like that. I found you, baby. I held you until help got there. It was…awful,” he shudders, those almond eyes of his clouding, the memory obviously affecting him in some way.

“I…almost died,” you breathe. Of course, you logically already knew this to be true, but that was before you remembered how it felt.

“Yes, you did,” Elvis replies solemnly, his eyes churning with emotion, bringing his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the tears you have forgotten are falling.

“It hurts. Here. Now. I don’t know why,” you whisper. Though the pain has ebbed some, it still is intense, overwhelming. Perhaps it is because something about it still feels unfinished and hidden from you, like you are still missing some integral piece. You look at him as though he can give you the relief you so desperately seek, and you can’t help but feel that he is keeping something from you based on the look in his eyes.

“I don’t know either, but you’re safe now,” Elvis says, pulling you into him. He thinks he is good at shielding his emotions from you, and maybe he used to be, but now, after everything that has happened this past week, you can sense the turmoil beneath the softness of his pretty features. It sets you on edge. Enough secrets have been kept from you at this point in your life to recognize the signs, even if only intuitively.

Standing there on the roof, he rocks you gently, and the burning pain in your abdomen begins to subside, but is quickly replaced by unease, a rock of it forming in the pit of your stomach. Something is amiss and you can’t put your finger on it, but it has something to do with that terrible night. And with Elvis.

You watch him carefully as he leads you to the stairs, gingerly, like you might shatter into a million pieces. While you indeed felt that way only moments ago, worry and curiosity wind their way through your mind as you grasp at pieces of quickly-fading memories, searching for something, anything, that supports this intuitive feeling in your gut. You do not find it.

However, as you come back into his darkened suite, you are reminded of the fact that you should not be here, that your husband must be wondering where you got off to. It is nearly dawn, and you aren’t in your room.

And, oh dear lord, all the yelling and the noise that you and Elvis made earlier must have been overheard. Suddenly you are nauseous.

“Elvis,” you say, clasping his forearm in a panic.

“What, baby?” he looks at you, confused, concerned.

“We made a lot of noise earlier…”

A slow, wide grin spreads over his face, but that almost predatory darkness from before lingers in his eyes. “Oh, honey, I sent everyone away after that little stunt of yours in the bathroom with Jack,” he laughs, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He still isn’t happy about that.

Relief washes over you at the fact that your escapades remained private, although, you don’t know exactly who “everyone” is because his Mafia members were never too far from their master.

The unease is back, snaking through your mind. “I have to get back,” you say, “Jack must be wondering where I am.”

“He’s likely in the casino, and you, my dear, went back to Sandy’s room and fell asleep there.” The lie falls off his tongue so easily, and while you are grateful for the excuse, this ability of his gives you pause as you find the remnants of your clothes strewn about the room.

Everything feels off. It’s as though your dream-memory has exposed something, but you cannot put your finger on what, only that something about Elvis is itching at you.

Something important.

Your mind and your insides are still reeling from everything this night has entailed and uncovered. You shakily dress and try to clean yourself up before having to face the world outside of Elvis’ private suite. Between the wildly intense sex and the jarring memories your sleep unlocked, you are exhausted and wonder how you can possibly process any of this and still present “things as usual” to the rest of the world.

Finally ready to head out the door, Elvis stops you. “Wait,” he says, spinning you back to him and pulling you close. His luscious lips brush yours so sweetly, with such yearning, as if he hasn’t had you in nearly every way already tonight. You melt into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of him solid and comforting. You forget all your doubts and questions for the moment, unable to focus on anything but the pillowy softness of his gentle kisses and the way his strong hands cup your jaw and pull you to him. The man has you fully under his spell, and right now, as his tongue laps at yours, you do not care about anything else.   

When he pulls back, you whine at the loss of him, and being him, he senses your need, and gives you a cheeky smirk.

“Later, darlin’, I promise,” he says, brushing your cheek. “I want you backstage again tonight, okay?” It’s less of a question and more a gentle command.

You nod, getting lost in those endless blues of his. Then you shake yourself off and head out the door, shutting it quietly behind you in your best effort to sneak out, your mind beginning to whirl again the moment you are out of his presence.

Lost in a fog of thoughts, your focus is on the ground, so when you collide with another body in the hallway, you nearly jump out of your skin, flying backwards and catching yourself before you tumble to the ground.

