#The Other Side of Racial Profiling

[maverick96]

Watch "The Fatal Consequences of Racial Profiling | ENDEVR Documentary" on YouTube

[bones-edition]

Unfortunate side effect of being queer and regularly having to explain certain labels and stuff to my parents is that they now see me as an authority on all things social justice so if we're talking about racism and I give my personal opinion on something I have to be like 'no don't just listen to me on that ask an actual Black person please'

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy Jackson is canonically punk and should be potrayed as such:A meta of sorts by an irl punk

Percy within every single book,including sidestories,fills out every requirement for being punk

Nonconformity/most likely transgenderism:He's amab but gender neutral/feminine presenting and it's a running theme and core trait of his he's nothing like traditional men to the point it was a major plot in Titans's Curse of him proving himself to Zoe and is always potrayed as and proven to be correct

Direct action:A lifelong bully beater which escalated into fighting the goverment in the form of an actual pantheon

Anarchism:'Does not like to be restrained' and encourages the same of everyone else no matter what rules there are against it and finds the idea that going against society is bad to be nothing but privileged loser mentality

Anti-capitalism:Hates rich people due to growing up poor and therefore on classism and refuses to accept any kind of power specifically because it's corruptive and he knows it facefirst

Activism:Helps mythos beings that're seen as lesser live better lives such as him telling the gods to pay child support(bonus points for never wanting immortality at all and actively abhoring the idea)and with ordinary things too(willingly lending a hand whenever asked and even when not even if it's not a world saving deal)and participates in Rachel's charity events and protests with her in the mortal world

Sense of community:Looks out for other minorities specifically(including the enemy sided ones as seen with Chris and Ethan and instant forgiveness of Silena!!)but especially the younger ones because they need to the most,to the point he basically adopts them as younger siblings and pseudo-kids,including riding harder than anyone else for a lil darkskin black girl(Hazel)except her actual brother

And finally,listens to punk music:Alluded to frequently and confirmed to listen to The Ramones as he gifted Nico a shirt of them

Percy is also mentally disabled(audhd,dyslexia,ptsd and bpd),poor and was accidentally made afrolatino.The last one isn't simply a headcanon but a concrete canon only with no contradiction reading of texts-Percy is from El Barrio,insulted a group of classmates in Som by calling them 'rich white boys',has 'a mediterranean complexion' which is an umbrella term for brown skin and the shade is never specified and quite literally gets profiled in the mortal world all the time and he says it's always happened to him.It's important to note Sally was played by a black woman in the musical and that Percy is much more aware and therefore respectful of racial and gender dynamics than explicitly white characters,the gender part being relevant due to how gender and blackness' intersection is treated

And Percy's main villain and direct opposite is Luke,who is a VERY hardcore fascist and has illusions of being the martyr of the gods Percy actually is.Luke's life was pretty easy compared to Percy's,to most demigods in fact!,but he was a much worse person and this is absolutely a reflection of the victim complex openly violent bigots have.He's constantly telling Percy he dosen't understand how bad the gods are but the thing is,Percy instantly knew they were bad.He'd been dealing with gods,male authority figures,since he was a lil boy so he never liked them even in TLT because he sensed their bad intentions they hid behind masks he could never wear unlike them which they punished him for.As the story progressed,Percy fought against Luke's supremacy with zero hesitation as he couldn't not take him down in his heart and did other good things for everyone who deserved it along the way and even made detours to accomplish it sometimes and Luke didn't do any damage to the gods or fix the system or even nurture the Titan's Army members despite his supposed want to give them a better world and that's how propaganda works irl.Percy gets called 'stupid' for not articulating himself perfectly or elegantly most of the time but he's not at all,he's just audhd and bpd and he walks the walk every time and Luke is the reverse of him,his speeches and promises being grooming,gaslighting and propaganda.Quite literally,Luke grew up in a fantasy land(Camp Half-Blood)and Percy grew up in the real world(ours)

The 'should be potrayed as such' bit refers to how often Percy is ooc'd into a punk stereotype made by normies instead of legit punk rep.Percy is punk as a survival tactic,out of a wish for a better world for everybody and just natural traits he has due to his life experiences.He's not 'trying to look cool',he's an asshole because he's traumatized as fuck and never learned how to mask and is a cocky asf yet self-loathing combo in the same way many black men are,not like a white fuckboy who think he a bad bitch 'cause he's a misogynist 'ironically' and has a janky ahh mohawk.He's also uncaring of 'ruining his image' and has cutesy/kiddy interests in addition to punk ones openly and thinks positively of femininity as proven by his descriptions and interactions with the femme girls of the verse.He said Annabeth has 'princess hair' and it's a physical wince moment when you find out Annabeth is a butch who hates femininity for herself but is fixed by Leah Jeffries' role and makes perfect sense princess-y black girls is his canon type considering 'names have power' and 'Perseus and Andromeda'.Percy being black4black plays into him being afropunk,which is the perfect kind of punk for him considering the rest of this and how punk was started by black people for character accuracy and historical accuracy

In a representation way!Sorry Luke apologists and gods apologists as you self-proclaim but not all history is good history and many,if not most,greek people are rightfully disgusted by their ancestors' treatment of women,transgenderism and pedestary in the same way a lot of japanese people are against perpetuating their country's imperialist background as they correctly believe it's nothing but backwards thinking that hurt and still hurts people and should've never existed as a result and same goes for tons of cultures of color you use as scapegoats without listening to or even caring about the people of color who made them.Just like you do punk culture in fact!Luk.ercy and Goddsshipping automatically makes Percy and you a poser as you can't be punk and support fascism or corrupted systems and yeah,hooking up with people who're doers and in charge of them counts.You are what you eat,to use the best phrase that fits i can think of.'Shipping isn't activism' isn't said by anybody who does what is activism.Y'all don't know what it means is clearly the reason and you refuse to learn what and how to do it 'cause you're too busy writing Dead Dove Do Not Eat of a kids book series to 'fight cencorship' instead of fighting for rights and decolonization(did you even know that word exists?Yeah,didn't think so)

In conclusion:Perseo Isadore Jackson is canonically punk and in the hands of a way better author,would be explicitly afrosolarpunk,audhd,transfem bigender and reach the full potential he deserves,wants and has earned by revolutionizing the greco-roman mythos world and having a black pastel punk girlfriend he's childhood best friends to lovers with and is the same as him yet his opposite because book!Percabeth was a mistake and ooc on every level for every character even besides Percy and Annabeth themselves.Handing him a blue loaded burger and his estrogen i diy'd rn since he finished cleaning his piercings

[techramonic]

The most ironic thing about Elliot Rodger is that in his attempt to prove that all women are shallow, he proved that not all women are shallow.

My Twisted World: An Analysis on Elliot Rodger's Manifesto

This is a great take. Thank you! I've been meaning to talk about this matter after reading the first few pages of Elliot's Manifesto.

note: Thank you for Antimatter_42 on reddit, since a lot of the information sourced on this analysis was from their reddit post, “Elliot Rodger: A Psycho-Lingustic Profile” on r/TrueCrimeDiscussion. Other information is from my own analysis while reading Elliot Rodger’s Manifesto: “My Twisted World”.

Elliot Rodger was actually a normal guy. People on reddit would often question why this guy was lonely. Why did no one consider him attractive enough to be in a relationship with him? He had the looks, the wealth, practically almost everything a girl would want, right? The reason why no one approached him was because he was shallow.

Here are some of the aspects of his personality and life that could better explain why:

CHILDHOOD

I currently have been reading his manifesto and he had a seemingly good childhood. He was a nice kid who lived a nice life. Up until his parent’s divorce. Even until then, he would still spend time with both sides of his family, who both treated him with wealth. On his first birthday, he had already been to France, then lived in Sussex, went on a vacation to his mother’s home country Malaysia, took a trip to Spain, then Greece, then grew up from ages 5 to 9 in California. He travelled a lot.

First observation, he places so much of his worth on materialistic things that it fully consumes him when he fails to become what he isn’t. He has exhibited this fixation at a very young age. Just when he moved to Topanga Elementary School, by the age of six, he had already developed a view on the world that separates people by their differences: the “cool kids” and the “losers”. He considered the cool kids as the higher-class, the ones who are privileged with garnering attention even if they did the bare-minimum. He even went so far as to dye his hair blonde to appear more white because of the predominantly white population, and even tried to pick up on skating because he thought it would make him cooler. This was the first red flag, because instead of accepting things and bettering himself, he chose to change aspects of his life to better fit people's "standards", when in truth, that was only a standard he set for himself because he was insecure.

RACIAL HIERARCHY

Elliot is an interesting case because he has no sense of self-worth. He is so fixated on hierarchy that he constantly demeans his own kind. He’s very racist, particularly and most fixated on Asians. Elliot is Asian-European himself, his father is English and his mother was of Chinese descent. Yet he was so focused on how this makes him less because he considered whiteness as a prestige. He has made several comments regarding how no woman would find Asian men to be attractive and it seems like he has placed whiteness on a pedestal that somehow is highest in the racial hierarchy.

He was also very fixated on his looks. He was vain, to be short. He has repetitively mentioned how he hated his hair, his looks, and even his height. From things he can control and others of which he can’t, all these aspects of him seem to tie into him being mixed. He thought that this difference further alienated him when in truth, it really didn’t. Sure, he was bullied for being physically weak and short but he shouldn't blame that on his descent, for that wasn't something in his control. He could've went to the gym and worked on himself, it might've helped him feel better, but he then only saw this problem as "being mixed is a form of inferiority", because this made him “undesirable”. He is not as fair-skinned, he is blonde, he didn’t have blue eyes, and he was not as tall as the other kids simply because he was not them. He changes parts of himself to better fit the narrative of being “cool”. To him, it’s all a part of growing up and fitting in but he fails to see that the more he takes parts of himself for people to like him and focus on him, the more it just makes him hollow.

Elliot’s childhood and teen years, best summed up, is a fixation on trying to keep up with those who are higher on the social status ladder and this continued to his later years.

EXPOSURE TO PORNOGRAPHY AND SEXIST / MISOGYNISTIC MEDIA

He was also more lonely during his teen years, 13 years old according to his manifesto, he stopped having contact with his only friends because they started having their own separate lives together, making him spend more time alone by himself (Rodger, 2014, pg. 38). This was when Elliot first recounted his exposure to pornography by catching a teenager watch it on Planet Cyber.  He said he was “traumatized” by how two people could do such a thing and call it love. He didn’t know about sex up until then and this explicit exposure truly “damaged” him, according to his words himself. Though he did feel aroused, he was more guilty and confused.

This was the pinnacle of Elliot’s misery. A kid who searches for validation with his looks, now searches for it with sexual gratification as well. He only found himself as wanted if girls flocked over to him. He had the misogynistic mindset that his worth is only measured by how many girls he could get and how fast he'd lose his virginity. Especially with the stereotypical portrayal of media influencing teen boys with the concept of "cool" guys having lots of girls, treating them like objects and trophies, while nerds and "losers" have none. With this, he did not even make any effort to do his part. It was almost always one-sided, his friends would say, where he would expect women to just swoon over him because he exists, because he is a man. 

ENTITLEMENT

Furthermore, initially, his middle school years at Pinecrest were pleasant according to him. He even talked to girls and even danced with a girl during a school dance (Rodger, 2014, pg. 29). However, things eventually became difficult as he found it harder to socialize and was also bullied in his later years. According to his friends, he barely even talked to women but still complained no woman wanted to talk to him. He just expected them to approach him.

Elliot also had  a record for being entitled or spoiled. Even as a kid, he would complain about things that were small, like when on his first birthday, he cried that his friend got the first slice of his cake, which was understandable but still relatively small; or when he refused to sit crossed-legged for his class picture and was the only boy who didn’t do it after the teachers gave up on persuading him; or when he threw a fit that he didn’t get his hair fully-dyed as blonde because the hairdresser said he was too young. This transcended to his adult years.

More on his latter years in life, he attended Pierce College and found it rather pleasant compared to former schools, but after a while, found it disheartening after seeing a lot of couples on campus, which shifted his fixation from school to getting a girlfriend, so much so that he dropped out and enraged his step-mother. Elliot had this hatred for his step-mother, Soumaya, which was mentioned in the book as well. He considered his dad to be “weak” for following her orders around, when in truth, she was only trying to teach Elliot a lesson about independence.

At his mother’s insistence, Elliot began looking for a job and eventually found work with a family friend on a house construction project. He felt more comfortable with this job, seeing it as helping rather than typical employment. After getting his driver’s license, Elliot enrolled in summer classes at Moorpark College but struggled with attendance, again due to his jealousy of campus couples. He dropped out midway through, briefly worked as a janitor at an airport office, and quit after one day. Knowing his mother would be upset, he reenrolled at Moorpark but eventually dropped out again (Rodger, 2014, pg. 70). Upon learning of Elliot’s decision to drop out again, his parents decided he would move to Santa Barbara, where he would live alone in an apartment paid for by his mother, receive a $500 monthly allowance from his father, and enroll in classes at Santa Barbara Community College (Rodger, 2014, pg. 77). 

CONCLUSION

Elliot is insistent on the idea that “women are shallow.” when in truth, it was him all along. No man is entitled to force a woman to give them their love and attention, even to buy it off of them. No one has absolutely any obligation to love someone because the other sees it as a form of acceptance or validation. Self-worth comes from yourself, not from others. 

Due to Elliot’s constant fixation on trying to be accepted, he lost himself and the identity that made him authentic and less shallow. If only he stuck to being genuine, then surely, he wouldn’t have been so lonely. It’s like seeing a kid who was sheltered all his life finally open his eyes to the cruelty of the world and because he thinks he can get whatever he wants, he feels disgustingly hateful whenever he doesn’t.

Additionally, due to the unfortunate events that have subsequently happened in the later years of his life, he was driven to a point of madness. His best friend ended their fourteen-year friendship due to Elliot's constant complaints about not having a girlfriend, his stepmother cut ties with him,, he got beaten up while he was drunk and desperate to find a girlfriend, the cherished gold necklace given to him by his grandmother was robbed, further drove him to the tragic decision to commit his crime and suicide.

Concluding, Elliot was the epitome of shallowness. He wanted everything even if he did the bare-minimum. It wasn’t the problem of the second party, it was him, and because he never realized that and only further saw gratification of his actions from both the media and guys who sympathize with him because they also could not get women themselves and are too caught up with their misery to work on themselves instead, he was convinced that his crime was the only way for the world to give him the attention he desperately wanted.

[crash-and-cure]

Would it be a Sin? (Yandere! Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @troubleinapinksuit​

Summary: Your Husband will forever keep you safe, no matter the cost.