“Well, shit,” a familiar voice intones slowly and with surprise as you look up.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Red.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as your brain tries to scramble up an excuse of why you’d be coming out of Elvis’ suite at this hour looking as you do, and you quickly realize that there is no other plausible explanation. Your mouth opens then closes aimlessly. And the smirk on Red’s face makes it quite clear that he understands the situation fully.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you stand frozen like a dear in headlights. This is very, very bad. Jerry is one thing—you have no doubts of his loyalty to Elvis and keeping his secrets. But Red, he is quite a different situation. He is loyal to Elvis, to be sure, but for a price. And he is friends with Jack and has been since the beginning. You had never taken to Red—something about him always irked you, but it was never truly an issue before this moment.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Red tsks at you, a nasty gleam in his eye, “Now what kind’a trouble you been gettin’ up to?” It’s obvious he knows exactly what kind.

You finally find your voice. “Red,” you say in what you hope is a warning but considerate tone, “I’m sure we can both just forget this ever happened. We wouldn’t want to upset anyone.” There’s no need to say their names, you both know who you mean. But your voice is too shaky and even you can’t take yourself seriously.

“Hmm, maybe,” Red ponders infuriatingly. You want to wipe that smug look right off his face.

You both stand there staring for a minute before you finally straighten yourself. You desperately want to turn and go back to Elvis to plead with him to drop Red off somewhere in the middle of the desert, but you know E needs his rest and this conversation can’t happen now. So instead, you square your shoulders, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Excuse me, I have to be going,” you say a little haughtily.

Red just laughs, “I bet you do, sweetheart.”

The endearment is anything but, coming out snide instead. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Finally, you break the tension and push past him, trying to keep your gait steady and unhurried, when all you want to do is to sprint to the door. But you make it without doing so, holding your breath the whole way. Once in the hall, you pound the elevator button multiple times as if that will make a difference in how fast it arrives. Then you feel like you can breathe again, once tucked safely and blissfully alone inside the car, heading down.

You don’t trust Red. Not one bit.

Panic rises up from your stomach, an acidic, bitter bile. This is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. You can feel the rickety foundation of your lies begin to sway under your feet. Not only are you feeling unmoored because of whatever your dream-memory unlocked about Elvis that you can’t pinpoint, but this hits you where it hurts. You reap what you sow, and you have been sowing quite a bit.

All the doubt that Elvis washed away with his gentle kisses mere minutes ago comes back to hit you full force. You must end this, you’ve got to, and you know, oh god, you know it will break your heart, but you cannot live anymore with this fear that is eating you from the inside out.

You were never meant to be this person. You are not special, certainly not special enough to warrant true love from Elvis Presley. You are just a housewife from Tennessee whose husband is a liar and a cheat. You were bored and now you’re in over your head.

Get out. Run, as far away and as fast as you can! your mind screams at you. God, you can’t breathe. For the second time today, you feel as though the air has been stolen from your lungs and like the ground is crumbling underneath your feet.

You are not strong enough for this. You were not made for lying and cheating and sneaking around. The weight of it all feels untenable as you knock on Sandy’s door.

When it opens, she doesn’t even say a word. One look at you and she’s yanking you inside.

“Red knows,” you eek out before she has a chance to say anything.

“Shit,” she curses and brings you to sit down on the bed. Then she steals away, and you hear water running.

You don’t realize you are shaking until she hands you the glass of water and it nearly spills all over your dress. You gulp it down, suddenly parched.

“What the hell happened last night?” she finally asks, after you’ve downed the glass of water and manage to take in some slow breaths. “You disappeared with Jack,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose, “and then Elvis looked like he was gonna lose his damn mind and kicked everyone out, but you were nowhere to be found. Then, Jerry called and told me that if anyone asked, you were with me all night.”

Setting the empty glass on the side table, you put your head in your hands. “Oh, Sandy, I feel like every decision I am making is insane. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Sandy just looks at you with expectation in her eyes, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Elvis and I had quite an…argument about me being with Jack. And then we had crazy, hot sex, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” you sigh and Sandy grins like an idiot. “Then he took me up on the roof to look at the moon, and I fell asleep and had this horrible—well, it was a nightmare, but I think it was actually a memory I repressed. Oh, it was awful.”