A/N: Full disclosure, I am a Latina, specifically my family is from Mexico. When I first got this request from @ilovehobi101​ I worried as to how I could frame the conflict that some members felt comfortable bullying reader (y’know aside from casual 60’s misogyny) but also why reader wouldn’t really speak up about it. And then I saw my profile picture and was reminded of the serious lack of Latin!reader fics in this fandom, and voila. Also I understand the utter swaglessness of having a latin!reader that starts off as a maid, but trust me the occupation has relevance to the plot. Reader does speak spanish and I will acknowledge that some of the spanish spoken is very specific to the Mexican dialect. Also I love how I was asked for soft!yandere and my thoughts immeadiately went to murder. I got in right under the wire to was able to post this on Elvis’ birthday.

Warnings: Smut, though more towards the end, and not while reader is pregnant (but does include depictions of Hand kink, cockwarming, vaginal fingering. Pregnant!reader. Implied murder, hiding and burying of a body featured. Period-typical xenophobia, racism, and microagressions galore toward a poc!reader as well as the use of some racial slurs. Sexual harassment depicted, though not from Elvis. Yandere!Elvis themes of obsessive, manipulative, and gaslighting behavior, as well as some controlling and isolating tendencies as well, though, softer and not as overt as I have written before. Traumatic birth is described and as well as descriptions of a pre-mature baby. ANGST galore here. Blood and Injuries from a fall depicted. Symptoms of PTSD.

Word Count: 14.5k

My Masterlist

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

There was no doubt in your mind. 

It almost plays out like a fairy tale. The King that fell for the maid. 

When you were just a maid that cleaned up after him and his friends in Beverly Hills, you didn’t expect this house to be much different from the other houses you’d worked at. You’d been working working as a maid for a few years now, so you knew the deal. Rich people liked their big houses to be clean, but didn’t want to actually think about it being clean, so you were to be seen not heard. They rarely ever spoke to you, mostly they handed a list to one of the girls, and left the house for the day, and you would leave before they returned. When you did on occasion actually see them it would mostly be them calling for you, usually by the wrong name, and pointing to a mess, before leaving the room, truly thinking you were stupid and could only take the simplest of commands (you would on occasion meet these people again after you and Elvis became official, and they never remembered you).

Elvis at the very beginning proved to be no different. You were in his house constantly and yet you didn’t even see him in person until maybe a month or two after you started. As you understood it he was a busy man, especially as he was trying to make a movie career happen, after being gone for so long. 

You wouldn’t exactly call the first time you met him magical, or even anything really special for you. You and a few other girls had entered the house and immediately you saw evidence of a party from last night and you could also hear some pretty explicit sounds coming from where you knew the master bedroom to be, one voice pretty distinct even if you had never heard it in person, the other a mystery to you. You and some of the girls got a little giggly, while the others seemed pretty annoyed by this whole thing.

Your tía was on the annoyed side of this situation, which grew even more when one of the tasks was cleaning the stairs and polishing the railing. You're the one that ends up volunteering to do it seeing everyone else was too embarrassed to even try to get near there. 

“Suena como si estuviera puliendo la baranda también,” your friend Linda would snicker.

You smacked her arm, and said “pinche puta,” between laughs. Though you can’t say you were any better because you couldn’t help but be very curious as to whether or not the girl upstairs is someone famous or not. Not because you plan on sharing that information with the others, you’re just very curious by nature and always have been. It’s gotten you in trouble in a few places, but you’ve been able to pull the “no hablo ingles” card and it’s usually enough. 

And that’s how you met your future husband, crouched down to get to a hard to reach place on the bannister pretending you’re not interested in what’s going on in the other room, as he walked out of his bedroom in only his boxers, hair a mess, scratching his ass while yawning. It throws you a little how handsome you still think he is in person, even in this less than glamorous situation you find yourself in.

“Hola señor,” you said, trying to hide your embarrassment as you got right back to work to get a particularly stubborn spot. You’re also praying he’s not so uptight as to have you fired for seeing him like this, and your hope is that if you act like nothing's wrong he’ll barely even notice you.

“Um… uh… I-I,” you hear him stutter out. You turn around, prepared to either be given a task or be fired on the spot, but to your surprise you find one of the most desired men in the world stuttering over his words while his ears turn a bright red. That color transfers almost entirely to his whole face when you both hear a feminine yawn coming from his room. That manages to shake him out of his stupor as he scrambles back toward his bedroom and closes the door.

Well… I’m fired, which you’re actually sad about, because of all the houses you work he definitely gives the best tips. You know that girls have been let go at other houses for less than this, so you quietly make your way closer to the door, still near the bannister, hoping at the least your curiosity won’t be in vain and you’ll be able to see if it's someone famous.

“...you said I could stay awhile longer,” the girl says. Her voice isn’t so breathy, so you doubt it’s Marilyn or Jayne, but not so posh sounding that you think it’s a Debbie or Audrey. 

“I-I know darlin’, but somethin’ came up,” you hear him say. He sounds guilty, as though he was just caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. 

“Are we still going to that place you were telling me about later?”

“Mmm…” is all you hear from him in response. English may have been your second language, but even you recognize a non-answer when you hear one. You can’t help but cringe at that and for her sake, you hope, for her sake, she drove herself here. 

Down below you hear Linda calling and asking you to bring down the duster, but as you grab it intending to make a quick exit from the situation, you realize you neglected to finish the job you were sent to do and you lose your balance at the very top of the stairs when your grip fails you from all of the polish. 

There isn’t really anytime for your life to flash before your eyes as someone snatches your wrist and brings you upright again. “You alright there darlin’?” Elvis would ask as he guides you away from the stairs sounding genuinely worried for you while you try to catch your breath. Your heart skips a beat when you see how blue his eyes are, and you quickly try to gather yourself.

“Thank you,” you say. You notice he’s wearing a robe now and also how he’s gazing at you, not saying anything. “You want me to clean in there?” you say to break the tension a bit, which works as you see his cheeks redden a bit as he looks back at his bedroom.

“No, no, I-I uh…” he stutters, before clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, my uh gir-lady… friend, needs to leave and she uhh…” 

“You want me to distract the others while she leaves?” 

“Y-you don’t mind?” 

“Well you just saved my life so I think I owe you.” you say to him as you lean over the bannister and confirm that they were all in the living room. You go to grab the railing, but quickly snatch your hand back. “Not falling for that one again.” you say looking back at him, and you see that gets a half smile out of him.

“Wait,” he says as you’re halfway down the stairs. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

It’s rare that you’re ever asked that on the job, so for perhaps the first time on the job, your smile is genuine as you tell him.

“Y/N” he repeats, apparently liking the way it rolls off his tongue. And surprisingly enough so do you.

So you make your way down to the room you know they’re cleaning and let them know that the boss wants all of you to clean the kitchen right now. They’re annoyed but nonetheless comply and once you make sure they’re all out you look back up the stairs and give him the thumbs up. He gives you a dopey smile as he gives one back.

Rather than being fired over the incident, he surprises you by actually giving you and the others even more hours. And the hours you worked for him, he so happens to be home. Your tía warns you to be on your best behavior, because typically this means that they think that one of you stole something so they’re keeping an eye on you. With the way one of his friends kept looking at you when you were in the same room as him you figured she was right. But the way Elvis was acting around you, was what threw away this notion.

He was always going out of his way to talk to you, always finding excuses to be in the same room as you, even offering little gifts in the form of sweets. Mix in the fact that you also became the only one who was allowed within places that not even his friends could go into like his bedroom, this all told you that he liked you, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions as to what way.

After he finished shooting his movie he would ask you to house sit for him while he was back in Memphis, stating he felt he could trust you to keep the house clean and to be responsible with it unlike his other friends. Even after you saw what he was willing to pay you for essentially living alone in his mansion for a month, you hesitated because who just offers that to someone they just met and your tía’s warnings about men like him didn’t help either. You eventually caved when he promised to consider you for a full-time/live-in maid if you did a good job. 

Then two days after he left, you got a late night call from him. You were honestly happy for it, because the house felt too big and too empty with just you there. It didn’t help that the room he left for you was far too nice, and you missed sharing your bed with your little sisters. Suffice to say, being all alone was unsettling for you

“Sorry if I woke ya’ Y/N, I-I just…” he said, nervousness clear in his voice. “I-I just been lookin’ for somethin’ and I think I forgot to pack it.”

“You want me to look for it?”

“If you could be a doll,” he says, relieved. “Ju-just take a look in my room, and see if you can find it there. It’s a black cowboy hat, and I think it was in a white box in the closet.”

You set the phone aside and made your way up there. When you do find it you let him know as much, but decide to have a little fun with it now that you’re up. “I found it Mr. Presley. But there is a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It looks better on me,” you say as you look at yourself wearing it in the mirror. 

“I bet it does,'' he says between laughs. This does create a bit of a pause between you two as you recognize that you’re essentially flirting with your boss, and to your horror he’s flirting right back. 

“So is this for a movie or are you just going to run away to become a cowboy?” You say in an effort to change the subject. 

You hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Much as I wish it was the last one, it’s for my next movie. Dolores del Rio’s gon’ be in it.” 

You’re floored at that. “¡No manches! She’s my favorite actress. I thought she wasn’t ever coming back to Hollywood.”

That gets the two of you talking about movies for hours. It was easy to forget that you’re talking to one of the most sought after stars in Hollywood right now as he gushes about his favorite actors the same way you do. What surprises you most is when he asks you who you’ve met while working in LA. 

“I’ll never tell,” you tease. 

“What, you hate ‘em that much Darlin”?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you jokingly agree, ignoring the way your heart skipped at that nickname.

“I ain’t surprised though,” he says. “There’s some crazies livin’ out there. Ones that’ll ya’ call in the middle of the night ‘bout a cowboy hat, and have you on the phone ‘til… wow 3 in the morning.”

“And some maids are crazy enough to lay in their bed and let them,” you counter, only to clamp up and realize how bad that sounded from the strangled noise he makes on the other side of the phone. You quickly try to backtrack and promise you didn’t mean it that way. 

He reassures you that he takes no offense from that, but he does sound like he’s breathing heavier now, and you worry that you accidentally took the harmless flirting with him too far. You quickly give an excuse to leave, “I have a busy day of sitting on your house tomorrow.” You're glad he laughs at that but it does sound a little stiffer than the other one he’s so freely given. After you hang up you tidy up what you can, and make your way back to your room, hoping to pray some dangerous thoughts away.

The next day you try to act like nothing happened, but that’s all thrown out the window that night as Elvis calls again with a similar request to find a pair of his boots that he couldn’t find, and it proceeds much like the previous call. Eventually after the second week of nightly calls he drops the act entirely and calls just so he can talk to you. And you welcome them, because it made the house feel less empty when he did.

When he got back to LA you didn’t know what to expect from him anymore as the late night calls turned into late night talks in the kitchen. That turned into daylight jokes and conversations between the two of you. And honestly even more open flirting between the two of you, but it all came to a head one day as the two of you were walking down the stairs. 

“So wait? Your character hears a song on the radio that you, Elvis, sang, and he doesn’t talk about the fact that you look exactly like him.” 

“It ain’t Shakespeare, but it’s gettin’ me back out there,” he says sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s too bad,” you say as you reach the bottom of the stairs. “I think you would make a great Romeo.”

“Oh…” he says, his voice going low for a moment, as in the next moment you find yourself trapped between him and the railing. “Tell me Satnin, what ‘bout me reminds you a Romeo.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breathing is a little heavier than it was before. The smirk on his stupidly plush lips tell you he no doubt wanted this reaction, so you decide to show him what it was that reminded you of Romeo, and kiss him fully on the mouth. It was a quick peck on the lips but you could still see the faint traces of your lipstick on him. “Those are what remind me of Romeo.” 

He’s stunned at your boldness but no less welcoming as he brings a hand to your face to bring you back, but you use that opportunity to step on to the bottom step and away from him. You leave him on that staircase, your face warm at what you just did, biting your lip to keep from fully laughing at Elvis’ frozen state on the steps. 

Later that same day, he would tell you how his upcoming movie was going to be shot in Hawaii, and how coincidentally, he felt that you were in desperate need of a vacation. The rest was history for the two of you. 

You love Elvis Presley.

You love everything about Elvis Presley, save for one thing. 

His friends.

You will admit you like a few of them. Most of the others are fine, but indifferent towards you. Some of them get on your nerves but otherwise you can live with them, like when they tease you over your accent or snicker under their breath when you forget words. You don’t like it, but you put up with it. 

One of them you absolutely hated, with all of your being: Eric. 

He’s the one that has been around the longest with Elvis. He went on tour with him in the early days, went to Germany with him, and now he’s here in Hollywood with him. He even brags he was the one to give Elvis the final push he needed to get on stage. Yes he was more partial to the party lifestyle than the others, and had a tendency to speak without much thought, but Elvis reassured you that he was deep down a good guy.

You find that hard to believe, because you don’t know what it is about you that Eric finds so offensive, but whatever it is, it’s apparently unforgivable in his mind. 

Even though you spoke it just as well as Spanish, most people assumed you didn’t speak English at all. You let this slide mostly because you’re nosy and people are a lot freer with their words around you when they think you can’t understand them. You begin to regret that decision when Eric got comfortable enough to tell you how badly he wanted to fuck you and what he would do when he did. Usually your go to tactic was to start speaking rapid Spanish, which like most white people, made him confused and very uncomfortable, pick up a cleaning tool and walk into a different room, usually one where you knew Elvis was.

“You’re a lil’ fuckin’ whore you know that?” he would seethe while you cleaned the kitchen the night you were all set to leave for Hawaii. “Just like the rest of ‘em. He’s only taking you because he wants to fuck you.” The foul smell coming from him tells you that he’s been drinking, so you’re on edge right now. Everything about this is setting you off right now, and you know you have to get out of here right now. 

…But not before you got the last word in.

You look him right in the eyes, and as he sees the understanding in your eyes, you can also see him realize before you speak your first word to him, that you knew this whole time what he had been saying to you.

“Probably,” you say, and then you turn right around and make you way to Elvis that night.

You don’t if it’s embarrassment for what you heard him say to you, shame that you heard what he said or fear that you could and would tell Elvis at any moment what he’s like to you when no one was around. Whatever the case may be he would spend the next few years making comments under his breath about you, passive aggressively handing you plates to and glasses to clean, so on and so forth.

As did a lot of his friends, as they didn’t take you seriously at first, thinking you were going to eventually be replaced, that was until the argument that had his former manager walk away. When the press had learned about you, they had called you Elvis’ “Hot Tamale,” which you didn’t love, but what you loved even less was the threat that this story posed to his career.