Sandy looks at you quizzically. “A repressed memory? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I can’t have kids…but way back in ’60, I had an ectopic pregnancy that resulted in me miscarrying and almost bleeding to death on the floor of the Rollerdome,” you ramble out, the water you just drank making you feel sick to your stomach.

“Oh my god, hon, that’s terrible,” she says pulling you in for a hug.

“Obviously, there are reasons I don’t talk about it, but also, I didn’t remember any of it. The doc said my brain did it to protect me from the trauma. Until this morning, I didn’t have any idea of what really happened. But now…I had these flashes, these glimpses, of the horrible pain. It was like living it all over again. Like I could feel it happening, San,” you say, clutching your stomach. “And what I didn’t realize was that Elvis was there for all of it. He was holding me and watching me die. There was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus,” Sandy breathes.

“And he never told me that he was there! How could we go through something like that together and him not say a damn word? And I swear something else happened, something he’s not telling me. I just feel like he’s hiding something about it, something I still can quite put my finger on,” you add rapidly.

“Well, honey, maybe it was traumatic for him, too. And I’m sure he didn’t want to make you relive all that,” Sandy says reasonably, patting your knee.

“That makes logical sense, San, I know it does, but it’s not just that, I’m telling you…I’ve been having these dreams, these memories, come up since being with him, things I am just now remembering. I don’t know,” you shake your head, frustrated. “It’s like a puzzle that is missing pieces and I just can’t quite put it all together.”

“How can I help, hon?” Sandy asks, her eyes comforting and kind.

“You’re doing it, babe, by just listening,” you say, squeezing her hand. “So, when I woke up from the dream, E seemed closed off about what I was telling him. I mean, he confirmed he was there, and that he’d held me, but I could just tell he wasn’t letting me in on everything. I feel like I’m noticing just how well and how easily he seems to bend the truth to suit his needs, and now I’m doing it, too,” you say, ashamed.

“And how does Red fit into all this?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, god, yeah. I literally ran into him coming out of Elvis’ room. You should have seen the smug look on his face, San. I am so fucking screwed,” you sigh, flinging yourself back on the bed.

“Just tell Elvis! He won’t let Red get away with anything,” Sandy points out.

“I won’t see him until tonight, and by then, everyone might already know!” You look at Sandy frantically, pleadingly. “I feel crazy, and I hate all these stupid emotions! Jesus, who even am I anymore? Am I this woman who lies and cheats and hides things, not just from everyone, but from herself, too?”

Sandy looks at you, pausing as she seems to gather her thoughts. “Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, you are finally breaking free of everything that’s been holding you back? That you are just scared of all of this because it’s new and different and a risk? Before this last week, when was the last time you even took a risk, y/n? When was the last time you actually allowed yourself to really feel anything? Hon, you’ve spent so much time pushing down everything that you are and could be because of Jack and what you think you have to be for him. Maybe all this is just you becoming…you. Making decisions for yourself, ones that make you happy,” Sandy says with the love only she could give you.

You choke back a sob, “But who I am is an awful person, Sandy. I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a liar and a cheat, which is everything I hate about Jack. I’m stuck in this dysfunctional marriage that I’m dependent on, and I was the reason we couldn’t build the big family we both wanted. I’m in love with someone I have no business being in love with, a man who is so utterly beyond my reach, who could never love me the way I need him to. I…God, I can’t even trust my memories!” Your utter heartbreak at everything aches through your chest, a painful reminder of everything you lack. Shaking with tears, you curl into a ball.

“Oh, hon,” Sandy says gently. She grabs your shoulders and hauls you up. “Look at me.”

You force yourself to meet her gaze, tears leaking from your eyes.

“You have to stop beating yourself up, baby. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you are certainly not an awful person, not one little bit. You are full of love and kindness and talent, and you’ve put yourself last for so damn long that putting yourself first feels wrong to you,” she says so matter-of-factly that you have no choice but to listen.

“But I’ve made such a mess of things,” you whimper.

“Yeah, well, Jack pushed you to it, hon. And Elvis, well, he’s Elvis, and resisting that man takes a fortitude of will that not many women possess. What I’m saying is, this is not all on you.”

But you still feel like a powder keg about to explode, all your anguish and self-doubt clawing its way out of you, ripping you to shreds along the way.

“No, no, no. I have to…I have to end this,” you shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. It feels like hell.”

Sandy purses her lips and gives you a look. “Did you even listen to a word I just said, hon? Let me make it clearer for you: You love Elvis. You don’t love Jack, not anymore. Leave the fucker and go be with the man you love, guilt free! Jack’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

She makes it sound so easy, but it is anything but, at least to you, and you’re the one living it. “I can’t, Sandy, I can’t just do that! I’m dependent on Jack, who is dependent on Elvis. Without either of them, I have nothing. No job, no money, nothing. So tell me what happens when E gets tired of me, huh? Then I will literally be out on the street, Sandy!” you yell.

“God, you are just determined to be miserable, aren’t you? So determined that you are blind to the obvious!” Sandy shakes her head in frustration, then takes a deep, calming breath before lowering her voice to continue, “I can’t make you feel that you are enough—only you can do that, hon. But you are. You are enough for me, and certainly enough for Elvis.”

“You don’t know that, Sandy! Besides, Elvis is keeping shit from me, too! And I haven’t been enough for Jack for a long time!” you holler.

“Fuck Jack, y/n! Fuck him! He’s not worthy of you, not the other way around. You have to start to see that, hon!” she yells back, her cheeks reddening.

“None of that changes the situation! Red knows, and you and I both know he’s gonna make trouble, and it’s gonna all blow back on me. I’m trapped. I’m trapped in all of it, my marriage, this affair, the lies, this fucking insane world of Elvis’! I can’t…Fuck this shit,” you say, standing up, every nerve in your body flying on a horrible roller coaster than you can’t seem to get off of.

The only solution you can see is to remove yourself from the equation.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to Elvis, to Vegas, to all of it. I’m leaving on the first plane out of here tonight,” you say with finality, standing up. It makes you feel like you finally have some semblance of control over your life.

“Y/n. I don’t think this is the solution you think it is, hon—” Sandy starts.

“Look, I appreciate everything you are trying to do here, but I’m the one living this, not you, and it feels like hell right now. I need out. I’m going home,” you say harshly, swiping the tears off your face. It’s like you are pulling a steel door over all the turmoil you’ve been feeling, shutting out the pain so you can do what you should have done days ago.

You don’t want to relive the trauma of your miscarriage or remember all these fleeting and confusing moments with Elvis anymore. You don’t want to think about what Elvis is hiding from you, because you just know it’s something important and you can’t take another man you love lying to you. You don’t want to see Jack. You don’t want to completely upend everything you’ve known for the last fourteen years. You don’t want to be in love with a man who could never truly love you back the way you need him to. Because they never do.

And your heart aches in every way—for the baby you never met, for the man you used to love, and for the man you love now—it all radiates through you like poison, threatening to cripple you. You can’t stay like this. Anything to escape these horrible feelings, this seemingly unending wave of fear and uncertainty.

Sandy looks at you resigned and disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Fine. You do what you gotta do. But running away ain’t gonna solve anything.”

The hell it won’t.

*

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[antiquery]

I’ve been a longtime mutual of yours, but I can’t keep following you after the article you reblogged. Perhaps it’s an odd stance to take, that one article would lead me to unfollow, but I’d encourage you to think about the way that article denigrates the path to Palestinian liberation and assumes some kind of equal responsibility to being civilized and polite in the face of genocide. Conversations have never ever stopped colonialism from its violent occupation of the global South, and I find the tone of the article quite callous. “The Palestinian case for self-determination—like any stateless people—is bulletproof, even if Palestinians themselves are not.” Don’t you find this to be a cruel, callous statement? Why is the two state solution propped up as the most civilized and practical decision when an active genocide is happening, when real estate sales are occurring for Gazan land? Moreover, his article is inaccurate: I’d encourage you to look at the Intercept article interrogating the NYT’s claims of sexual violence. I hope you don’t see this as an attack, but I couldn’t stop myself from sending this ask as someone who really respected your opinions.

so, a couple things. first, John Aziz, the author of the article, is a Palestinian expat, and in that context I don't find his phrasing at all callous. I don't particularly care to tone police someone writing about his own oppression, and moreover everything else in that article (and everything else he's written) makes it clear that he cares pretty deeply about the conflict, dark puns or no.