But that’s also when you know you fell for him completely. Even you had fully expected him to drop you the moment the press got wind of you, because celebrities as big as him simply don’t end up with the maid, let alone a maid that looks and sounds like you. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch at any of the things they threw at him: Not when his manager walked, not when the studio threatened to pull his contract, not even when a veritable mob stood outside the gates of his home demanding he be arrested for “indecency.” He took all of it, all so that you two could be together. 

Colonel Tom Parker wanted you gone, and forgotten. The last time you ever saw him he was saying shit like how he didn’t want Elvis to be so “controversial,” and how he would ruin his image as a “good American boy,” over quote “some little wetback.” You got the pleasure of seeing his face turn from angry to murderous as those words left that man's vile mouth, and the way every other face in that room drained of color as he went off on him had you breathing a little heavier by the end of it.

Though it all worked out for the better in the end as Elvis had ten new offers from people who worked with Brando and Dean before he was even out of the gate (all asking for a lot less than what he was paying the Colonel). None of them were afraid to take such a “scandalous” client, and were even able to work it in his favor to get more serious roles he had always been after.

Eventually most people seemed to get over it, and you became the new “it” girl, as magazines went from criticizing you for every little thing that was “unamerican” about you to praising how “exotic” and “spicy” you were. It doesn’t matter what they think, so long as you were with Elvis, you were untouchable, you believed. 

That is why you put up with his friends, it felt like after all that he does for you, the least you could do was fight your own battles. 

You had woken up today well-rested and your baby moving beneath your heart. You would have labeled it a perfect morning if it weren’t for the fact that your husband was absent, as he was currently doing reshoots for his movie half a world away right now. 

He had been furious at the studio for this, and tried everything he could to delay shooting because he wanted to be with you as much as he could right now. He had made it no secret how he wanted a big family, and having grown up in one you couldn’t help but agree eagerly. You were engaged for about a month in total, he was so impatient to start trying for a baby, but you were no better in all honesty.

It eventually took when you were with him in Hawaii for the original shoot of the movie. As appealing as being with him there right before your baby is due sounds, you can’t think of anything worse than a more than ten hour flight. You barely survived the flight back home when you were just barely into your pregnancy, you doubt you would be able to make it this late. Besides, you're saving your patience for flying for your upcoming stay in LA, as you had made plans to have your baby there. 

Graceland has become home to you, but Memphis has not. You’ve known since the moment that Elvis decided you were it, that the two of you would be toeing the line. Because being latin, the law here didn’t technically make it illegal for you two to be married, but certain people here made it very clear that they take your marriage as some cardinal sin. As a result, when you are here, you never leave Graceland without him. 

Usually you loved being here. When the house is filled with friends and family it actually does feel like a home, and even when it’s just the two of you, neither of you ever feel lonely. But without him, you now feel the way you did when you were just house sitting for him.

This is why, when you learned about the reshoots, you insisted on being in LA, so you at least wouldn’t be as cooped up there as you were in Graceland and you would have your family nearby. That was one of the biggest fights you’ve had in all the years you’ve been together, as you hated the idea of being in Graceland without him, and he hated the idea of you being in LA without him.

You didn’t relent until you found out why he was so reluctant to have you there. He didn’t want to scare you, but he had learned a while ago that someone had broken into the Hillcrest house. Nothing was taken, but it scared him nonetheless, and he wanted you to stay in Graceland just so he could have the peace of mind. And for all that it made you feel restrained, you can’t help but agree that Graceland is safe so long as you stay within. Red and Pat as Elvis didn’t want you without protection and Pat was pregnant too, so you didn’t have to feel so alone in the house. But Pat, unlike you, was free to leave at any time she pleased and you can’t begrudge her for doing so.

Of course Elvis has been trying to make your confinement easier by calling you every night. He missed you just as much as you did, and didn’t want to go a day without at least hearing your voice. Some calls are sweet, where he asks you to hold the phone to your belly so that he can talk to the baby, and funnily enough you notice that when he does the baby kicks like crazy. There are of course less than sweet calls, the ones that have you be as vocal as possible as you grind down onto his pillow.

Last night's call was different though, just from how much of a mood he had been in already. He had called to tell you that Eric and Joe were on their way back early, and with the venom dripping from his voice, you knew it had to be bad. He didn’t go into detail, but from what you understood is that Eric had been “fucking around” and now Elvis wants nothing to do with him. So much so that he was sent back to Memphis a week earlier than the rest of them, all so that he can get all of his things from Graceland before Elvis’ return. Joe’s only coming to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. With Red already here you figure that the two of them should be able to take him, but you doubt he’ll try anything now of all times when Elvis is so mad at him already. 

Eric had been like a looming black cloud over this whole experience, making jabs that he now understood the rush to get married so quickly and how Elvis is now trapped. Elvis was able to deflect these comments by joking how if anything he trapped you. Though in the few times he’s gotten you alone, the comments turned into how Elvis should best make sure you’re having a baby, to how he better make sure it’s his baby. You didn’t like what he was implying but you also knew that he was just saying shit to see what stuck, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Most of the other men had taken the hint when you and Elvis were gushing about how big of a family you wanted and had quietly moved their things out of their designated rooms, and into their own houses, while Eric seemed to dig himself in like a tick. You know Elvis is never about to ask someone to leave, and much as you would like to see this man off for the last time you decided it would be best not to counter him and to just stay upstairs for the time being.

The uppermost floor was your and Elvis’ own little world, where you two were just a young married couple awaiting the arrival of the first addition to your family. This is where the two of you could retreat away from everyone and just be. But with one of you gone it felt wrong, and you find yourself restlessly cleaning and organizing the floor above trying to make everything absolutely perfect for his return.

Though being roughly a little over seven months, you’re almost immediately exhausted and you find yourself resting your feet in what will become the baby’s room. It’s quickly become your favorite room in all of Graceland, with the little stuffed animals everywhere and the music notes painting the wall. You have no idea if the baby is going to be a boy or girl, but Elvis swears that he’s ready to pull the trigger on a theme the moment you figure it out. 

“¿Qué piensas?” you say to your bump, enjoying the breeze from the open balcony door. “Una patada para los vaqueros o dos para las princesas.” The baby kicks three times, and you laugh while rubbing your belly. Later on you would recognize this to truly be your last moment of peace. 

“How precious,” a vile voice sneers at you. 

Your smile instantly drops and rather than acknowledge him, you look out the window with your hand protectively over your baby. They're kicking up a storm, almost beat for beat matching your heart rate. “Elvis says, you’re not allowed to be up here,” you say curtly.

"He also says to keep the dogs outside, but I see a little bitch right in front a me." 

"I think big bitch would be more appropriate," you say, all the while rubbing your belly. He's always hated not being able to get a reaction out of you, or how you've never gone to Elvis about what he does as though he's not worth the air it would take to do so. Counter to what people believe about people like you, you’re very capable of keeping your cool and you save your passion for your love not your hatred. And you have no love for Eric.

“You must be so goddamn proud a yourself, being able to get your claws in him like you did,” he spits out. “Struttin’ around here with that little bastard in your belly like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Wait, I thought I was a dog?”

“...What?” 

“I’m confused because you said I was a dog and now you’re saying I’m a cat.” you say coyle while sarcastically throwing your hands in the air. “Tell me Eric, what am I?”

“You’re a little fuckin’ whore is what you are!” he shouts. “You know damn well that there wasn’t no break-in at Hillcrest. He just doesn’t want you in LA because he don’t want you fuckin’ around behind his back! I tried tellin’ him as much, but he didn’t want to hear none of it.”

You stand up and walk out of the room, not willing to hear anymore lies of a sad miserable man that has been digging his own grave for years. You weren’t even there, so he cannot seriously blame you for whatever he did to get himself fired. You know better than most how hot Elvis can run, but you also know how quick he is to forgive, so whatever he said or did to get Elvis this way, must have truly been something. 

You make your way to the office, hoping to lock yourself in there and that his outburst caused enough of a commotion to get the other men’s attention. He’s still spewing vile at you, but you’re simply blocking it out until you feel a hand yank your head back hard. 

Everything happens quick after that, as you feel the back of your being yanked away from your intended destination and being led to a different direction. You try your best to scratch at the hand that holds your hair, but his grip is too tight and suddenly you’re flying. 

And then you’re not.

You’re frozen at the landing, not wanting to believe what had just happened. Your heart is pounding in your ears, you feel your face get wet, and most horrifyingly, your baby is not moving. The carpet on the floor begins to be dotted with red but you don’t understand where it’s coming from until a little blood makes its way into your eye. As you hear the heavy footfalls coming down the stairs you start hyperventilating, trying to get a hold of the bannister and praying that he’ll stop. 

Getting to the railing you hear someone shouting what was that!?!? And someone else shouting where’d he go!?!? You see the others finally at the bottom of the stairs and for a moment the nightmare is over and you think he wouldn’t be so stupid as to continue now, but then you feel a foot firmly place itself on your back. You’re thrown off balance and you’re plummeting down once again. You’re abruptly put to a stop as Red and Joe meet you halfway up the stairs, and they share a worried look at you. You feel fine now, but you will admit that the slick feeling coming from between your legs is uncomfortable. 

You’re confused as to what’s going on, Red rushes his way up the stairs to your tormentor who only gives you a cold look as he’s being restrained. Joe is helping you to your feet and rushing you out the front door while Pat grabs your purse and yells at Mary to call Elvis. 

They’re taking you to the cars and you’re not sure why, you just need to clean the blood off of yourself and you’ll be fine. It isn’t until you look down and see the dark red that stains your blue dress do you realize what’s happening. 

Joe was able to get you to the hospital without issue, but your journey didn’t get any easier from there. The whole experience was nothing but a nightmare for you. Your accented English and skin tone has the nurses trying to direct you to, quote, a more “appropriate,” hospital for you. Even the blood staining the front of your dress and the clear pain you’re in doesn’t seem to sway them. You’re ignored by the staff, as you beg to be seen by a doctor and it’s not until you slap your driver's license on the counter and they see your married name do they suddenly care very much about you and your baby. Or at the least they don’t want to be known as the hospital that turned away Elvis Presley’s wife.

They get you in a wheelchair, and as they take you to the maternity ward, they repeatedly ask you questions and you’re positive you’re speaking English, but none of them seem to understand you. Not even three hours ago you were complaining to Mary how the baby was giving you heartburn, and now you’re in a hospital, with not a single familiar face in sight, begging incoherently for someone to save your baby. 

This is why you had wanted to be in California, where you would have a better chance of having a doctor that spoke Spanish with you. But now here in Memphis, you’re more likely to get a unicorn to deliver your baby, than a doctor that can speak your first language. 

Your legs are held apart by nurses, who don’t care to be gentle with you, as you desperately cling to the rails of your hospital bed, feeling like you’re going to crack your teeth as you desperately push the baby out of you. The pain you feel from the rest of your injuries is nothing compared to this, but you feel like you're seconds away from passing out after each push. But you know you have to keep going because every second that the baby is still in there, the less likely they are to make it. 

And with one final push it’s all over. Amá told you how long the whole thing could be, but your baby came into the world quick and so quiet. You can feel yourself bleeding out more and more, but you still want to see your baby and you ask as much before you pass out. 

When you come to, you don’t know where you are, you don’t know how long you’ve been there, and all the staff is willing to tell you is that you're restricted to bed rest due to the fact that you nearly died from a hemorrhage, and that your baby girl is alive. That’s how you find out you have a daughter, and all you know about her is that she’s alive and you can’t see her. 

You allow for visitors, and the only ones who do come to see you are Pat and Joan, Joe’s wife. Despite your wish to not be alone, seeing Pat’s baby bump only gave you an empty feeling. They let you know that you had been given birth two days ago, that Red and Joe are holding down Graceland, and most importantly Elvis is going to be here soon. 

You don’t ask about Eric. 

You’re glad they’re here even if all you can do at the moment is cry, and feel hollow on the inside.

He looks awful, is your first thought when you see your husband for the first time in almost a month. His eyes are bloodshot, his outfit is wrinkled, and you can see a hint of stubble even from where you're sitting. The girls quickly make their way out as Elvis makes his way over to your side, his chest heaving and his breathing ragged. 

Elvis is not one for tears, but you can only watch helplessly as the love of your life falls apart in your arms. You thought you'd cried yourself dry at this point, but even now you find yourself holding back even more tears as you try to wipe his tears away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whimpers against your palm. Your heart is  in your throat at this point, knowing he only ever calls you by your name when it’s serious. “I shoulda been here for ya’, this is all my fault.”

“Amor… Amor, please look at me,” you beg. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Y/N, please tell me what happened,” he pleads. 

“They didn’t tell you?” 

“They did… I-I just,” he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’re trying to get your breathing under control, but finally you whisper to him what happened. You’re saddened and humiliated as you tell him how your own pride got you into this mess. The pride that liked to frustrate and rile up Eric, because you thought it was funny. The pride that prevented you from telling Elvis, because you wanted to feel like you were the one handling it. The pride that made you turn your back on a man you knew to be dangerous, because you thought he would never do anything to you. And now people are suffering because of you.

You beg him for forgiveness in the part you played in this, and you’re honestly surprised when he sticks by you and you bury your face in his chest. He tells you there is nothing to forgive, but you can see the dangerous gleam in his eyes as he asks if you want to press charges against him, and you shoot that down just as quickly. 

You don’t trust the police, something that has been with you since your earliest memory, Apá telling you about his scars that he got for having the audacity to wear a Zoot Suit as a young man. Navy men had beaten and stripped him in the streets and then afterwards policemen who saw the whole thing arrested him as though he were the problem. It was a scary thing to tell a little girl, but the older you got the clearer the story became: the police aren’t there to help people like you. 

That’s why you told Elvis not to take it to the police, just to have Eric leave Graceland and never come back. It’s going to be a hassle getting the state to acknowledge your daughter as his, let alone getting them to recognize that anything bad happened to you. You just want to put this whole thing behind you and never have to think about this again. Elvis frowns at that, but you doubt after everything you went through he’s gonna deny you this. 

After things have settled, the doctors make their way to your room, now that Elvis is here, they’ve decided now is a good time to tell you what’s happened. They tell you that the fall caused something called placental abruption and as a result you went into labor prematurely. It also caused internal hemorrhaging that caused you to pass out. None of that mattered to you really, you simply wanted your baby with you, and you let them know as much.

The doctors share a look, but they allow you to leave the bed and Elvis wheels you to where they’re keeping your baby. There is a whole team of doctors and nurses to greet you and tell you how you can see her, and what to prepare for. They escort the two of you to a private room farther away and with private security guarding it.

And then you see her… Your baby girl. 

You never thought babies could be so small.