second, I did read that Intercept article when it came out (here if you're curious, and here is the NYT article it's responding to). though I didn't find it particularly damning (especially given that that publication's reporting on the war in Ukraine has been…dubious at best, I'm not inclined to give them much benefit of the doubt), what interested me in Aziz's piece was that his argument isn't a moral one-- it doesn't actually matter what happened on October 7, if we're talking about how well violence has served the Palestinian cause. the fact of the matter is that Israel is a wealthy nation with well-developed state capacity, and the Palestinian territories are brutally impoverished, fragmented, under-resourced, and just generally completely unequipped to face a hostile power period, much less one with Israel's capabilities. if there is a pitched us-or-them fight between the two, Israel will win and it won't be particularly close-- if for no other reason than the fact that Israel is a nuclear power, and Palestine is not. this isn't a moral judgement, a state being powerful certainly does not make it good, but anyone seriously interested in Palestinian statehood has to contend with the facts on the ground.

given that, Aziz's argument is that any violent Palestinian offensive is doomed not only to fail, but to leave the prospect of a Palestinian state in a worse spot than before. Israel will retaliate and destroy large fractions of what paltry state capacity the territories have, immiserate the population, and when pressed by the international community point to the fact that they were attacked first and you can't very well expect them to make peace with people who have demonstrated that they are not interested in peace. then, they will impose harsher restrictions on the territories, probably causing thousands more deaths in addition to the toll of the military offensive, and create conditions that radicalize the population and set them up to launch another disastrous attack in coming years. this will happen even if the attack in question is a disciplined military action that targets only combatants and follows the rules of war to a T; if the attack is anything else, it will only worsen the severity of the retaliation.

is this "right" in some absolute sense? I don't think so; Israel is a powerful state and to some extent it's their responsibility to deal fairly with what is essentially a stateless population under their sovereign authority, regardless of their worries about what that stateless population might do. they demonstrably have not done that! but "fairness" has little to nothing to do with effectiveness, and Aziz's point is that the morality of violent resistance is at the end of the day a distraction from the fact that violent resistance has been a disaster for Palestinians. Sam Kriss has an excellent piece on the same subject, and he puts it far better than I can:

Whoever’s saying it, the fact remains that there is no military path to a free Palestine. This fact is inconvenient and unfair and doesn’t leave much room for the optimism of the will, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and if you think there’s an exemption from unfair truths that’s awarded to especially just causes then you are wrong. Israel has nuclear weapons: it will not be overthrown with small arms and explosives. I don’t think I have the right to condemn violent resistance altogether—but I can reject violent resistance that’s doomed to fail, that achieves nothing and produces nothing except violence for its own sake. Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad claim to be fighting for an Islamic republic, in which Jews will be free to live peacefully as long as they don’t dispute the sovereignty of Islam. The PFLP claims to be fighting a revolutionary people’s war for a liberated workers’ state. Their critics say that both are actually fighting for an unlimited genocide, the death of every single Jew in Israel. But what difference does it make? This is all make-believe! None of it matters, because none of it is ever actually going to happen! They’re not fighting for anything at all. They’re just fighting.

I've had a number of arguments with friends about my general utilitarian bent, especially when applied to politics. when Dobbs came down there was, briefly, talk about getting Congress to pass a national abortion ban at 15 weeks-- maybe with exceptions for rape and incest, but maybe not. no bans from heartbeat or from conception, but no blue state 20-something week limits either. I was strongly in favor of this. why would I want something so manifestly unfair, something that would almost certainly cost innocent women their lives and their freedom? because the alternative was worse. yes, I supported a sexist proposal; my hands are not clean. who cares? I have no interest in ideological purity or judging political decisions in any terms other than the lives and welfare of human beings. being "right" means nothing; being "fair" is pointless. the only question worth asking is what is the best action to take now.

[threenorth]

Cooper, dark purple.

In a pickup truck with a mattrees in the boot/pickup part. With blankets.... I'd like that... Maybe outside the haunted light house in Michigan when we go vist in inlaws or stay at my mom's soon to be land in Michigan if she gets all things ticked off...

Sorry all I know it's around grand lake.

I'll get back to you....?

Angel, I didn't pick anyone till 2021,by then the 2018 you said you give me anxiety, e said that I should put your happiness above my own so that means I should go away. Your the one who got a bf before I'd did so... Technically wrong facts,this can't be you... Right? Also it didn't last.

She said she was an ace but after her birthday when I made her dinner, she kissed me on the cheek and I was confused, like she lied to me then she got upset saying she'd never lie to me, so we broke up...and I moved to Wellington.

Kingsley, the only bad thing was when I told you I was a Mormon and you laughed at me. I don't blame you but I was doing it for the sense of family I didn't have, and sadly connections and maybe to make my mother happy going to "church" now I'm in cult, and I want you to see some parts of it... Even if you anti religion inclined...

I think in some level I'm a mix of Christian, flying spaghetti monster and space dornomu

https://youtu.be/LrHTR22pIhw

Maybe a sneak peak of something in October?20th weekend (nz kings birthday)

Charlie. (dark purple)

I told you I'd call in a emergency.

My mental health and axeirty having be picking up and my asthma just hard to breath and get stable... But I'm okay.. And then tonight all I wanted was you to say happy birthday then I'd hang up...

Charlie, pink.

I don't hate you. Either, I just miss my freind the most... Especially when she knows how to make me feel better...

Charlie, light purple... Sounds fake.

Parker, black.

I think we went the best we could given the circumstances.

Parker, pink.

The old me is still the same me, just depends what you need at what time.

Parker, blue.

We can always start today or tomorrow by always able to change your mind...

Logan, dark blue.

Distance... It's a real bitch we went over this...

You and now I need someone in person...

Ben, red.

Jersey, whitch one? Oh the Costco or michcgan one I'm gonna give you.Don't worry about my sleep... I now also have... Sleep issues...

Jam, green.

when's a better time? I'm free anytime now till when times due.

Robert, pale pink.

Distance sort of... But not really? But no fun with my hands with your hands behind your back.

My lover, dark red.

People show love in different ways, I showed my love by sacrificing anything sexy with you.

I made my love by listening to you, and giving you a prop from your favorite show, and CD burning your favourite things on disk... The Music and some movies and shows.

Love is shown in actions seen or sometimes unseen rommace of the heart.

Leen, black.

I see fragments of you in everyone, and I will love you forever until the end of my life, then I'll try find you in the next.

Miley, only a kiss? Well I'll take it but watch out I might get feelings for more then just that.

Bella, bright pink. Carrots and peas.

Justin, black. I don't think that ever stops, it just gets easier to manage...

[asimplechaos]

What was their relationships with other lambs before the whole slaughter? :0 I keep wondering what other lambs were like before everything

(cracks knuckles) alright this is a good one let's go

Well, you see!

Let me first preface this with I haven't done much lore-hunting for things outside of the game itself, and this is all based on my own interpretation of what was given in-game plus the occasional tidbits I have heard about. I have my own views on stuff like that being bread-crumbed outside of a game like this, but that's a talk for another day.

Starwatcher lived in the Silk Cradle territory, under Shamura's sect, which I like to think is more inclined to aspects of mysticism and a 'bug eat bug' mentality due to Shamura standing over both aspects of Thought and War ("War is also my domain")

I'm still unsure about her family situation at the time, as I've had a couple of ideas such as formerly being from Kallamar's but fleeing after the rest of her family fell to illness or maybe just being an orphan in the Silk Cradle in general, so sheep/lambs of familial relation are ???? as of yet

As for other lambs that were in Silk Cradle or other territories, she probably felt the same level of kinship individuals of the same species would feel, but not?? Terribly close to any of them? She was always a bit independent and self-sufficient, so she actually didn't have many friends.

Her main friend is an OC of my partner's, who was also a Silk Cradle native and was an executioner before the culling began. Pictured below, they're basically a big ol dogy (they/it pronouns!)

However, some Stuff happens when the culling picked up, and as a result, Heartless (as they are named) does not remember them being friends, and Star isn’t really in a place where she wants to try and revisit that.

Clauneck is probably the next closest to any sort of companion, being her mentor in tarot, but my view on Clauneck, as they are much further in the aspects of mysticism and apparently a tree of some sort?, is that they're very passive and pretty much let the tides of fate rush past them, remaining as rigid as a tree through all events, even when Star was eventually captured as the sacrifices began.

But of course, that changed when she learned of the prophecy and the fact the bishops were essentially scrambling to get rid of all the lambs, and that kinship she felt with other lambs suddenly amped up, knowing they were all being targeted and wanting to help them in some way, even if she was about to die herself.