She lies there, wires attached to her and tubes up her nose. She’s too small to even know how to eat and they have to use a tube in her mouth and a needle in her hand. Her little feet kick at the air, her tiny fists are clenched, and her eyes are shut tight, but you're glad to see it all, to know that your baby is still fighting, still daring to live. 

You want to be able to hold her, to let her know her mamá is there with her, but they tell you she’s not ready to be outside of her box yet, and they warn you of how delicate she is right now, and that the slightest change in her environment could be devastating, so touch is to be limited. The doctors told you that they had almost lost her in the beginning, but she’s a fighter and things are looking up. 

They leave the two of you alone with her, when one of the nurses playfully suggests Erica as a first name on her way out. All at once it hits you like a freight train, why your baby is the way she is now and who is to blame. You weep silently, so she can’t hear your grief over the situation: your baby is weak, so you have to be strong for her now. 

“I hate him. I hate him so much.” You sob, your hand pressing on to the warm glass that separated you and your child. Elvis wraps his arms around you, he doesn’t need to ask who you’re talking about. 

All this time Elvis has been so quiet, and he swiftly wraps you in his arms as he promises to take care of everything, and as he wipes the tears from your face he swears that he will make everything better again. 

You know, in spite of the horror that it was to get her here, you’re both overjoyed to finally be able to meet her. But all too soon the both of you are escorted out and away from her. They explain that once you’re discharged, you and only you will be able to stay with her on a long-term basis, but policy prevents Elvis from being able to do so as well. No amount of money or argument will change that. 

The next few days you vaguely register the visitors Elvis brings to see you, but you can’t bring yourself to care about any of it. They all come with well wishes and promises to do anything the two of you need during this time. The men look haunted to see you in such a state and they promise you that they’ll personally make sure Eric never does anything like this again. It’s little consolation to you considering it already happened once.

Finally you’re discharged and you walk yourself straight to the NICU. You visited her as often as you could, as did Elvis, and getting to be with her throughout the day is a step in the right direction. Being there with him makes it easier, but soon Elvis has to leave and your heart breaks all over again. You part with a long sorrowful kiss and you save your tears, knowing that of all times, this is the moment you need to be strong, for both him and your daughter. It was a hard, sleepless night for you and one look at the bags under his eyes and the bruises on his knuckles when you see him the next morning, tells you that Elvis had a similar night to you. 

He smoothes out your brow, as he softly pleads with you not to worry about him and instead to focus on your daughter, as she’s the one who needs you the most. And as he gives you a kiss on your forehead and you wonder what you did to deserve such a loving husband. 

You begged Amá to stay home, not wanting to have to worry about her being this down south without you. She’s apparently been praying everyday for you and the baby, and she’s begging you for the name. You want to tell her so badly, but you can’t risk telling her fearing it will somehow get back to the world at large.

You and Elvis had thought long and hard about the perfect name for your first-born and with everyone seemingly wanting to have a say in it, it was a little overwhelming (with how easy your pregnancy was going you stupidly thought that this was going to be your biggest hurdle to overcome. You wish you could go back to those days).

Eventually though you were able to come to some agreement born from your mutual love of I Love Lucy, though the names mostly stemmed from a joke when some of the magazines started calling you two the new Lucy and Desi. Neither of you could figure out who was supposed to be Lucy and who was supposed to be Desi. And as a play on that, the two of you ultimately decided on Lucía for a girl and Richard for a boy, as a fun little reversal. 

You had been so eager to tell the world about your beautiful baby not even a week ago and now it feels like the last piece of this whole ordeal that you can control. Even the hospital staff only know her as “Baby Presley,” promising that you would only name her once she was discharged. Someone had snuck into the hospital and was able to get a picture of your baby in a box attached to wires and fighting for her life, while the newspapers excitedly announced “It’s Girl!” to all of America. Your husband saw his own daughter for the first time on the front of a newspaper walking into the hospital before he could see her in person or even know if you were dead or alive. It felt like the whole world saw your baby before you did and that hurts you in a way that you fail to find words for in either language you speak. 

That entire stay, you didn’t leave the hospital once, and you rarely ever left her side, and even then it was only when Elvis could be in there with her in your stead. The days all seemed to blend together for you, you would eat so she could eat, you would sleep when she slept, singing and telling her stories everywhere in between, and touching her as frequently as you’re allowed to do so. 

Early when you tried to speak Spanish to her in front of the doctors, they immediately shut you down, “warning” you that doing so has the potential to hold her back if she has to learn another language in the long run. You internally roll your eyes at that, having grown up speaking both, but nonetheless you comply, but save it for when you’re alone with her. On the list of things you absolutely do not need right now is the media turning on you for being a bad mother by not complying with doctors orders. They already make comments on how you should have been more careful in the situation, because as far as anyone outside of Graceland knows, you simply fell down the stairs.

You wouldn’t say it was all bad, you love the moments you’re all together. Moments where you both hold her hands at the same time and feel her delicate skin, where you hear her gurgle as she’s being tickled, and especially the way she wiggles her arms and feet as Elvis sings to her, are ll moments you would never trade trade regardless of the fact that you’re in a cold sterile room and not in your warm home. Elvis even brought a record player and the nights became a little more bearable as now you’re both able to hear him when he’s not there. 

Finally you’re able to get the all clear from the doctor and Lucía finally gets to experience the world outside of her little clear box for the first time in short bursts. You’ll be able to hold your baby fully and not be limited to just holding her hand. In many ways you were not ready to lose being so close to her so fast, and this was only made worse by the fact of how limited you were in touching your own baby during this whole time. And still you worry that maybe she’s still not ready, as you’re still roughly a month away from your original due date.

But as you’re finally able to hold her and you feel her latch on and nurse from you, these doubts and fears all fall silent. Your baby was almost completely ripped away from you, by someone who only had cruelty and spite in their heart for you. But now as she rests in your arms and feeds from you getting stronger, and your husband holds the two of you close to him everything feels as it should be now. 

Not too long after that, Lucía is finally able to be discharged and you can finally take her home. Elvis was nervous no doubt, from all the times he questioned the doctor if he was sure that she was ready and if she couldn’t stay a little longer just to be sure. You have similar thoughts but you’re trying to think on the brighter side of the situation, for the both of you.

Of course you and Elvis still have to do that photoshoot for the press. You hate this, but also recognize that getting this out of the way now will sate their curiosity about your baby and get them to leave you alone, at least for now. You and Elvis recognized this would be the case when you saw them go into a near frenzy the moment you stepped off that plane from Hawaii with an obvious baby bump months ago. 

Ironically enough the only thing that has gone according to plan was this aspect, as you were able to get photographers you’re familiar with and Elvis brought the outfits you picked out months ago. His fans were also willing to give the two of you a wide berth so that you could leave the hospital. You are far too enamored with Lucía to really take notice of any of it, until the two of you are already in front of home. 

Your mood drops once you see where you are, and Elvis takes notice of that. He squeezes your hand and reassures you that everything's been cleaned and that the trash’s been taken out. Still, walking through the front door, you held onto his arm for dear life and your hands were shaking so bad you had him hold Lucía, as you were afraid you would drop her. You're greeted inside by a few friends and his family, but your eyes immediately narrow in on the stairs and you're relieved to see that it’s completely clean. Without the bloodstains, it’s easier to forget that anything terrible happened here. 

Everyone wants to get to see her and the two of you are immediately, but a squeeze to his arm from you and the subsequent single look he gives them has them back up a little. You’re able to sit down in the living room, and hold your baby in your home for the first time, but not all is right in the world. No one has said anything about the big Eric shaped elephant in the room, as they all no doubt know why you went into labor so early.

The women do their best to distract you from it, talking about their own experiences being a new mother, and how this has been a stressful time for everyone, especially the men who’ve been jumpy for weeks now. But no matter what your attention keeps being drawn back to the stairs, as though any minute Eric’s going to be trotting down to finish the job any moment now. You try to distract yourself with anything else in the room, and that’s when you notice something off about the carpet. You figured that the carpet would have been replaced but what’s odd is the fact that you remember going straight from the staircase to the car as you were bleeding, so you don’t understand why the carpet in the den had to have been replaced too. 

You shake these concerns from your head and begin to make your way outside to get some air, because the walls are making you feel like you’re going to suffocate. That’s where you find the men, as all smoking within Graceland had been banned for the foreseeable future, and Elvis still insisted on finally using those cigars he got for the occasion. What’s weird is that they don’t surround the patio or even the pool area. No, you find them more out towards the field, surrounding a large unsightly hole in the ground.

“Amor, what did you do to the backyard?” You question your husband when he makes his way back to where you’re sitting.

Some of the men tense up at your question, but seeing Elvis not really react to the question other than a slightly nervous laugh, makes you disregard anything’s amiss.

“Well…” he says rubbing the back of his neck, “after I got done with the nursery. I-I wanted to add something to the backyard so it wasn’t so empty to look at.”

“... and you decided the best way to make it less empty was to dig a hole?”

“It ain’t gon’ stay a hole, Darlin’,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around you. “I was plannin’ on puttin’ in one a them Gazebos in the back for our little princess here. It… It kept me busy the nights I couldn't sleep.”

You soften at that answer, knowing that with his sleep issues, the nights must have been torture for him. He was always the first visitor to arrive at the ward and the last one to leave, and only once did you ever dare ask what he did when he went home at night. You worried about him, how could you not? And so one day you gathered the courage to ask him how he was handling the nights?

All he said was that he “keeps busy.” At the time you didn’t want to know what he meant, as it was a stressful time for the both of you, so digging holes in the backyard is far from the worst thing he could have been doing.

You give an amused sigh saying, “Next time, get professionals to do it.”

He grins at that, “Don’t worry baby, we got a crew comin’ in to fill the hole in a few days. I wanted to have it done before you and the lil’ one got back home.” You shake your head at him and kiss him on the cheek. You don’t really notice the way most of the men take a simultaneous sigh of relief at your acceptance of Elvis’ answer. 

Later on you’re putting Lucía down in a little bassinet Elvis had set by your bed (you’re both reluctant to be away from her), and you feel him make his way behind you. The both of you lay beside each other and watch her sleep, and now, not having to be obscured by tubes or glass, you get to really see your beautiful baby girl. She’s sleeping with her arms straight up, her little chest rising and falling on its own, and the two of you nearly melt as she yawns and rubs her little mitten covered hands over her face. 

“You ready to sleep yet?” he whispers to you. 

“No, I just want to look at her some more.”

“Me too,” he hums. 

You sit with your husband and bask in this perfect moment.

You didn’t really notice the off-atmosphere that surrounded Graceland in those days, until you noticed that a trunk of yours was missing. You think you had packed some old baby things your mother had given you the last time you had been in LA. It had been with you in Graceland before you left the hospital, and it had also been where you were storing the outfit you wore when you left the hospital, so the fact that it’s gone is odd to say the least. Considering Elvis was the one that brought the outfit to you, he’s the one you end up asking. 

“What trunk?” he asks. 

“The big white one,” you say to him as you change Lucía into her pajamas. She’s trying to eat her fist and you’re trying to get her to smile by nibbling on her fingers a little. “The one you got me the first time in Hawaii.” 

“Oh that one,” he responds. “Didn’t you leave it at Hillcrest?”

“No, I know I brought it here.” you say confused. “I asked you to look in it to find the pink outfit I wore at the hospital. It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

He furrows his brow at that and he looks deep in thought, “Didn’tcha say that you didn’t want to pack clothes that don’t fit no more?” He says as he brings Lucía to rest on his bare chest. 

You do vaguely remember saying something along those lines when you were packing, but still you remember having it here with you. “Maybe… but I did bring it here,” you say, though not as sure as you once were.

“Y/N, why you wanna know so bad?” he says, as he gently pats Lucia on the back trying to get her to fall asleep. This question throws you a bit, not for the words themselves, but the way he said it, as there was a severe lack of humor or warmth in his tone as he said that, that you weren’t used to. 

“I-I was looking for a few baby things that Amá gave me last time I saw her.” you say, suddenly feeling guilty for pushing the topic. 

His eyes soften at your answer, realizing he scared you. He holds up your chin and gives a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I-I think, I saw ‘em when I I was lookin’ for the little pink get up a yours,” you see him jump a little. “Though you might wanna save the lookin’ for tomorrow,” he says, a slight grimace on his face, as he looks down at your baby girl. “‘Cuz lil’ one here is trying to tap a dry well.” You burst out laughing as you see that Lucía has a good grip on one of his nipples and is trying desperately to bring it to her mouth. 

“Esos son para mamá, chula,” you jokingly scold her, as you bring her close to you so she can latch onto you, and Elvis tickles your side in reprimand. Still even with that moment of levity, you still can’t let go of what just happened. If it were anything else you would have written it off but that trunk was special to you because of the fact that Elvis had given it to you on that fateful trip to Hawaii. He had insisted you pack light, which confused you until about a week later when by that point he had already gifted you twice as many dresses as you had come with. By the end of the trip he gave you this trunk just to pack everything he had given you. (Smooth operator that he was, when the trunk found its way into his room when you got back home, he insisted it would be easier for you to move into his room, rather than moving the trunk into yours).

It has been a pretty constant presence in your relationship with him, as it went where you went, and you went where he went. But… you didn't go with him to Hawaii, and you did leave a lot of old clothes back in LA… maybe it is just baby brain, and you’re overthinking this.

Things only really seem to click that something is off a few days later when you caught Charlie staring out into the backyard. If it were anybody else from the group you wouldn’t have noticed or cared too much, but you liked Charlie. He seemed to be one of the more genuine ones of them all, and he’s also one of the few of them who's at least picked up on some of the more common Spanish phrases in all the years you’ve known him.

But now Charlie seems distant, as though he’s somewhere else in his head. He’s staring off into the same direction as where that pit is now. 

“Charlie, ¿qué pasa?” you ask, and he seems to jump ten feet in the air. 

“Y/N, hi-hello… um…I-I, d-do ya’ need something?” he manages to stutter out. 

“Yes umm…” you say slightly embarrassed about what you’re about to ask. “I want to put Lucía down for a nap, but I need someone else to help carry her up there with me.” You would have asked Elvis, but he’s upstairs already and you’re not about to leave her alone to go get him.

“Sure, but… why do you need help,” he asks, genuinely confused over the request. 

“I… well, since the fall, I… I don’t trust myself to hold her on the stairs,” you say, your eyes going a bit glassy. You shake your head to gather yourself, “I ju-just need someone else to carry her on the stairs. I’m fine on my own.” If by fine you meant having to have both feet on each step going up and down, and never letting go of the railing, then yes very fine. Elvis was heartbroken when he saw this the first time, but didn’t say anything about it, just offered you his arm and let you take your time. 

Charlie has the same reaction and wordlessly helps you with her. Though you do trail behind him you eventually are able to make it up to the landing, where you see Elvis whispering something to him. You think he says something to the effect, you understand now? Charlie would give a small nod in response as he hands Lucía to him and makes his way down the stairs after giving you a quick hug. 

You’re about to ask what that was about, when you see something on one of the steps that knocks the wind out of your lungs. You see a familiar looking rust colored spot on one step, and you force yourself to sit down, feeling unsteady on your feet and your eyes welling up all of a sudden. 

“Baby what's wrong?” Elvis says trotting down the steps, Lucía still in his arms. Your hands are shaking and your breathing quicker than you should, and you're filled with the same dread that you felt as Eric walked down those same steps. “Goddamnit, I thought they got all of it” he whispers when he sees where your eyes are fixated. He crouches down beside you and takes you in his arms as he whispers in your “You’re okay sweetheart,” he says, “You and Lucía are okay.” 

Gradually you feel yourself steady as you breathe in the scent of his cologne, and feel the way Lucía clutches around your finger. That brings you back down and you’re able to stop your weeping as you focus solely on the two most important people in your life.

You wouldn’t know this, but at the bottom of the steps, just beyond your view several men would come to the same understanding as Charlie did in that moment.

What did he mean about understanding? You would ask yourself later after Lucia had been fed and put down for a nap. You’re laying down in his arms, having tired yourself out from that episode, and just wanting to rest, but this question that rings in your ear, still eats at you making you unable to do so. 

These thoughts are halted as you feel him run a finger down your spine and you on reflex push your chest into his. You also feel as he brings his hips closer to yours, and he hooks your leg around his waist, lightly trailing his hand back up your skirt to rest comfortably on your ass, as you let out a shuddering breath against him, making as little noise as possible, as not to wake your baby.

He’s gentle with you, you just had his baby after all. There was no tearing so you’re healed physically, but you're glad nonetheless as you become reacquainted with his touch again. His fingers lightly trace the edge of your panties, as he nibbles on your bottom lip the way you like. 

You’re reminded of your first time with him. He had been having trouble with one particular scene in Blue Hawaii, and he asked you to come on to the set that night. He had you sit as an extra behind Joan Blackman and he kept stealing glances at you as he sang. As the scene cut there was not a dry eye on set and Elvis was heaped with praise for his best take yet, but what he was more interested in was your reaction to his song. 

He was gentle with you then as well. You confided in him before that you were untouched, and he made sure to make it as tender as possible. Careful, as he learned (as did you) what made you whimper, what made you moan, what made you scream. 

Knowing he’s gone just as long without it as you have, you want to. God, do you want to, but as you grind yourself onto his still clothed length, he makes the mistake of tugging your hair back and suddenly you're paralyzed with an overwhelming sense of dread as he kisses your neck. It takes him a second to realize that this is bad heavy breathing, but he stops the moment he realizes it. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His worried look only makes you feel more guilty, while you try to even out your breathing. This feeling only made worse as you watch his heartbreak all over again when you tell him why you freaked out when he tugged at your hair like he did.

“I’m always gon’ protect ya’ Satnin,” he whispers to you, mindful of your baby sleeping a few feet away. “Nothin’s ever gon’ hurthcha again.”

You want to believe him. You really do.

It all comes to a head when the day before they’re set to fill the hole in the backyard, you finally find your trunk. Embarrassed at your reaction to being on some stairs, you decided to try to break this habit by confronting your fears. So one day as Lucía slept, you made your way to the attic stairs, but your fears were quickly forgotten as you stared at the previously missing trunk. It’s hard to comprehend its presence as it’s supposed to be on the other side of the country right now. Or… at least that’s what Elvis had told you. 

Whatever the case may be you can’t exactly leave it alone, and you go to inspect it a little closer. It won’t open and a brief brush on the keyhole tells you that it had been locked and the key lodged inside. You also see some dents and dings here and there, but the most noticeable change were some rust colored stains dotting the outside of it. You don’t immediately recognize what they could be, but even as your mind conjures up similar looking stains that are still on the stairs, you can’t really accept what it is.

“Whatcha doin’ up here baby?” a familiar voice behind you says, startling you for a moment. You turn to see your husband, but something is … off. His smile is a little too big, his eyes a little too wide, and if his jaw was clenched any tighter he would have cracked his teeth. It’s all far too unsettling

“I-I was practicing with the stairs, and I found this,” you say, pointing to the trunk.

Somehow he’s able to clench his teeth even tighter as he sees what you found, “I didn’t want you to find out like this, sweetheart. But I,”  he says , pausing to think on his next words. “I-I… Forget it you caught me. I broke the lock on it.” he says with a guilty look on his face. 

“...That’s it?”

“That’s all, baby. I wanted to try to fix it, but I just made it worse and now it won’t open.”

Maybe… maybe he is telling the truth and he just broke the lock… but that wouldn't explain why everything kept in there was taken out or why it was up in the attic, or why it’s covered in blood. Why is he hiding this from you?

“C’mon Satnin, it ain’t nothin’ to get so worked up about? I’ll getcha another one soon,” he says as he wraps an arm around you.

You don’t have time to really question what is going on as you hear Lucía below and you're able to stamp down that curious part of yourself. You make your way back, your feet feeling so unsteady that you clutch onto him with both hands. 

But it still eats at you, the fact that he was able to lie so easily to you, and convince you of that lie when he knew full well it was up here. And why hide it from you? These are all questions you ask yourself as you lay in bed with him, you wonder who exactly you are sharing it with. 

Your blood goes cold as you feel the bed shift right next to you, and you slam your eyes shut, genuinely fearing your husband for the first time. But these feelings of fear dissipate as feel the  quick kiss he gives your forehead before whispering to you, so low you barely hear it, “No one’s ever gon’ hurtcha and get away with it.” You’re paralyzed with fear, and have to remind yourself to breathe lest you give away that you're not actually asleep as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

You open your eyes and stare at the door and the longer you listen the clearer it becomes that he’s not using the bathroom. You also hear as several feet try to quietly make their way up the stairs and then you hear the tell-tale creak of the attic door. You silently make your way to the door and listen against it as you hear them 

You stare off into darkness as the noise gradually lessens until you’re left hearing nothing but the crickets outside and your baby’s steady breathing. You stay there frozen in place, debating internally whether you should follow them. You know in your heart that something is wrong, but you don’t want to confront it. Still after some time you find yourself in the kitchen making your way outside.

As you round the corner, you're hit with the pungent scent of cigar smoke in the air mixed with the unmistakable smell of a campfire, and you see him and all the other men stripped down to their underwear. You crouch down out of sight and you see they are all surrounding the fire pit in the backyard, piles of clothes sit next to each of them, and on occasion one of them will throw something into the fire. All of them seem to be shaking from the cold or from nervousness you can’t quite tell. All of them… except for Elvis. You know he’s prone to getting jittery when he’s nervous, but here, you’ve never seen him so collected. 

“Eric was one a my oldest buddies, and he threw that all away ‘cause he had to be a shithead to the most important person in the world to me.” Those words, cold as a grave, mixed with that vacant look in his eyes, sent shivers down your spine. “There’s a lotta things I can forgive, but what he did sure as hell ain’t one a them.” 

“EP…” Jerry says. “You don’t gotta explain yourself, we-we all woulda done the same thing.”

“I’m goin’ ta hell because that sack a shit, and I look forward to seein’ him again, just so I can beat the crap outta him again.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he says these words, as he seems to rub his knuckle, the ones you remember seeing so badly bruised when you were in the hospital.

It’s unsettling how similar this is to when you met Elvis for the first time, you crouched down, being nosy, him in his boxers trying to hide someone from you. It would be funny if you weren’t one hundred percent sure that your husband wasn’t admitting to murder right now. You don’t stick around for much longer, your curiosity is sated, but you don’t feel any better knowing. 

You don’t know when or how you end up there, but you find yourself on the stairway landing. Once upon a time you thought of Graceland as a safe haven surrounded by shark infested waters, but now you realize that that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re swimming in it, but the biggest shark had decided that you were never to be harmed. 

You want to say that there was some internal debate on that landing, where you contemplated leaving and never looking back. How you wanted to do the morally right thing and report them for all the good it would do. How there was a part of you that stared longingly at the door feeling the desire to leave from the love that has driven him to do this for you.

You would say that… but you would be lying. 

No. You sit there taking in the new reality that the man who has repeatedly physically and emotionally hurt you is gone and it was at the hands of the man you loved the most. You feel something at this moment. A feeling that has eluded you for a while now. You feel… safe. 

It’s an odd feeling to have again. It was something you had always felt with Elvis, but not something you were ever able to verbalize. But now looking back you were always safe with him, when people got too close, when their words hurt, when their stares burned, you could always retreat into him and feel protected from the world. 

There’s a lot of conflicting emotions running through you all at once, pain and sadness at what Eric had done and all the subsequent heartache his actions brought clashing with the almost euphoric relief that is knowing he’s gone for good and it’s all due to how loved you are by a single man. If anybody were to see you right now, they would see a woman with tears streaming down her face while simultaneously giggling like a maniac. You’re only broken from this manic episode when you hear the shrill cry of your baby girl.

You feel lighter as you make your way up the stairs, so light you don’t bother to hold the railing as you usually do and you find your baby right where you left her. Your husband would return later while she’s still suckling at you, and he would make his way to sit behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, neither of you acknowledge how long he’s been gone. No, in the soft light of the room you both bask in each other watching the little wonder you both made get a little bigger and a little stronger by the moment resting in the bassinet by your bed.

“I just realized something,” you say. You feel him go rigid behind you, but you quickly break the tension by lightly running a finger along the ridge of his nose. “She got this from you.” 

“No, she didn’t,” he says with an amused huff. 

“No, it’s the same shape, just smaller. Look,” you insist. You take one of his hands to show him, careful not to wake her. 

He concedes to your point with a soft, tender kiss to your lips, while his other hand rubs circles on your hip bone. 

You should be disturbed at where his mind is at right now, and you would be if you weren’t just as hungry for him as he was for you. It’s been too long without him, and as he runs a finger along your jaw bringing your faces closer together, you welcome him back home. 

With the straps already falling off of your shoulders, you shiver as he uses a single finger to drag the silky material over your nipples, already begging for his attention that he’s all too willing to give. He languidly laves at them, using the occasional scrape of his teeth to get you to jump, all the while pressing down on your clit through your panties, before removing them.

You're laid on your back and you feel as he spreads the delicate petals of your pussy and even you’re taken aback as to how wet you are right now. You hiss slightly as you feel him probe lightly at your entrance, and he rips his hands back afraid he had hurt you. 

You take his hand in yours and bring his fingers to your mouth, tasting yourself on him, only to bring him closer to you as you whisper against his mouth “not bad, just slower papi.” You think, in a way, you both need this: to be reminded that his hands can do more than hurt. You’re not scared of him or what he’s capable of. 

He rolls so that you're on top of him and you bite your lip at his straining cock within his boxers. You run a single finger up his length and he bites down on his knuckle as you circle around the damp spot already forming. As you spread kisses along his length, he quietly pleads to be inside you, and after all he’s done for you, you won’t deny him.

Finally you sink down on him, and a long, satisfied moan escapes from your mouth and you chance a look at your baby relieved that she’s still asleep. He gives a cheeky grin, biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet, and you grind down on him in retaliation, though that quickly backfires on you as it feels way too good and you have to concentrate on not doing that again, as you don’t want this to end so soon.

Neither of you are in a hurry at the moment, just choosing to indulge in the connection that circumstances had denied the two of you for so long, sharing lazy kisses and secret jokes in equal measure until you can’t take it anymore. You set the pace for yourself and he is all too willing to oblige and let you chase your peak, as he’s not too far behind. You may very well be in bed with a monster, and yet you’ve never felt safer.

The next day you watch from the Balcony as the men fill the platform with concrete and you get one last look at that trunk, and hope to never see it again. Elvis joins you there, watching and holding you and your daughter, both secure in the knowledge that he’ll always be able to protect you.

You don’t end up thinking about him as much as you thought you would have. In those early days after construction had finished you had feared that the slightest slip up and everybody would know. You felt you could hardly breathe when you looked at it those months, and you were surprised and more than a little disturbed that Elvis had no such reaction to it. 

Though eventually a good memory would come to almost completely scrub out the sour taste that the Gazebo leaves you in the form of Lucía’s baptism. Even over a year later she was still so small compared to other babies her age and the doctors warned you to expect some developmental delays, but you still worried over the fact she still has yet to crawl. Most times she seems content enough to sit where she’s put and play with the toys within her reach and getting someone’s attention to get her what she wants. It’s almost as though she’s aware that Elvis is called The King, making her a princess and so she expects to be treated like one. 

Recently she’s taken to standing up using whatever’s closest, bouncing up and down on her little legs for a bit then sitting back down. You sat there letting Lucía hold your hands and do her thing, while you talked to some of the other women. Your husband on the other side of the platform, surrounded by Lucía’s godfathers (they helped him hide a body after all, this felt like the least the two of you could do to honor them), talking business.

When you felt her let go your immediate instinct was to grab her, but you stop yourself when you see that she’s not only standing on her own but shakily taking her first steps forward. You and the other women go dead silent as you watch her make a slow but sure beeline, her eyes set on her Daddy. You hold your breath so afraid that she’ll fall, but all of your muscles are tensed ready to dive in and catch her if she so much as stumbled.

Elvis was looking away, not noticing what was happening until she finally got to him and wrapped herself around his leg. Seeing her next to him throws you for a loop, as over a year ago, she was so tiny that she fit almost entirely in one of his hands, and now she stands on her own at his knee, and you really do see how much she has grown. Elvis finally turns around and sees her looking up at him, but with no one around to have helped her he doesn’t put it together until he sees your mile wide grin, and it finally dawns on him what just happened. 

You and Elvis would later joke that she, just like him, wouldn’t do something so big without an audience. And for that entire day you didn’t think once about Eric. Your little girl's first steps were over a grave, and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

When she was four, you had explained to Lucía that her father had had it built after she was brought home in celebration that the two of you had pulled through. After that she started calling it hers, and it just stuck, even when your other children were born it was always Lucía’s Gazebo. Birthday’s, barbeques, family dinners, many of them were held underneath that gazebo, and only occasionally would you even spare a thought toward Eric. 

And now as you watch your daughter dance with your husband underneath the gazebo, celebrating her quinceañera you’re glad Elvis did what he did. If that man had had his way you wouldn’t have any of this, and you refuse to feel anything close to guilt or sympathy for him.

Eventually Elvis breaks away from her to stand next to you as she now embarks on the arduous journey of dancing with her many, many padrinos. You welcome him with a tender kiss, and he holds you from behind as the two of you watch your little girl who is now becoming a woman.