In a small friend group where we're doing RP things, Star isn't the last living lamb, there are a few others, but she is the one who has taken on the role of the One Who Wait's vessel, receiving the main power of the red crown while the others have gotten fragments in order to assist her.

She's quite friendly to these other lambs that have made their way to her compound (usually by way of TOWW's assistance) and basically sees them as a sort of secondary family, though with her own hangups and fixation on revenge towards the Bishops, she doesn't really allow herself to express that too much.

Aaand that's the long and short of it! Hee hee I rambled, but can you tell I love this sheep?

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I read your opinion on J-Hopes new song and I would like to share some of my own opinions and observations, if I may. Overall I agree that the concept for the MV with this song is...a bit higgeldy piggeldy. I believe that the visuals were probably more catered towards a 'vibe' to fit the rock genre and while visually and technically it was still a good MV, it's true in terms of the general Kpop genre it's weak. And with that I want to segue into the actual song a little bit. Again, in terms of how we know kpop to be structured musically they have different way of structuring their music, which is why lots of people in the west often find it quite jarring in the beginning, since they're used to the way we structure our songs in the west. And that's the thing with this song...which I think might also be influencing your opinions on how this song is not as much as it could have been. After listening to it a few times, I actually think this song is very western in structure. Because otherwise production wise and from the flow, this is a great song, the genre blending from a technical standpoint is so good. It's so hard to do successfully without sounding either really kitschy or jarring. The mixing is so good, the wall of guitars. Urgh. The production. So good. The verses are so punchy. The starts are so on point. Though sometimes it's hard to tell where you are in the song, but it kinda works with the whole feeling of the song. The beat is pretty simple, but it helps with the blending too. I wish I was half as good at that when I work on audio projects.

(Maybe I'm just really excited that rock is making a comeback, I've been hoping for this to catch on in popular music again since harry styles first solo album and the nods to the early 2000s pop-rock coming out of olivia rodrigo? rhodrigio? maybe I'll finally be inclined to listen to chart music again instead of just observing the market and production trends)

But yes, either way, I wasn't expecting a rock genre to come out of J-Hope and I am actually pleasantly surprised. At the very least it's a nice change from the very very very bland pop we got from the past 2 years. It may not be groundbreaking. But let's be honest...they may not be fully mainstream, but by now they are mainstream enough (in the west I mean, well kinda, I mean it's still niche but I think you get the point) to get themselves trapped in the pitfalls of mainstream music production. Especially with how much western market value is on the line at present. I don't want to speculate but who knows, maybe HYBE had a say in how far he could take it. For my part I am excited to see what the rest of the album has to offer so I can form a more rounded opinion. So sorry for the rant, I'm not sure it's fully coherent I feel a migraine coming on. Fucking weather is throwing me for a loop. Hot, cold, thunderstorms, hot again, cold, rainy, hot, thunderstorms. I feel like a 70yo with rheumatism. Either way, I'm interested to read what you think.

Hi anon! Thanks for adding your thoughts in terms of technical aspects. That's quite helpful in trying to understand how the song is created, what works and what not. You were coherent enough, no worries. Yep, this weather is a bitch. It's so hot that I struggle as well to write a text that makes any sense or even start at all and then I just choose to lounge.

You made a good point about the song being actually more western in terms of sound and production wise. It's definitely different than how a K-Pop song is made. The flow really is different. And while I do think it was an interesting choice for Hobi and perhaps he thought that given what he wants to express with his music as a solo artist from now on, this would work better, I still think the flow doesn't work. Now, I know you said it does and you explained why. Obviously you're more of an expert in this field, but for me as a listener, it just didn't work. It felt a bit all over the place, too fragmented. I mean, I listen to punk, I'm familiar with just noise and some screams for 3 minutes, so the genre is not the problem. Perhaps the song came across to me like that because this is not something that Hobi is well versed in. It doesn't sound like a song made by a musician that knows his way around the genre, but more like a kid in his bedroom who really wants to sing like those rock bands he likes, but he barely has any experience, so the first song doesn't come out very good.

But anyway, I also think it's important to listen to the entire album to form a more rounded opinion, but this single also set the tone for what's to come so it's important to have that in mind as well.