“I swear she was this small yesterday,” he says while rubbing your two-year old son’s back as he rests on your shoulder right now. Elvis had been close to tears all day, with the doll ceremony nearly doing it for him as he always loved spoiling her with toys, so the idea that this would be the last one was very bittersweet for him.

For you it was the shoe ceremony that did bring you to tears, as you held her hand as she took a few shaky steps in her new heels, not so much for the first steps she took as a baby, but the painful reminder of all the things you thought you wouldn’t get to have with your little baby that couldn’t leave her box. You refuse to let that man ruin anything special for you again, and over his grave you whisper in the love of your life’s ear how it’s not too late to have another one. His eyes widen at that for a moment before he gives that devastating grin of his that won you over years ago and agrees to later.

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​

[zukadiary]

Hi! I hope you're well! I wanted to ask something I was curious about. I recently saw a DVD of Me and My Girl with Yuzuka Rei as Jacqueline. I’m impressed by her versatility, I usually know her for otokoyaku roles. Could you explain how casting decisions are made when otokoyaku are given female roles or vice versa? Are there specific criteria for this? Also, any other notable performances of this kind you'd recommend? Thank you so much for making this blog btw! I've learned so much from it. ^_^

Hi! I don't think there are any hard and fast rules about this, but there are definitely patterns.

First off, there are certain female roles in big-name, frequently restaged shows that are either always or usually played by otokoyaku. Off the top of my head, some include:

Jacqueline in MeMy, as you mentioned

Scarlett in Gone with the Wind

Anita in West Side Story

Rafaela in Grand Hotel

Then sometimes they are just one-off casting decisions (Towaki Sea in Liszt, Ayanagi Shou in Hikarifuru Michi, etc). Regardless of the situation, it's usually for one or a combination of these reasons:

It's a "spunky," or more mature, or canonically cross-dressing role, that would break the mold of the musumeyaku-otokoyaku relationship

It's an incredibly high profile role, but the troupe has no top musumeyaku—e.g. Sena Jun as Elisabeth in '05, Nagina Ruumi in '09—and a secondary musumeyaku would not be nearly as much of a draw to the audience as a higher ranked otokoyaku

Or it's a really high profile role, and otokoyaku just bring in more money than musumeyaku, so a heavy supporting female role goes to an otokoyaku rather than a secondary musumeyaku

Fan service!

Here are some of my recommendations from most to least recent:

Grand Hotel - lots good about it, but cw for egregious racial makeup in supporting characters

Soragumi's Anastasia, for both Kazuki Sora and Kotobuki Tsukasa in female roles

All for One, which is quite fun, and features Saou Kurama as the Duchess of Montpensier

Ok this is pretty Tamaki Ryou heavy for some reason, but Legend of King Arthur for Miya Rurika's Morgane

Shall we Dance, one of my all time favorite shows, featuring Sagiri Seina as the female lead

A Song for Kingdoms, the 2003 Hoshigumi version, featuring Aran Kei as Aida (also cw for some racial makeup)

There's a lot of other great stuff too!

EDIT: HOW COULD I FORGET ADELAIDE??? Highly recommend thanks for the comment!

[havenroyals]

Storytelling Secret Saturday

Back again...

Ethan does not like dancing. Line dancing especially. Not in a "too cool for school" kind of way, though that's how he acts when asked. Ethan cannot let go and enjoy dancing as others can. He's too focused on the moves and following the words that he looks stiff compared to his wife and kids (and in-laws, before they died). As the sole white man at the cookouts, he decided to sit dances out after watching little EJ dominate the floor while texting the whole time. Luckily, his mother-in-law May ran anyone who questioned him off (Ethan was very close to Harmonie's mom; her Dad not so much. There was some racial bias on Pop's side but they got through it). Ethan will slow dance with Harmonie from time to time, but refuses any other rhythm based movement.

I do not plan on doing Cartel flashbacks (other than the birthday party ones). Not so much due to time, but because the stories are mostly sad. I will answer any questions readers may have about Ares's (and his family's) past. As he and Emelia get closer, he has been sharing random peeks behind the curtain. Emelia does have questions, so I may just use your questions as her questions when I scripting. Also, not sure if anyone checked out the character page, but only characters who've been in (or mentioned in) at least two chapters get a profiles. There currently isn't a profile for Ares's cousin, Luka or his ex, Valyria. (That may change 👀👀)

Speaking of the character page, you can sort them by different statuses. It was originally a secret in the story, but Dr. Alanna is transgender. It was originally a secret that would be leaked to the press, leading to Emelia making Ares take back his promise of not killing for her. Even though that is the disgusting type of behavior the media (especially royal media) would do, I did not want to copy that. I love Alanna, and I even felt awful about writing the article calling her ugly. There's enough mess and drama in my story. I don't need to hurt a fellow LGBTQ+ member, even if she is fictional. If that original plan went through, Alanna would rightfully leave Max, and I want them to be happy.

And to end it dramatically...we're currently in chapter V...by chapter VII-ish a major character will die. It may or may not be who you're thinking. I've had it planned forever and it will happen. Sorry not sorry. Ask all you want, I won't tell.

[mariacallous]

Former U.S. President Donald Trump has unleashed his first major television spot against his new opponent in the 2024 election, Vice President Kamala Harris. The advertisement zeroes in on what he says is her failed record as “border czar.” Drugs, crime, and terrorism are all a result. As viewers see ominous images of migrants crossing the border while Harris dances, the narrator closes by saying: “Failed. Weak. Dangerously Liberal.”

It isn’t a surprise that Trump would start with immigration as his opening salvo. And that’s not because this topic has been important to Trump since he announced his first presidential run in 2015, or because the issue is more pertinent than others in 2024. Rather, going after immigration taps into a set of ideas that has become deeply rooted in the GOP. To understand how anti-immigrant rhetoric became woven into Republican politics, it is necessary to look back to Harris’s home state of California during the 1990s—a time when nativism, law and order, and partisanship all converged as the Cold War came to an end. Rather than boasting about being tough on communists, Republicans since that period have invested much of their political capital in talking about being tough on the border.

The hardening of Republicans on this issue signaled a remarkable shift. For much of the 20th century, nativist factions within the Republican Party had been forced to compete with a formidable pro-immigration tradition. When then-U.S. President Ronald Reagan worked with Democrats in Congress in 1986 to pass sweeping bipartisan reform that imposed stricter penalties on businesses hiring undocumented immigrants, the president also granted amnesty for almost 3 million people and created an agricultural worker program for undocumented immigrants. “Our nation is a nation of immigrants,” Reagan had proclaimed. Business leaders allied to the supply-side revolution staunchly defended liberal immigration policies as something that brought tremendous benefits to the economy.

But following Reagan’s second term, the Republicans started on a different, rightward road. It began in California, and it brought them to today’s ad.

By the early 1990s, Californians were not feeling so golden. Major cities such as Los Angeles struggled with the crack cocaine epidemic as well as gang violence. Urban blight had left many neighborhoods in shambles. The entire state slipped into an economic recession during the 1990s. Boom times went bust as unemployment rose.

More and more white Californians blamed immigrants for the state’s woes. Latinos and Asians had grown into a significant portion of the population following President Lyndon Johnson’s Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Once welcome as the embodiment of the American dream, during the downturn immigrants were said to be responsible for rampant crime, the rising cost of social services, and the exodus of factories. Critics tapped into old nativist traditions that had flared in different periods such as the 1920s.

Several key players drove the conservative turn. In Los Angeles, Chief of Police Daryl Gates had ruled the city with an iron fist throughout the 1980s, allowing his forces to trample on civil liberties and target minority populations in his ongoing effort to clean up the city. Although Gates instructed police to avoid enforcing immigration laws to obtain cooperation in criminal investigations, his officers were downright brutal in how they treated disadvantaged populations. Under Operation Hammer, which Gates launched in April 1987 and closed down in 1990, the Los Angeles police conducted massive raids that rounded up Hispanic and Black American youth who happened to be in a given vicinity, regardless of how much evidence existed about their being possibly guilty of a crime. Racial profiling and physical harassment were standard. He was Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry come to life. In an era when tough policing was lionized among Republican candidates and valorized in popular culture, Gates emerged as a heroic figure in law and order circles—until the urban unrest in Los Angeles in 1992, following the Rodney King beating, finally led to his downfall.

Gov. Pete Wilson, elected in 1990, was likewise pivotal. Facing a tight reelection race in 1994, Wilson championed Proposition 187, a measure to prevent undocumented immigrants from receiving basic non-emergency social services such as education and health care. His campaign in support of the “Save Our State” initiative broadcast blistering television ads that presented the darkest possible images of immigrants. Although he had rarely talked about these issues as a senator in the 1980s (in fact, he had supported greater access to immigrant labor for the agricultural industry), Wilson now staked much of his political future on the issue. “They keep coming,” warned the narrator in one ad, as viewers saw grainy images of people running through the border security. His bet paid off. On Nov. 8, 1994, California voters passed Proposition 187, 59 percent to 41 percent. Though the measure would become tied up in the courts, its popularity and Wilson’s victory signaled to Republicans all over the country that this was a winning issue.

Conservative grassroots activists kept the issue alive in the 1990s. One of the most important was Barbara Coe, who gained attention through her advocacy for Proposition 187. Coe emerged as one of the state’s fiercest champions of the nativist ethos. She founded the California Coalition for Immigration Reform to support Proposition 187. Often dressed in red, white, and blue garb, Coe, who was in her 60s, became a familiar face on the statewide media circuit, where she could be seen on television making one provocative statement after another about how “illegals” were destroying communities. In 1998, the organization purchased a massive billboard along Interstate 10 that read: “Welcome to California, the Illegal Immigration State: Don’t let this happen to your state.” Coe worked with an energetic network of activists including Ronald Prince, Les Blankhorn, and William King.

National Republicans picked up on the issue. Although many Republicans had initially stayed away from anything that Republican primary candidate Pat Buchanan had to say in 1992, including when he called conditions at the border “a national disgrace,” by the mid-1990s the party was singing a different tune. California was putting the immigration issue on the map. As a top advisor to President Bill Clinton, a Democrat, warned in 1993: “Immigration is emerging as the most powerful political issue in California, and the Administration must begin to deal with it.” On Capitol Hill, House Speaker Newt Gingrich pushed in 1996 for a major bill that ended the welfare system put into place by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1935. His efforts gained traction as Clinton agreed to work on this bill, though it was much harsher than the kind of welfare reform the president had initially promoted. The result was the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act, which sharply curtailed social safety net benefits for non-citizens. In 1996, Republican presidential candidate Sen. Robert Dole ran an ad on “illegal aliens” that warned of “2 million illegal aliens in California” filling prisons, crowding schools, and costing billions of tax dollars. Clinton, the ad said, “fought California in court, forcing us to support them. Clinton fought Prop. 187, cut border agents, gave citizenship to aliens with criminal records. We pay the taxes. We are the victims. Our children get shortchanged.”

Congress also tightened restrictions on immigrants as part of the counterterrorism legislation passed after the World Trade Center bombing in 1993, the Oklahoma City attack in 1995, and 9/11, including increasing the number of people eligible to be deported and raising the bar for obtaining legal status within the country.

The hard-line Republican immigration agenda focused attention almost exclusively on undocumented immigrants and the dangers they posed, pushing aside discussions of immigrants who arrived legally or undocumented immigrants who ended up naturalizing and becoming upstanding citizens. The rhetoric exaggerated crime, murder, and drugs while shifting attention away from the economic, cultural, and social benefits that social scientists have repeatedly shown were a result of immigration. The stories from the early 20th century of immigrants making America great were replaced with shady images of immigrants undermining our well-being.

The Republican road from California to Trump was not inevitable. President George W. Bush, who expanded the Republican Hispanic vote in 2004 from 1996, pushed for a grand bargain in his second term that would have provided a legal path to citizenship for almost 12 million people in exchange for tougher border control and deportation measures. Congressional Republicans killed his initiative. Republican Party politics, as historian Sarah Coleman has argued in The Walls Within, congealed around a hard-line restrictionist agenda. Democrats, including President Barack Obama, failed in their efforts to obtain legislation providing for a path to citizenship inxchange for their support of tough deportation and border control policies. While Obama was able to put into place the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program through executive action, protecting certain undocumented immigrants who arrived as children

When Trump’s administration imposed a travel ban on several Muslim-majority countries, implemented a policy of separating children from their families at the border, ramped up deportation, spent federal funds on building a massive border wall, ended DACA (though SCOTUS overturned his decision) most Republicans cheered. As a surge of immigrants became a bigger problem in Democratic cities in 2022, Republicans ramped up their attacks. Texas Gov. Greg Abbott bused undocumented immigrants to blue cities across America. Democrats became defensive.

By 2024, Biden pushed for a bipartisan immigration bill that centered entirely on border control and deportation. The liberalization part of the bargain was gone. Yet even as Democrats caved, Trump persuaded congressional Republicans to kill the deal so that he could run on the issue in the fall.

So what should Harris do? It would be a mistake for her to simply play defense. Doing so won’t stop the ferocity of the attacks. As was often the case with national security during the Cold War, responding with claims to be the tougher party only fuels the narrative of opponents.

Harris’s own personal story is a powerful reminder that we are a nation of immigrants and that immigration has been part of the lifeblood of American society. Her father emigrated from Jamaica. Her mother arrived to the United States from India. Harris also understands, as she wrote in The Truths We Hold, that “for as long as ours has been a nation of immigrants, we have been a nation that fears immigrants.”

In fact, this presidential campaign provides an opportunity for a reset. Democrats have been struggling with this issue for years. Harris has an opportunity to fight back against Republican attacks, not by mimicking the GOP message, but by offering a different vision of what immigration means. She can move beyond what she called the “false choices” that have defined the debate. Yes, the nation needs tough border controls and deportation procedures, but it’s time to remember just how vital immigrants, documented and undocumented, have been and remain for us all.

While continually challenging the veracity of the claims that Trump throws out about what previous border policies have done, the vice president can also tether the broader dialogue to a deep appreciation of immigrants as one of the most defining elements of American history. Most of us have immigrant roots; many of us are immigrants. Immigration has made America great.

Hopefully, with a more constructive conversation, we can begin to bring back the vision of a grand bargain that rationalizes our immigrant system, from better border policies to a path to citizenship. And perhaps the candidate from California, where the rightward turn began in the 1990s, can lead the nation in a new direction in 2024.

[denimbex1986]

'Writer and poet Benjamin Zephaniah has died aged 65, after being diagnosed with a brain tumour eight weeks ago.

A statement posted on his Instagram account confirmed he died in the early hours of Thursday.

The statement said Zephaniah's wife "was with him throughout and was by his side when he passed".

"We shared him with the world and we know many will be shocked and saddened by this news," it added.

Zephaniah was born and raised in Handsworth, Birmingham, the son of a Barbadian postman and a Jamaican nurse. He was dyslexic and left school aged 13, unable to read or write.

He moved to London aged 22 and published his first book, Pen Rhythm.

His early work used dub poetry, a Jamaican style of work that has evolved into the music genre of the same name, and he would also perform with the group The Benjamin Zephaniah Band.

As Zephaniah's profile grew, he became a familiar face on television and was credited with bringing Dub Poetry into British living rooms.

He also wrote five novels as well as poetry for children, and his first book for younger readers, Talking Turkeys, was a huge success upon its publication in 1994.

On top of his writing work, Zephaniah was an actor and appeared in the BBC drama series Peaky Blinders between 2013 and 2022.

He played Jeremiah "Jimmy" Jesus, appearing in 14 episodes across the six series.

Zephaniah famously rejected an OBE in 2003 due to the association of such an honour with the British Empire and its history of slavery.

"I've been fighting against empire all my life, fighting against slavery and colonialism all my life," he told The Big Narstie Show in 2020.

"I've been writing to connect with people, not to impress governments and monarchy. So I could I then accept an honour that puts the word Empire on to my name? That would be hypocritical.

He often spoke out about issues such as racial abuse and education.

When he was younger, Zephaniah served a prison sentence for burglary and received a criminal record.

In 1982, Zephaniah released an album called Rasta, which featured the Wailers' first recording since the death of Bob Marley.

It also included a tribute to the then-political prisoner Nelson Mandela, who would later become South African president.

In an interview in 2005, Zephaniah said growing up in a violent household led to him assuming that was the norm.

He recalled: "I once asked a friend of mine, 'What do you do when your dad beats your mum?' And he went: 'He doesn't.'

"I said, 'Ah, you come from one of those, like, feminist houses. So, what do you do when your mum beats your dad?'"

In 2012, he was chosen to guest edit an edition of BBC Radio 4's Today programme.

Zephaniah was nominated for autobiography of the year at the National Book Awards for his work, The Life And Rhymes Of Benjamin Zephaniah, which was also shortlisted for the Costa Book Award in 2018.

During a Covid-19 lockdown, Zephaniah recited one of his poems in a video for the Hay Festival.

"Benjamin was a true pioneer and innovator. He gave the world so much," the statement announcing his death said.

"Through an amazing career including a huge body of poems, literature, music, television and radio, Benjamin leaves us with a joyful and fantastic legacy."

A statement from the Black Writers' guild, which Zephaniah helped establish, said: "Our family of writers is in mourning at the loss of a deeply valued friend and a titan of British literature. Benjamin was a man of integrity and an example of how to live your values."

Others paying tribute included author Michael Rosen, who said: "I'm devastated. I admired him, respected him, learnt from him, loved him. Love and condolences to the family and to all who loved him too."

Actress Adjoa Andoh posted: "We have lost a Titan today. Benjamin Zephaniah. Beautiful Poet, Professor, Advocate for love and humanity in all things. Heartbroken. Rest In Your Power - our brother."

Peaky Blinders actor Cillian Murphy said in a statement: "Benjamin was a truly gifted and beautiful human being.

"A generational poet, writer, musician and activist. A proud Brummie and a Peaky Blinder. I'm so saddened by this news."

Broadcaster Trevor Nelson said: "So sad to hear about the passing of Benjamin Zephaniah. Too young, too soon, he had a lot more to give. He was a unique talent."

Singer-songwriter and musician Billy Bragg added: "Very sorry to hear this news. Benjamin Zephaniah was our radical poet laureate. Rest in power, my friend."

Comedian, actor and writer Lenny Henry said: "I was saddened to learn of the passing of my friend Benjamin Zephaniah. His passion for poetry, his advocacy for education for all was tireless."

Writer Nels Abbey said: "To call this crushing news is a massive understatement. He was far too young, far too brilliant and still had so much to offer. A loss we'll never recover from."

The X/Twitter account for Premier League football club Aston Villa, whom Zephaniah supported said everyone at the club was "deeply saddened" by the news.

"Named as one of Britain's top 50 post-war writers in 2008, Benjamin was a lifelong Aston Villa fan and had served as an ambassador for the AVFCFoundation. Our thoughts are with his family and friends at this time."'

[ur-local-demon1]

Show Annabeth

Confiscating her from a certain side of the fandom until they learn to treat my girl with the respect she deserves. When I first read what people had to say about the first few episodes, I made a promise to myself to keep quiet because I didn't want to offend people, and none of the things that were said were in bad faith, just misunderstandings- Until it wasn't and I genuinely flew into a frenzy over the takes I read. Like Grover said, maybe things need to get a little upsetting before they move forward: The racism against Annabeth is still very much here and alive, but this time the things that are said come from the mouths of those who don't hear the vile things they're saying (disclaimer before I keep going, I will be calling out racist takes about Annabeth but this is only from the perspective of a non-black POC. I experience racism so I can sniff it out easily, but I do not experience it in the same way a black woman would)

I first noticed this change around episode 3. Like I said, I promised myself not to say anything about what people have been saying about Medusa but that's over. The roman version of Medusa's myth was, is and always will be a beautiful homage/symbol (whatever you want to call it) to other survivors out there and I cannot stress this enough in this post alone. Because Medusa means so much to the women watching the show, myself included, we tend to look past an important thing: Medusa was a victim, she is currently a monster. Her monstrous traits (physical and behavioural) do not erase what she went through or what she symbolises for us, but in Percy Jackson, Athena and Poseidon are not the only ones who made her a monster. She chooses to petrify most of the people she comes across, she manipulated a grieving and traumatised 12 year old boy, and showed no remorse taking the life of three children. She suffered but inflicted on others a pain similar to the one she felt, and for that, No, Annabeth doesn't owe her kindness, sympathy, or anything for that matter. She is not "aggressive" or "not a girl's girl" for not being kind to a monster that aimed to kill her, it is not wrong of her as a daughter to defend her mother, however unjust it may be.

What some are angry about is that Annabeth supposedly doesn't have good relationships with other women and I get where they're coming from but to be blunt, they're wrong. It's good that womanhood isn't portrayed as sunshine lollipops and rainbows, that Annabeth doesn't trust someone who is an actual threat to her life simply because she's a woman. Most ridiculous part of this is that Leah said she was looking forward to season 2 the most since she wants to act with other girls.

And then, beyond that, her behaviour as a whole starts to get nit-picked. Names will not be named, but isn't it very ironic that we get a moment in episode 4 where Annabeth is being racially profiled by a police officer who saw her as aggressive for simply asking if they were under arrest, only for that certain part of the fandom to treat her in the exact same way, referring to her as violent, mean, and aggressive? What makes this nasty behaviour from the fandom different from the openly racist "fans" who had no shame calling Leah names, harassing her and anyone who showed their support for her before even seeing her performance is that the people I'm talking about here aren't racist themselves, but their words are. While they may not have bad intentions, they do not hear how disgusting they sound, and when you force them to hear it, they don't like it and they double down until they become just as disgusting and repugnant as what is coming out of their mouths

Conclusion: You'll give yourself an ulcer or idk, pop a vein if you keep complaining about every minute detail in the show. Either sit back, relax and enjoy it like a normal person, or stop watching it altogether. Oh and, I can't believe people even need to be reminded of that, stop calling black girls/women aggressive/violent, especially if they are a 12 year old kid who just wants to avoid being a statue, and for her mom to love her

[starlightshadowsworld]

Americans who are ACAB but support Israel...You know that Israel are the ones who train you're police... Right?

They have had whole training programmings and exchanges with the Israeli police, which thousands have attended all over the US.

For the past 2 decades they have both exchanged tactics in brutality, mass surveillance, racial profiling etc.

These findings were published in a 2018 report called Deadly Exchange by RAIA (Researching the American-Israel allience) and Jewish voice for peace.

Which you can find here

And your tax payer money pays for most of those trips.

But I'm sure it's a complete coincidence that the military who dropped 6000 bombes on Palestine civilians.

Half of which are children.

Are the ones who trained you're police force who routinely employ racist tactics and abuse innocents.

Infact, the infamously horrific scene of a police officer kneeling on George Floyd's neck as he pleaded "I can't breathe." Has been found to be eerily similiar to the way Israeli forces restrain unarmed Palestinians, by kneeling on their necks and heads.

But I'm sure that's just a coincidence.

Dunno how you can be against the police, American or otherwise and than support a one sided genocide....

It's like when people got pissed others weren't upset and cheering about the millionaires dieing in a submersible.

Like sir, what did you think eat the rich meant?

You can't say all cops are bastard and than support a military aparteid state.

[tieflingkisser]

Meta’s new AI council is composed entirely of white men

Women AI leaders remain overlooked in Big Tech

Meta on Wednesday announced the creation of an AI advisory council with only white men on it. What else would we expect? Women and people of color have been speaking out for decades about being ignored and excluded from the world of artificial intelligence despite them being qualified and playing a key role in the evolution of this space.  Meta did not immediately respond to our request to comment about the diversity of the advisory board.  This new advisory board differs from Meta’s actual board of directors and its Oversight Board, which is more diverse in gender and racial representation. Shareholders did not elect this AI board, which also has no fiduciary duty. Meta told Bloomberg that the board would offer “insights and recommendations on technological advancements, innovation, and strategic growth opportunities.” It would meet “periodically.”  It’s telling that the AI advisory council is composed entirely of businesspeople and entrepreneurs, not ethicists or anyone with an academic or deep research background. While one could argue that current and former Stripe, Shopify and Microsoft executives are well positioned to oversee Meta’s AI product roadmap given the immense number of products they’ve brought to market among them, it’s been proven time and time again that AI isn’t like other products. It’s a risky business, and the consequences of getting it wrong can be far-reaching, particularly for marginalized groups.

[...]

Women are far more likely than men to experience the dark side of AI. Sensity AI found in 2019 that 96% of AI deepfake videos online were nonconsensual, sexually explicit videos. Generative AI has become far more prevalent since then, and women are still the targets of this violative behavior.  In one high-profile incident from January, nonconsensual, pornographic deepfakes of Taylor Swift went viral on X, with one of the most widespread posts receiving hundreds of thousands of likes, and 45 million views. Social platforms like X have historically failed at protecting women from these circumstances — but since Taylor Swift is one of the most powerful women in the world, X intervened by banning search terms like “taylor swift ai” and taylor swift deepfake.” But if this happens to you and you’re not a global pop sensation, then you might be out of luck. There are numerous reports of middle school and high school-aged students making explicit deepfakes of their classmates. While this technology has been around for a while, it’s never been easier to access — you don’t have to be technologically savvy to download apps that are specifically advertised to “undress” photos of women or swap their faces onto pornography. In fact, according to reporting by NBC’s Kat Tenbarge, Facebook and Instagram hosted ads for an app called Perky AI, which described itself as a tool to make explicit images. 

[...]

The current development of AI embodies the same existing power structures regarding class, race, gender and Eurocentrism that we see elsewhere, and it seems not enough leaders are addressing it. Instead, they are reinforcing it. Investors, founders and tech leaders are so focused on moving fast and breaking things that they can’t seem to understand that generative AI — the hot AI tech of the moment — could make the problems worse, not better. According to a report from McKinsey, AI could automate roughly half of all jobs that don’t require a four-year degree and pay over $42,000 annually, jobs in which minority workers are overrepresented. 

[total-feminism-takes]

Lesbian Courtney anon here!

Courntey and Duncan are so much more than toxic exes... they are human to me.

They are both sides of the same coin that am aware of is my own soul.

Basically, this ship not all that to you but to me, Courtney is just like me in the need of PERFECT!

I crashed and failed for many years to finally get I was drowning and dying to be loved and comfort by the wrong person and my family doesn't see me as human but legacy to continue.

I love them a lot.

Courtney needs help with therapy like Duncan.

Basically they made me realize my childhood up bringing and more is not my fault but it is my fault for hitting. sprialing, and losing my sense of my reality because of no one offered to help me or realizing I was getting abused at home by own flesh and blood.

The abuse can become abusers sadly.

We don't need you to deem us as crazy abusive exes, sometimes we need to be left alone to grow and health, more help understanding what we were taught was wrong.

I was a bad person I blew up things like Duncan with fire and hit others in the name of justice I said to myself like Courtney but end of the day.

I will not be seen as not a martyr. But death and the villain of itself in most people's stories!

But I will still be branded off as abusive and awful even if I was trying to defend myself or walk away from the fight.

It's hard out here especially when we love and adopt TD characters to represent ourselves out here.

I am growing slowly but surely, I used to hate the world and everything due to the unfairness of the world and hatred brought on by others to my feet.

I couldn't just turn the other cheek when someone hits you first or threatens you at time you fight back then regret.

I want many to know sometimes we are seen as monsters and have no redemption, yet you are you are own writer and person!

Sometimes we got look in mirror and go I know I am bad, toxic, and piece shite but guess what sunshine! We are still alive and live for ourselves! We can thrive for ourselves and do better from now on!

I used to be hateful bible thumping Christian because I was raised that way, every hit was because I love you, your fault is being a women, but guess what?!

I like girls and love boys!

I love girls so much my friends think I wanted to date them since high school, but I was just trying to be affectionate and their own personal cheerleaders when needed!

It is not sin to love, or be women. It is not wrong to like to like characters like Courtney or Duncan!

I am tired of it!

Let people enjoy things! That's personal opinion! Why am going tell you what's wrong with you and what's right if I am no saint myself!

Courtney my beloved and Duncan my dove, I love you even if you just a silly parody/satire teenagers of reality tv series!

I hate that made you so awful in the end of time they could punch up with the jokes and the satire but no they doom us all with brain rot of blah blah Courtney is abusive only.

You saw how they treated Leshawna as well yet many of you racially profile her still. You bestialize and fetishize my girl and carry her with shame of no growth and tie her to white man- sorry Harold, who is basically a parody of napoleon dynamite kip and lafawnduh!!!

You cowards, shame on you only smut and fetishize for my girl Leshawna yet put Courtney to the slaughter brand her a demon and abuser without remorse.

Yet you do not humanize the women in TD fandom but brand them as awful people or make them inhuman sex dolls for you pleasure without remorse but hey hehe TD fandom so silly and accepting to all.

I want smut readers and writers to understand that you can have your own piece of cake too but goddamn! LET THEM BE MORE HUMAN AND REALSTIC IN SOME WAYS!

BODY HAIR

PERIODS

BODY ISSUES

FORBBIEN ROMANCE DUE TO NOT RACE THINGS BUT SOMETHING ELSE!

I am not good person I know but I have my own brain to tell me that. I love Courtney, she did a lot for me because she wasn't perfect. I don't love because oh she must hate Gwen. No. I like Gwen but I hate that you guys think she's saint (I feel like you- most think pale skin tone people or cartoons do no wrong ever) Gwen is complex like everyone in TD. You guys just sleep on Gwen to make her your weird plaything to have someone to ship with but no growth or her own standing in some cases.

Oh to the point when I say Courtney can do nothing wrong and is saint I snort (I say that a lot my readers might think I don't see her as a bad guy ever which tbh not true) I snort because that's wrong! She's so bad and needs be better for herself not to be "FIX"

Love you guys...

XoXo

From someone who is Duncan Stan of heart and Courtney Stan in her DNA and loves Dunceny ship.

Mostly I relate to Duncan more in chaos and Courtney in cry and tantrums because I get too overwhelmed to speak with my brain goes time to scream and rage now! As a teenager I was more of mini-Duncan with a mess of Courtney Action you saw!

Yes, I am getting help now, I am being diagnosed with stuff (OH ACT SHOCK!!) and I will take therapy and pills as needed.

The point is we can spare a bit humanity along the way, F U you to your abusive partners, and I am not telling you stay with them or humanize them!

RUN AWAY AND STAY AWAY FROM THEM TOO!

From someone who barely escaped they're on and off again abusive relationship. I was the "Courtney" in the relationship but behind closed doors he was awful, I cried so much, and he told me to die often but the world only saw a teenager girl and young adult me acting like "COURTNEY" and didn't help me but blamed me for it.

Anyway, if you love Courtney or Duncan, it's not your fault others don't!

You don't need them? You don't need valid your love for anything or likes in this world!

Abuse is harsh and comes in many forms than one.

I am bad person I know- I used to be my first mantra since I was 16 years old now.

I go I was not a healed person back then just a child who didn't know better, my actions have consequences, I regret, I let go, and I relearn to grow, and I heal slowly but surely. I am not my father, I am not my abuser, I am not my abuse, it's okay to like this, it's okay they don't like this or me!

I am allowed to live and I am allowed to like this if makes me happy. Then I can block them or mute them if it really hurts me!

That's all.

I did my first session of therapy in long time and I saw post the Courtney pushed to only to the role of "crazy abusive ex" of Duncan's which is harsh especially I have to live through it still.

It's embarrassing at 24 years old people act like I chained up my ex-boyfriend to be with me and that I was the controlling abuser when they don't know the whole story or how much he threatened to off himself or me if I left him. Then he cheats on me through the whole relationship, and I have to stay in it because I loved him and feared him.

Duncan wasn't like my ex.

And Courtney wasn't like me.

But I love them because they are just silly characters and ship that I enjoy and work through my own bullshit. And say I did love a lot but no more to that, but I can love again in forms in these silly dumb cartoons and make them kiss sometimes as fanfic writer!

Anyway, love you all and sorry for ranting my nonsense again peace out girl scouts but mother nature needs to be saved with love and money these days-sadly no money, but I can clean up the beaches and feed the stray cats now!

Treat yourself with not needed valid your existence or but I love them to random haters or people that just don't give a F about anything but their own mind...

You can like things too without needing explanation, honey! You got this!

BLOCK THEM IF THEY DON'T LEAVE YOU ALONE!

- 🧡

[skullythefriendlyskullface]

A Turtle's Guide to Escaping Midtown Precinct South: Part Three

Click here to start at the beginning!

//

If your loved one has been arrested by the NYPD and is being held in Midtown Precinct South, make sure you gather as much information about the precinct as possible. In the words of Sun Tzu, If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

Leo anxiously knocked on April’s door. “Come on,” he muttered. He waited a few seconds before knocking again.

The door swung open. “Hey, guys!” April said, smiling. “How’s –”

“Raph got arrested and we need to bust him out of jail,” Leo blurted out, pushing past her and into the apartment.

“Can I use your computer, April?” Don asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, “Thanks!” He made a beeline for her computer at her work desk.

“Do you have any snacks?” Mikey asked. “I’m hungry.” He marched into the kitchen and began rummaging through her fridge.

April stood at the entrance to her apartment with her mouth agape. “W-wait a minute, hold on!” she said, finally finding her voice. “What’s going on here? Did you say Raph got arrested?”

Leo ignored her and speed-dialed Casey on his shell cell. “Come on, pick up,” he said nervously. After a few rings, Casey greeted him on the other end. “Casey, I need you to come to April’s apartment right away,” Leo said. “It’s an emergency.”

“Whoa, okay,” Casey said, sounding somewhat startled. “What’s the sitch?”

“Yeah, Leo, what’s happening?” April asked.

Leo explained to both of them how Raph got arrested by the police, and how he and his brothers narrowly made their escape through the subways. By the time he finished his story, Casey had arrived at April’s door and was brushing away the slush that clung to his coat.

“Lemme guess,” Casey said. “You got a plan to break Raph out, and it involves me and April.”

“We don’t have a full plan yet,” Leo said. “In order to make this work, we need to figure out where the police are keeping Raph. Then we need to find out as much as we can about their security.”

April’s face paled. “You don’t think the EPF has him, do you?”

“No. It was definitely just the NYPD,” Leo replied. “But if we don’t hurry, they might deliver him right into Bishop’s hands.” He marched over to the desk where Don was conducting his research. “Donny, were you able to find him?”

“Yes,” he replied, typing some commands into the computer. “I tracked down his shell cell. He’s on West 35th Street.” The screen displayed a map with a green dot on the west side of Manhattan. “There’s a police department there. Midtown Precinct South.”

“Okay, that’s a good start,” Leo said. “Were you able to access any information about the building? Blueprints? Security camera footage?”

“Blueprints, yes. Camera footage, no. It looks like all of their security measures are connected to their own private server.”

“So we won’t be able to access any video logs unless we physically plug ourselves into their system,” April said.

That was going to make breaking Raph out a little harder. “What else you got?” Leo asked.

“Nothing good,” Don warned. “Check this out. About eighty-five percent of all suspects that come through this police department end up going through Riker’s Island.”

“Riker’s Island? The Riker’s Island?” Casey asked. “The one off the Bronx?”

“The jail where people go to die?” Mikey asked.

“The one and only,” Don said.

Leo turned the facts over in his head. “Eighty-five percent,” he repeated. “All going to one jail complex. That’s an unusually high rate.”

“I thought so, too,” Don said. “So I did a little more digging. About a year ago, a former police sergeant who served at Midtown Precinct South came forward and exposed some of the unethical practices that were rampant in the department. Intimidation tactics, excessive force, racial profiling, you name it.” He paused. “Two months later, she was found dead in her apartment.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Mikey said.

“That’s not all. I also looked into Riker’s Island,” he continued. “Apparently, the facilities there are contracted out to South Hudson Prison Properties. The CEO, Mr. David Williams, is a multimillionaire who lives in Seattle. But get this: every time the chief of police of Midtown, Chief Alice Torres, holds a press conference, Mr. Williams personally makes his appearance.”

“Looks like Chief Torres and Mr. Williams are working together,” Leo said, connecting the dots.

“That’s the private prison industry for ya,” Casey said grimly.

“What do you mean?”

“See, private prison contractors make money the same way hotels make money – by makin’ sure all the beds are full,” he explained. “So, it’s in their best interest to keep as many prisoners as possible. If you got a police department that’s feedin’ you people, then you’re gonna be the best of pals.”

“You sure know a lot about the prison system,” Mikey noted.

“Yeah.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s just say I got multiple reasons for keeping kids like Angel off the streets.”

A dead whistleblower. Police misbehavior. The CEO of a private prison corporation working together with the chief of police. “This whole situation reeks of bribery,” April said.

“Bingo,” said Don.

“But this doesn’t exactly help us come up with a plan to bust Raph out,” Leo said, frowning.

“I know,” Don said. “But maybe there’s more we can do here. Think about it. Hundreds of people have been sent to one of the worst jails in America because of this one corrupt police chief. Maybe they’re not exactly innocent, but most of them are probably honest people who made an honest mistake.” Don looked Leo in the eyes as if to silently plea with him. “We could put an end to this.”

“But how?” Mikey asked. “It’s just five of us against a department full of corrupt cops. And we still need to break Raph out and do it all under four hours.”

“Three, now,” Don reminded them.

“Exactly! You’d need a team of superheroes to pull this one off,” Mikey said.

“No,” Leo said. “For something like this, you’d need people who can operate covertly. Ninjas.” A plan started forming in his mind – one that would have a lot of moving parts, but one that was doable. “Okay, I have an idea. Casey, I’m gonna need you to provide a distraction at the precinct.”

“Yes!” Casey cried. “It’s a good thing I brought my hockey stick and cricket bat.”

April facepalmed. “Please don’t do anything that would get you arrested,” she moaned.

Casey scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Hm, okay. I’ll consider doin’ something else then. But I’d have to think about what it is first…”

“Don, how fast can you fix up the Battle Shell?” Leo asked.

He appeared to carefully think about it. “I can get it done in an hour,” he answered confidently.

“That’s perfect. And while you’re doing that, would you be able to make a few calls?”

Don’s expression turned into one of irritation. “Why can’t Mikey do that?” he asked.

“Because I’m gonna have Mikey doing something else at the precinct.”

“Aw, yeah, I can see it coming together now!” Mikey said. “Michelangelo, kicking butt and taking names!”

“Not exactly,” Leo said. “More like staying really, really quiet the whole time. I know that’s gonna be hard for you, but I believe you can do it. And April.”

“Yeah?” Leo smirked. “How would you like to work at a police department for a day?”

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[sokumotanaka]

I don't agree with Spinner actions (Which weren't even his) but I think the issue with Horikoshi's "message" is that it places the onus to change on those mistreated and oppressed instead of those who mistreat and oppress.

the world treated mutants bad before they started to rebel against it, not because. shoji isn't wrong per se since this should be viewed situationally but on a grander scale, his focus shouldn't be on reprimanding oppressed/discriminated for reacting to being oppressed/discriminated but on those who oppress/discriminate.

This is the shit I write in the RWDE tag

All for one also hypnotized spinner into attacking, his brain when he's hulked out is focused on one directive, similar to AOT's titan Eren- Move the rock, Protect etc, and AOF installed attack that hospital in him, with the ACTUAL context you know that this has nothing to do with mutants- but because they are people zero'd in on that!

A. You mean like the humans with deadly weapons attacking innocent mutants on the streets, or the ones that murdered kids?

B. Mutants aren't a race...really says something about you- Similar to POC the mutants were killed and treated like shit with zero retaliation and now people are siding with the bigots. Mutants aren't attacking blindly like the humans are, they're going after heroes and trying to topple the governmental structure. But they're being fed lies by AOF who is USING THEM!

Media literary is truly dead.

Again you don't gotta agree with spinner, but people should see something really wrote with a prejudice plot that does nothing- till the tail end of the series and people flat out ignore the humans loaded with guns, swords, etc barring off shelters- turning away mutant kids but dragging the parents into the shelters if they look "normal" enough; literally attacking unarmed mutant civilians on the spot. (And hori doesn't have Deku destroy or take their weapons btw, in fact Deku says: Oh the armed guys that called you a monster are probably scared!) MHA's a deeply stupid person's take on racial politics and prejudice!

Horikoshi wrote a story about the struggles of people mirroring POC and wrote how they're in the wrong, how nothing gets solved, then magically a character who had no character literally gets used as a mouth piece.

It's not about the context, they're villains and they're clearly in the wrong, it's about the SUBTEXT that marks them as evil for being tired of being attacked, killed and their loved ones killed- and no normal puritans are EVER held accountable, only other mutants are. It be nice if say Todorki or Deku said something to normal people and called out their prejudices and helped as well. Instead they get told to quiet down and wait; and during the time-skip magically prejudices are gone! That's some wishful thinking, more POC should....just take it when their loved ones are unjustly killed, jailed, racially profiled ETC!

But instead the message is "Solve it yourselves, the oppressors aren't bad." And it really says something about these "fans" takes on things.

LOOK AT THE

MINDSET OF THESE FUCKS!

They feel justified saying all this when the icon on twitter is a black man who they can "pretend" to side with and respect while saying the quiet part out loud!

[eralea]

Infinite Craft and AI Ethics

There's been a big quarrel on twitter about Infinite Craft being AI generated slop, and a lot of people are arguing that it doesn't plagiarise or steal jobs so it "doesn't count as AI generated slop".

But the issue in this particular case isn't copyrighted data, it's biased data.

Maybe it's because most of the players are on the younger side, so they don't remember the debates about unethical AI regurgitating harmful outputs, caused by training data containing unfortunate biases.

So here's some AI slop

I know a stupid browser game is the least of Palestine's issues right now. If they're not being killed by bombs and invading settlers, they're dying from starvation and food poisoning. The zionists have killed entire families, over 15000 babies and children, and the current death toll is almost certainly undercounted. We won't know the full damage of the Second Nakba for months, if not years from now.

So in the grand scheme of things, an AI slop game that says "Palestine + Child = Terrorist" is just a minor thing, a little accident caused by an algorithm parroting the racist narratives told by government propaganda worldwide. It's not the developer's fault that the data contains this bias.

But I can't shrug it off, can I?

There are people with 🇵🇸🍉🔻 in their names and profiles saying the game is "just harmless fun". I can't stand it. This isn't harmless. This is the racism the zionists use to justify their genocidal mania. This is the bigotry that causes most people to react to the genocide with apathy or even glee. This is the islamophobia that is so ingrained in our media, in our whole society, that our AI systems will casually reflect it back at us and most people wouldn't bat an eye.

And I thought the game was fun, too. I don't like generative AI, but I thought this word association algorithm seemed like a perfectly fine use of regular AI. Then I tried to make "Free Palestine" and kept finding "terrorists" instead.

It was a harsh reminder that these generative systems are not random or neutral. And I knew it, I had read Timnit Gebru's writings on racial and anti-black bias in AI, I have a collection of ridiculous whitewashed AI pics, I knew that AI had a racism problem but I just wanted to play the silly word game.

I think a game like this can still be done, but it needs human involvement to prevent "Ooops! Accidental Zionist Propaganda: The Game". The lone dev can't pre-emptively block all the possible abuse cases. He doesn't post about politics so I have no idea if he cares about AI ethics (or genocide) enough to fix it, and he probably won't see my complaints anyway.

And it's not even really about the game. It's about AI inheriting and reinforcing the worst parts of society. The AI model the game is built on (LLaMA) associates Palestinians with terrorism. Will other technologies built on this model return the same output? Are there other nasty biases in the data that we haven't found yet, biases that will be perpetuated every time someone develops anything using this model?